As she walked down the hallway Valeriya could not settle her troubled mind. She had been sitting in the chapel for most of the day but once again, Father Harndall had not been there. She had not seen him since Sister Mella had disappeared. The candles in the ship’s chapel had burnt down to stubs and dust coated the altar table. There had been no sermon these last few weeks, and the people were frightened.

She was worried too. Father Harndall had always been for her a pillar of strength, a light shining brightly in the darkness when she feared she would be lost forever. Now it seemed he to had fallen into shadows and was groping blindly, his hands reached out in front of him, desperately fumbling for someone to guide him out. She wished she could be that person for him but she did not know whether she had the strength. She knew teetered on the edge of the abyss too, fearing that if she reached out and grasped those hands she too would be lost forever in the inky blackness below.

She was so caught up in her thoughts she did not notice the door clicking open to her right. A bulky figure rushed out, colliding with her in the cramped hallway, so the she screamed in fright. The other person gasped, and she turned to see the hated face of her husband, Radomir, who seemed as shocked as she.

He looked at her with something like terror playing upon his face. As she stared at him she noticed a large purplish bruise surrounding his left eye which was swollen almost shut. His cheek was a bloodied mess, tatters of scabbing skin forming a patchwork over it. She gazed at it in fascination, disturbed to see her husband in this state, but with an unpleasant feeling rising in her. She was horrified to realise that despite her months of repentance, her prayers for forgiveness, she felt something very close to a mad kind of joy to see his face, mashed and bruised.

They stood in the close confines of the hallway, so near that she could hear his ragged breath whistling through his teeth. He was panting, looking at her as a dog looks up at his master who is beating him with a stick, pain and fear mingled with misplaced love.

An unbidden feeling of guilt rose in her, a sour taste in her mouth.

“What happened to you Radomir?” she asked softly, startled by the gentle tone of her voice.

He clutched at his chest, his haunted eyes wide. She felt a chill of fear as she stood before the frame of this once powerful man, who looked at her now like a frightened child, desperate for comfort. Her emotions were muddled, a pile of ropes tangled into such a knot that it was impossible to decipher what she felt.

“I…”, he choked back a sob,”I… he… God is punishing me for my sins”.

He hung his shaking head and she was shocked to hear the words she had so often repeated in her own head, spilling forth from the mouth that had tormented her so many nights.

She stared at him, unable to speak as they stood so close that he could have reached forward and pulled her, struggling to his chest. He did not, he merely stood there, his body trembling, his grey eyes on hers. She could not move, held fast by that gaze, her heart pounding in her chest, bile rising in her throat.

“I…”, he took a deep ragged breath, “I… Valeriya… “.

Her name on his lips sounded wrong as it always had. Although the venom was gone out of his voice, it still seemed blasphemous for him to speak that word, her own name. She had always preferred for him to call her a bitch, or whore, rather than to hear the way it slid off his tongue. She swallowed, terrified of what he would say next.

“Valeriya”, he repeated what he had said, “I… I am sorry”.

She felt as though he had slapped her on the face, the sting of his words resounding in her ears. She could not even look at him. The world was turning black at the corners and her stomach was churning so that she longed to empty it over the side of the boat, into the cool, blackness below.

He turned away and stumbled back into his room, the door shutting firmly behind him

She stared at the closing door, unable to move, listening to the muffled sobbing coming from behind it.

The three men were taking a break from building and Noah had suggested today might be a good day to test out Engin’s pond. The days were becoming crisper as winter was approaching and they feared that soon the water would be frozen and the opportunity for fishing would be gone.

Engin struggled with his fishing rod. He had somehow managed to get the line tangled around his leg and was having a difficult time unwinding it. Noah had brought two rods he had made during the autumn days when it had rained too hard for work on the castle to continue.

The King had finally decided that the castle building must be put on hold. Many of the women on the island were now pregnant and there was fast approaching a time when the ships would become very cramped indeed. So he had set the men to work on building homes for the peasants, which would not take so very long. Engin and Darina were the first to have an almost finished house as their baby was due in only a few weeks.

Engin finally got himself untangled and proceeded to cast with as much momentum as he could muster.

Unfortunately, Engin was no expert fisherman, in fact he had only been fishing once before. He cast with such might that he managed to throw his entire body toward the pond, tripping and sprawling in the mud on his behind.

He heard a chuckle from Steen who was lazing on the side of the bank, content to watch the other men’s attempts at glory.

“You be trying to use yourself as bait for those them fish then are you Engin? I think they might not be finding you such a tasty morsel… they would probably be preferring them worms you attached to the line”, Steen gently teased him, grinning ear to ear.

He looked up to see Noah was also chuckling a Engin’s misfortune as he cast his line in again.

Anger rose in him, his face turning red as he stumbled to his feet and disentangled himself from the line which was now wrapped around his legs again. He would show him, he would be the one to catch a fish and then who would be laughing.

He suddenly heard a splash next to him and then Noah was reeling in a fish.

“I think he’s being just big enough to keep for the eating, what do you lads reckon?”, Noah asked.

Steen congratulated him, but Engin made no sound and sullenly threw his line in this time with a little less force. It did not matter, it was not a big fish and Engin was sure he would have a bit more luck now his line was actually in the water. It couldn’t be that hard after all if Noah could catch one.

It had only been minutes when he heard the familiar sound of reeling and the sploosh as another fish left the water.

He looked over to see Noah holding a large catfish, about twice the size of his last catch. Engin sighed in exasperation.

Noah grinned and laughed, “Here’s a more sizeable one then, look at his face, he sort of looks like you over there Engin with all your whiskers”.

“It seems like you’ve got yourself a fair little fishing pond here you have”, he said to Engin.

Engin did not reply and stared forlornly into the depths of the pool, wondering what it was he lacked and Noah had that made the fish fair jump out of the pond and into his waiting arms.

He was desperate to prove himself better than this man, as he stood there, gripping the rod so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white, a look of fierce concentration plastered across his face.

He stole a quick glance at Noah and saw to his extreme annoyance his face was a mask of relaxed calm. He looked like he was actually enjoying this, Engin thought with a surge of irritation. He would show him.

There was a distant rumble of thunder and a few drops of rain began to fall. Steen leapt to his feet, putting his hands up to feel the raindrops on them.

“I think we better get back to work, it looks like it’s going to be being a big storm and we still have to be getting a roof on that there privy of your’s otherwise your poor pregnant wife is going to have to be going in the rain”.

He may as well have been talking to himself as both men stared fixedly into the water.

Engin heard the sound of footsteps crunching behind him and turned slightly to see his extremely pregnant wife, waddling up the hill like a ship in full sail.

Here was his chance. He would impress Darina and prove himself better than Noah in one moment. As he was thinking this he heard Noah struggling beside him and then there was a monumental splash as Noah brought in the biggest fish he had ever seen. It was massive, its huge mouth opening and shutting as it fought for life. He heard Darina gasp behind him and his heart sank.

“Well Goodman Ulcar, that is by far the largest fish I have ever been seeing with these own two eyes of mine!” she exclaimed.

“I had no idea there were being such big fish in this here pond of mine”, she emphasised the last word and Engin understood where this was leading.

It seemed that Noah did also and he said graciously, “Well it will definitely be big enough to be feeding the two of you for quite some time, perhaps even the three ’specially if you be smoking a large portion of it.

He smiled generously, and Engin felt the green hand of jealousy wrap around his heart and give a sharp squeeze.

Then he looked at his mercenary wife’s face and realised she was not in fact very much impressed, although she was definitely pleased with her own cunning. He had seen her truly smile and could see this one for what it was, so brittle and false it could snap off her face at anytime.

Suddenly it fell, and a look of annoyance replaced it.

“Do you not be thinking you strong men have had enough playtime and that perhaps it is time to be putting a roof on that there privy… we are not too fond of sitting out there in the rain”, she rubbed her swollen belly fondly and with her piece said, flounced off down the hill.

Sigurd was surprised when he walked into the room. He had expected to find Varda already in bed asleep when he returned but here she was still dressed, sitting in the almost dark room with a small pile of sewing on her lap. She had already taken her hair out of its usual braid, and it fell in gentle waves around her face which was half in the shadows. He was surprised when she looked up and smiled at him as he opened the door quietly.

She hurriedly tucked away whatever it was she was working on, it seemed like something very small and white with fine embroidery on it. She stood up and came to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. This was not usual either, his wife was not one for needless affection and when it did occur it was always in the dark of the room, as they lay together in bed, when the candles were snuffed and he could not see her face.

“Did you find her”, a small worried furrow formed between her slender brows as she questioned him.

He shook his head slowly remembering the ordeals of the night. They had searched as much of the area near the coast as they could before it grew too dark and cold. The Duke had finally decided they should go back to ships and get some rest before they began again in the morning.

“No Varda, we could not. We have searched as much as we could in one night. One party even journeyed out to the ruined church where they found her last time but they could find no trace of her”.

He sighed, “And to be perfectly honest I do not see how she could survive a night as cold as this one, on her own somewhere in the woods. Lochan has said he does not think it likely. I think Father Harndall is near mad with grief”.

He shivered slightly, “Lochan had to order him to return with us, he was desperate to keep looking for her. Poor man. I believe he feels the Sister was his responsibility and he has failed her somehow. But he did as best as he could”.

The mask dropped and a look of misery appeared on his wife’s face. The candlelight shone from behind her and her hair was falling either side of her face in such a way that he could only just see the sad little mouth and the sorrowful eyes.

He was not used to Varda displaying such emotions and he did not quite know how to respond. Where was the wife he knew, with her iron-clad heart and an impenetrable fortress built around her feelings. He felt closer to her than ever before. She seemed somehow vulnerable to him tonight.

He thought it a shame for her to look so sad, where she had worn a content little smile before.

“But Varda, you were smiling so when I came home, I hate to tell you such bad news and make you sad”.

Her face turned up hopefully, “Well there was something I wanted to tell you but I guess tonight is not the best time”.

“No Varda, please tell me. I would like something to cheer me up after the hellish night I have had”.

The small proud smile returned to her face.

“Sigurd… you will be a father in the spring”.

He had not been expecting this either and his jaw dropped. It had been so long since she had lost the baby when they had travelled here and so many of the women were pregnant now that Sigurd had feared the worst. His heart leapt at the though of a son or daughter lying in his arms in such a short time.

“Varda! That is such wonderful news”, he could barely contain his excitement despite the sadness of the night still weighing on his heart. This was a good reason to be happy.

He tenderly took her arm and she looked down at his hand. He had never seen her like this, soft and vulnerable and he felt a desperate urge to protect her and the baby growing inside her from harm. He wished he were a stronger man, a man with courage who was not afraid of anything. Sigurd was afraid of too many things.

He wrapped his arms around his wife, marveling at how she relaxed into them. The stiffness between them had disappeared for a time and now she was soft and warm in the stronghold of his arms.

She stood gazing up at the towering structure before her. The moonlight shone feebly on the jagged pieces of stone, illuminating the high reaches but casting other places into impenetrable shadow. The black dog beside her whined and ran towards the stairs, turning back to her as though beckoning her to follow.

She slowly trudged upwards, each stair harder than the next as though her dying soul was growing heavier and more difficult to carry every step of the way. She reached the level of the old chapel, a large chamber which must have been fantastically decorated in times gone by. Now it was just a hollow shell, its former splendor carved out by the fury of nature. The pillars were stained and crumbling, covered with lichen and ivy that had partially devoured the church. The cracked, ancient stained glass windows peered like cataract clouded eyes, squinting in the weak light of the moon.

The black dog looked up at her expectantly, its red tongue lolling out of its mouth, its canines glinting sharply in the moonlight.

As she looked at it a dreadful thing began to happen. The black dog started to whimper, its limbs bending at odd angles so Mella could hear the snapping and popping of the joints. The creature was writhing around in apparent agony and it seemed to Mella that there were more limbs than there should have been. She could just make out the shape of the dog, mingled with that of a human-like figure. She watched without feeling, the part of her that would have been horrified by such a sight was hiding somewhere deep inside, looking out through her eyes in terror.

Eventually with a groan, the mass dissociated itself into the shape of a man who rose slowly to his feet before her.

His skin was pale, the colour of maggots writhing in a grave, but his lips were sumptuous and full and his eyes flickered red in the dying moonlight.

She looked at him with mild interest, he looked at her hungrily as a starving man would view the last lump of bread. His gaze reached deep within her to the only part that truly remained and crushed it with his will. There was nothing left.

Suddenly the sombre look on his face cracked and it was split with a wide grin. He bowed gracefully, so low that his sleeve almost swept the ground.

“Adromiro tem penena mande o barorai”, he rasped his voice cold and hollow, “but you can call me Cebrien”.

If Mella had still had the facilities to be surprised she would have. Suddenly midway through his sentence she could understand his words, even though he was speaking to her in the same tongue as before.

“I have been waiting for you for so many nights my beautiful Mirela, my Mella. Ah but it is you… Mirela, you cannot hide your true self from me anymore. You have come back to me after all these years alone in this accursed place, waiting and waiting. It has been so painful to me”, he looked at her sadly, “But my love, my pisliskurja, I cannot be angry with you for tonight we shall be together again… forever”.

He moved towards her standing so close she could feel his hot breath on her face, the tangy metallic scent of it that she knew so well. She did not turn to look at him, her attention focused on the soft roundness of the moon that had now sunk so low it was almost pierced by the peaks of the mountains rising jagged from the ground.

She felt an icy hand crawling its way across her back, the fingers draping around her shoulder and resting there like a spider on its web. Before she would have shuddered away from his touch in disgust but now the hand just felt like another part of her.

His other hand brushed across her stomach, the fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps were they strayed. It seemed strange to her that her skin should still react to him so strongly when her being had lost all sense of revulsion.

His hands slid down to her waist, curling protectively around her and pulling her towards him so the full length of his frigid body was pressed up against hers. She was close enough to feel that his heart was not beating. She wondered detachedly if he even had a heart.

She felt the heat of his mouth, seemingly the only warm part of his body against her ear.

“Oh Mirela, my beautiful beautiful wife”, he breathed his voice ragged, “to hold you in my humble arms once again. I will not let you go so easily this time. I promise I will not hurt you again”.

He buried his face in her neck and began to kiss it passionately, his hot wet mouth brushing against it. She knew that the sensitive skin there was sending distress signals throughout her entire body, but they would not be intercepted. She felt his sharp teeth gently scraping against her and knew it would not be long now.

Still she felt a momentary surprise when he plunged his fangs deep into her throat, a final uprising of a last unknown fragment of humanity still dwelling within her. She made no sound, staring silently up at the exhausted moon which was sinking into the waiting arms of the mountains as the blood poured out of her.

The moon hung in the sky like a whore from the gallows, her full body displayed to the angry crowds. Mella’s skin glowed like cold alabaster in the moonlight, frozen by the caress of the frigid wind. She did not notice the chill, did not care. She was numb inside, hollowed out, the tools scraping until there was nothing left but an empty shell.

She looked toward the solemn figures of the dark mountains looming in the distance. They reached up towards the moon’s dying figure above, undertakers waiting for her swollen body, waiting for her to sink gently into their ready arms when ropes are loosened.

A small black speck appeared in the distance rising from the foot of the mountains, moving towards her.

The black dog reached her, throwing itself at her feet and whining and panting, desperate for her touch. She knelt down and granted him this, her fingers tangling in the roughness of his thick, black mane of hair. His red eyes gleamed up at her in the darkness, his rasping tongue lolling out of his mouth in ecstasy.

She looked down at him but felt nothing, her soul was a crumpled, rotted thing hiding in some corner of her body and she knew that nothing could redeem her now. God had forgotten his dutiful little Mella praying beside her bed for forgiveness. He would not save her from her fate.

She stood up, the last of her humanity draining away and looked once more towards the distant mountains. Then she began to walk, the black dog at her side.

Radomir carefully checked to see if anyone was in the corridor, then unlocked the door and entered the room. The nun was sitting completely naked on a chair in the middle of the room her long black hair draped over her body.

He strode towards her his gaze raking over her young supple body. This was going to be too easy. He had been there when Steen had brought the news about the demise of the young woman and immediately an idea had begun to form in his head. She was obviously insane and therefore nobody would believe what she said anyway. And it seemed she did not speak which was an added benefit.

She turned to look at him, scrambling to her feet and growling at him throatily with her fists clenched. The scowl on her face did not stop her from being beautiful. He had always wondered as a child what nuns looked like underneath their habits. Now he knew and he was not disappointed.

He closed the gap between them with a purposeful stride. Now their faces were so close he could see he lower lip trembling slightly, the look of desperate pleading written in her expression. He knew what she wanted, she was just like the rest of them, it did not matter how pious she pretended to be going around in that habit all day. Her thoughts were as impure as the rest.

He wrapped his meaty arms around her waist, forcefully pulling her to him and pushed his tongue into her resisting mouth. He felt her struggling against his body but he knew that this was just part of the game. Then, without warning she shoved him away with a strength he did not expect from such a fragile figure.

She turned and ran from him to cower in the corner of the room, making grunting noises like the animal she was. He was angry that she had pushed him and getting angrier still by this delay. He had not been with a woman in months and now this mad wench was making him wait. He felt his blood begin too boil, the veins on his temples starting to throb.

He marched over to the corner and dragged her to a standing position by the arm. He drew back his arm and slapped her soundly across the face. She growled at him, her lips pulled back to reveal rows of grinding teeth. The candlelight reflected in her eyes giving them the appearance of wells of fire, smouldering in the darkness.

He clenched his hand into a fist at his side, ready to hit her again when he was distracted by the candles blowing out one by one as though someone had snuffed them between two fingers.

He was suddenly hit by the force of another body colliding with him and all the air rushed out of his lungs. He looked around wildly for his attacker in the dark room but could not make him out.

“Ne la touchez pas sheka!”, the room was filled with a resonating voice that made Radomir’s head ache, “Elle est à moi!”

It knocked into him again, shoving him backwards with such force that he almost lost his footing. He did not know how to defend himself when he could not see his attacker and could only hold his hands feebly up in front of him to try and stop the fists which were now raining down upon his face.

Fear welled up inside him as it had done many times before, and once again he was just a small boy. He weakly held up his hands, trying desperately to protect himself from the heavy fists of his father, pounding his face over and over until he could hear the bones splintering.

He felt an icy hand wrap around his throat and he was lifted completely off the floor, his feet hanging uselessly below him. The grip on his neck tightened, his windpipe being slowly crushed between the iron fingers, the air departing from his lungs.

His ears were ringing but he could still hear the sounds Mella was making in the corner. She was muttering to herself in some language he could not understand, her teeth gnashing as she alternated between laughter and sobbing moans.

The foul smell of death and blood filled his nostrils and he felt a hot breath against his ear.

“Elle est à moi”, the voice rasped into his ringing ear.

Radomir could not understand what it was saying but it did not matter because the blackness swirling at the edge of his vision was beginning to cover everything.

He felt the air return to his lungs as he hit the floor with a thud, coughing and spluttering.

He lay there gasping for a minute, sucking huge gulps of air into his burning lungs. Then he struggled to his knees and lurched out of the door and away from the nightmare in the room.

He did not think to lock the door behind him.

Harndall rubbed his aching head as he unlocked the door and walked into the room. His head was throbbing as it often did in times of trouble. Once again it seemed he had been left in charge of a bad situation and he was having trouble organising his muddled thoughts.

This particular situation was sitting on the floor beside her bed gazing at the wall with an enthusiastic grin plastered over her face. He could not fail to notice the dark streaks running across her face, the drying blood crusting over the wounds.

She noticed his entrance after a moment and turned to stare at him in expectation. A wave of guilt welled up inside him. She expected him to save her and protect her and he had failed her. Here she was, her sanity in tattered shreds and he had been helpless to prevent it. This did not absolve him from his remorse, he knew he should have found a way to drag her back from the edge she had been teetering on for so long.

He brought over the chair and sat opposite here, watching closely the almost childlike glee dancing across her face.

“How are you feeling Mella?”, he asked.

She did not reply only smiled wider, and began to make soft snuffling noises.

“Perhaps we should get someone to come and clean those cuts for you Sister”, he was worried they would become infected, as it were she would probably be scarred for the rest of her life so deep were the ragged scratch marks.

He was surprised when she suddenly stood up. Maybe she thought they would go now and find someone to tend to her wounds. He did not know how to tell her she must stay in this room. He did not even know how he could convince someone to do it, after what she had done to poor Goodwife Cade.

But to his dismay she began to undress, awkwardly pulling her nightdress over her head, fumbling as it caught on her head and arms.

He could feel his cheeks blushing hot, his hands beginning to tremble and his mouth go dry. He had never seen a naked woman before and now one stood before him, her mouth curled into an encouraging smile. He told himself to look away but he could not, his gaze hesitantly moving over the smooth curves of her body, coming to rest on the round swell of her breasts, visible behind a curtain of dark hair.

“Mella!”, he gasped struggling to his feet, “Put your gown back on!”.

Her expression of joy broke like a mirror shattered to a million pieces, and beneath it lay such rage that Harndall began to feel afraid.

“Mella… please… you cannot stand in front of me unclothed like this… I am a man”, the words seemed strange to him, for the first time he truly understood the temptations that his fellow men suffered, that he had thought himself immune to until now.

The look of anger slipped again and was replaced with something more hopeful as she clasped her hands together as though she were praying.

“Yes… Sister… we should pray to God to deliver you from this evil”, he was glad to see her eyes wide and innocent where they had been filled with dark lust before.

He began to raise his hands to pray with her but then she laughed, a grotesque hacking sound that did not seem human. She ripped her hands apart and spread them as far as she could, her face resembling that of a child who knows he is doing wrong but does not care.

Her eyes went dark again, the pupils dilating, her breathing beginning to quicken and she stepped towards Harndall. She raised her hand and softly stroked his bristly cheek.

His breath came out in a sudden rush and he grabbed her hand and roughly pushed it away.

“Mella”, he said in a strangled voice, “Mella please don’t”.

With a low growling sound she wrapped her arms around him, pressing him to her naked body and brought her mouth to his.

He could not resist, his body crying out in alarm at the unfamiliar sensations. He was trying with all his might to fight her, but it was as though some greater force had shackled his willpower, shoving it back from whence it came and leaving him to battle without weapons.

He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the sweet scent as her mouth hungrily sought his neck. He kissed her again, tasting her, intoxicated by the headiness of desire.

His nostrils filled with the tangy metallic scent of blood and the putrescence of death, the taste of her which had been pleasing before, now soured like milk left too long in the sun. Her tongue which before had been soft and supple was now rough and slimy, slithering into his mouth. Her hair draped over the faces, soft between his fingers was now coming out in clumps where he held it.

He pulled away in revulsion and was greeted with the gruesome sight of death, her rotted mouth grinning widely, her dead eyes staring into his. His heart contracted in utter terror, a moan escaping from between his lips.

Then the image flickered and she was Mella again, soft and warm in his arms so he did not know whether he had only imagined the repulsive sight from the moment before. She was looking at him, her eyes filled with adoration.

It did not matter, the spell had been broken and he threw off the chains that had held his will fast and ran towards the door without turning back.

Steen gently lowered Hepsie to the floor, supporting her as her injured ankle buckled slightly beneath her weight. She whimpered in pain.

“Are you alright me little pudding?”, Steen asked gently unable to keep the concern from his voice which was trembling slightly, “Are you hurt real bad?”.

She carefully shifted her weight so that her other leg was supporting it and tried to smile at him.

“No, no me loverly… don’t you be frettin’ yourself now… I’ll be just fine I will. She may have knocked me about a bit but you know yer old girl and I’m tough as nails I am”.

Steen looked at her with an expression that told her he did not believe what she was saying but was willing to pretend for her sake.

He reached up and tenderly stroked her face, being careful to avoid the dark bruises that were forming there.

“Now me love aren’t you a brave lass then aren’t you. Will you be okay then if I leave you here and go and tell the menfolk what has happened to that nun in there?”.

Hepsie could not keep a momentary look of fear from flitting across her face but she replaced it with the most realistic smile she could muster.

Steen did not fail to notice this and quickly added, “Now don’t yer be worrying that pretty head of yours… I locked the door to Mella’s room good and tight so she’ll not be going nowhere”.

“And I will be as fast as fast can be”, he added with a tentative grin.

He leant in and softly kissed her swollen mouth, and walked out of the room closing the door behind him.

Hepsie slowly undressed herself whincing in pain when the dress caught on her bruised body. She reached up to feel the swelling on her face.

She stood before the mirror gazing at her battered face.

“Now look what she’s done to you then… what a mess”, she chided.

She began to bathe her face and body, washing away the blood and tears. Then stepped on her sore ankle, but almost shrieked in pain as it gave way beneath her.

“Well… I won’t be doing that again now will I”.

She hobbled over to the bed, peering down at her ankle which looked distended and purple in the candlelight.

“Oh dear… that’s going to be nasty in the morning”.

She gingerly got into bed, the weight of the blankets causing a firey tongue of pain to shoot up her leg. She pulled the blankets up all the way to her chin shivering and abandoned herself to sleep.

Steen quietly walked into the room, so as not to wake his sleeping wife, who was softly whimpering in her sleep.

He knew it was wrong to feel angry at a nun, but he could not help it whether she had lost her mind or not. She had hurt his dear, sweet Hepsie and that was an unforgivable thing.

He looked down now at the dark bruises surrounding her eyes, the grimace of pain that she bore despite being in the throes of sleep.

He lowered himself onto the bed, pulling up his long legs and carefully wiggling under the covers. He could feel her shudder as he accidently bumped her injured ankle. He had barely touched him and it disturbed him that she reacted so strongly, but at least she did not awaken.

He eased himself over to her and pressed himself against her back, trying to ease her shivering with his warmth. He would not let her come to harm again.