"Marked" Chapter One (Part Two)

“You have nothing to worry about.” I reassured the mother. “I can see that you are inspired by your love of god.” Her eyes closed under heavy lids. She breathed deeply.
“I am ready to speak with your master.” I handed the baby back to her, stood, and secured my cloak around me, the hood still around my ears against the night air. The maid, holding the candle, went to unbolt the door and her shadow swallowed the three of us by the bed. A murmur and a rustle, within moments the father stood before me, his man holding an oil lamp between us. The room could barely hold the 6 of us, but no one suggested a different room. The great hall would echo our words for all to hear who might be in the house, or even perhaps standing just outside the shuttered window. No, the master bedroom was best.
I pressed my lips together, glad the father had sent his fastest horse to fetch me. Many who would not pay me would rather offer their bundle to God, at the church’s door. They were not always left at the door. And they were not always found right away. But the messenger who came for me was quite open about his master’s situation. There were no other children. This, being the first live birth, might be the only. He, though a lowly stable hand, was concerned for his master and mistress, hoped their babe was healthy, thought that no one else deserved a child more, the cook had told him how careful and pious the mistress had been, and how faithful and affectionate the master was. The cook had told the stable boy how the master and mistress took their prayers every morning together, and the stable hand, while fetching me, had repeated it proudly.
“Well?” the master asked at last, “What is the matter?”
“The matter is quite holy,” I tipped my head out of respect, “I have only seen this once before. It seems your wife has thought of nothing during her confinement but loving god. So the mark reveals her devotion.”
“Oh,” the father’s shoulders slacked, his head tilted slightly. He smiled. “She had wanted to be a nun before we married. This is a great unburdening for my soul today. We are truly blessed.”
“There is more…” I watched the father draw himself up. “The mark will fade. By the time he is 10 or 12 years of age, should you be so blessed, there may only be a shadow of what you see now.”
“That is good news indeed!” the father grabbed my arm, found my hand to shake it vigorously. The mother came from behind me to stand with her husband, brushing up against my shaking elbow, and dragging at my cloak. The hood came down and I heard her gasp. I turned to see her hand over her mouth. I knew what she had seen. Her eyes were wide, staring into mine. My own stain, my own mark, never faded, behind my ear: a round shape with two identical points on the top never failed to remind anyone who saw it of the Devil himself.