"We use what weapons we have," she repeats. It makes sense to her, certainly. Far from home, surrounded by men who might not have much to fear in that regard. A living husband was far more capable of protection than a dead one. It was true even in her world.

A widow might lead a fine life if she structured everything just so, but should ill happen to her, she might go unavenged without a son or other male relative to know it happened and repay the offence. Women whose husbands were ever away, though. That was the sort of life Faith had always imagined for herself. Not a bad life, either. Freedom from his expectations, yet with an ever-ready threat should someone presume too much.