“What?” She pulled back from me, to look up into my face.
“Are you carrying my child?”
“I … no. No, I’m not.” A pause. “What makes you ask such a thing all of a sudden?”
“It just occurred to me to wonder. That’s all. I mean-”
“I know what you mean. If we were married, and I weren’t pregnant by now, the neighbors would be shaking their heads over us.”
“Really?” Such a thing had never occurred to me before. I knew that some folk wondered if Kettricken were barren, as she had not conceived in over a year of marriage, but a concern over her childlessness was a public issue. I had never thought of neighbors watching newlyweds expectantly.
“Of course. By now, someone would have offered me a tea recipe from their mother’s telling. Or powdered boar’s tusk to slip into your ale at night.”
“Oh really?” I gathered her closer to me, grinning foolishly.
“Um.” She smiled back up at me. The smile faded slowly. “As it is,” she said quietly, “there are other herbs I take. To be sure that I do not conceive.”
I had all but forgotten Patience scolding me that day. “Some herbs like that, I’ve heard, can make a woman ill, if she takes them for long.”
“I know what I’m doing,” she said flatly. “Besides, what is the alternative?” she added with less heart.
“Disaster,” I conceded.
She nodded her head against me. “Fitz. If I had said yes tonight. If I were pregnant … what would you have done?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
“Think about it now,” she begged me.
I spoke slowly. “I suppose I’d … get a place for you, somehow, somewhere.” (I’d go to Chade, I’d go to Burrich, and I’d beg for help. Inwardly I blanched to think of it.) “A safe place. Away from Buckkeep. Upriver, maybe. I’d come to see you when I could. Somehow, I’d take care of you.”