Lady Luck| Finan The Agile| The Last Kingdom

THIRTY- EIGHT

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2 Months Later...

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"Do I look sickly?" I fret, spinning around to Sigdeflaed and pulling down on my cheeks with my hands.

Sig flinched back, her face outraged, "Well, when you do that, absolutely!"

I released my skin, groaning loudly and turning back to the mirror, "Good God, I am going to look sickly on my wedding day!"

"You are not going to look sickly on your wedding day," Wynne groaned from the washroom attached to the bedroom we were in, "do you know why?"

"Why?" I breathed out, spinning towards the doorway as the woman barged out of the washroom.

"Because you are not sick!"

I waved her away, whipping back around to the mirror and pulling another few faces.

"You will look better once you are in your dress, ma'am," Leofgifu suggested, holding out the white fabric to me.

"Dear God," I flung my hands up before I turned the mirror around so I could not look into it, "what if it does not fit?"

"How can it not fit?" Wynne groaned, "You tried it on yesterday!"

"Happened to me," Sig mumbled absent-mindedly, chewing on a piece of apple peel instead of the actual apple.

"Because you were five months pregnant!" Wynne blurted, her hands flying around as she tried to make her point, "Because your husband seems to think the path to God is under your skirt!" She turned back to me, slapping one clenched fist into her open palm, "Your dress will fit, you do not look sickly and I need you, and I mean this, I need you to stop panicking."

"I am not panicking," I countered in confusion, turning to Sig, "Am I panicking? Does it look like I am panicking?"

Sig hummed in response, her leg swaying back and forth off the side of the bed she was draped over, her eyes squinting in thought. "Maybe a little?"

"Oh Lord, I am going to look panicked on my wedding day!" I darted forward, throwing myself onto the bed beside Sig and burying my face into the covers before I out a loud groan.

"There, there," Sig pat my back twice before she returned to skinning her apple and eating it.

A loud knock on the door had all of us stopping, and I flung my head back up, blowing a strand of hair out of my face before I called out. "Who is it?"

"Uh!" The answer sounded through the door, and I turned my head to Sig, who shrugged.

"How can you not know your own name?" Wynne exclaimed in frustration, her eyes wide and almost frantic.

"Sorry, it is Osferth," the poor monk stumbled out, "I just— I came to— you see—"

"Spit it out," Wynne begged, "for the love of all things in this world, spit it out."

A slight scuffle on the other side of the door sounded, and then another rap came.

"Siggy," Sihtric's tired voice sounded.