“Oh that's not even funny,” she told him, mild warning in her voice and a slightly horrified look on her face. “I don't want you, despite your quirky charms and good nature. What would I do with some randy, drunk, pawing villager every year? For the love of mud, they want their fields blessed with good crops, not spilled blood. A girl could get a reputation if she killed a husband a year, you know.”
Then she blinked, and grinned. “Of course, that would keep me from having to get married, I suppose.” Her grin faded almost immediately. “Eventually. I'd still have to be a murderess a few times before the point was made, and really? I'm not big on the whole blood-letting thing. It's messy. And a bit sticky.”
Something she only knew from being present at a few butcherings. Really, the idea of permanently harming another person was repugnant to her. A good smack now and then was one thing, especially if somebody deserved a wallop upside the head for sheer stupidity. But drawing blood? Leaving bruises? Killing someone? Not her style at all. “Maybe I could just convince them to relocate and never return to their homes and tell everyone I killed them? Hmm?”
Rosmerta could see way too many flaws with that plan right off the bat. But something else sprang to mind and she said, “You know, every few years... we could do this. You and I, I mean. With the understanding that at no time are we ever... you know. But different places? And I could change my appearance... I don't know that we could do it every year, but when you need a break from all the nubile virgins they throw at you... we could perhaps... do this again?”