Garrick found he was almost panting as he made his way from the ships, up the hill to the workings of what was to be the castle. His stomach churned, broiling in the scorching heat, beads of sweat forming on his brow and trickling down his face.

When he saw who was guarding the gate he suppressed a groan of annoyance. Kelgar had a very high opinion of himself, particularly since he had been made, out of necessity castle guard. Garrick was not in the mood for his sarcastic comments, particularly not today.

He belched, an unpleasant acidic wave burning its way along his oesophagus as he forced himself to swallow it back down. He would not degrade himself by losing the contents of his stomach in front of an upstart fool like Kelgar.

Unfortunately Kelgar had noticed.

“Had a rough night then have we Your Lordship”, he drawled, his lips turning up slightly into a condescending sneer, as he stepped to bar the way into the inner courtyard.

“I don’t know about your rough night Sir”, Garrick scowled, “but I was sound asleep in bed with my wife”.

Which was true. He had been, it had just taken a few tankards of ale to get there. Well perhaps more than a few. He had stumbled to bed as usual, ashamed as Cindra shrank away from his hands, his attempts at gentle caresses turned to fumbling pawing.

But he couldn’t bear it if he did not drink. Then she would come to him in his dreams, always dancing away from him, teasing as he reached out to touch her. To experience the pain of losing her again every morning when he woke was too much and so he drank to keep her away.

He only wished he could find a way to stop his wife from dreaming of her. But he could not help that, someone must have told her what he had done so of course she now found him repulsive. And it was natural for her to have nightmares about such a thing, but it frightened him a little that she was growing so exhausted she had not even realised Atholt had burnt his hand. How it could have happened he could not conceive of but there it was, the evidence that Cindra’s attention must have wandered for a moment. And then how she had woken in the night screaming about it. But of course she had such a terrible fright that night so she must have forgotten about Atholt’s little accident.

He was now standing directly in front of Kelgar, glaring down at him. Sometimes it was a definite advantage to be so tall.

“Now if you would mind standing aside sir, you are in my way”, he snarled.

“Of course, of course your Lordship”, he said with a smirk, stepping aside and waving Garrick through, “can’t be too careful these days you know. There’s all sorts of bad types on this here island”.

“I hope you are not implying I am one of these “bad types”", Garrick said scornfully, pushing past before Kelgar had a chance to answer, tired of the other man’s snide remarks.

What a start to the day. He had managed to drag himself out of bed, head pounding and mouth dry, long after Cindra had already left. It was his job to oversee the building at the castle, and he hadn’t impressed anyone lately with his efforts.

Noah and Arran were working on the East wing. An anvil had been set up there for Noah, who was at this very moment hammering out new iron supports for the side wall. He was issuing instruction to Arran who was all but jumping from foot to foot like an excited puppy.

“Now then lad, are yew bein’ ready for it? Remember it’ll be bein’ mighty hot so don’t let it be touchin’ yer skin else yew’ll be getting a nasty burn there”.

Arran nodded in agreement, then realising Noah was concentrating on the task and hadn’t seen him squeaked, “Yes… I’m bein’ ready for it”.

“Arright now then lad… now!”.

Noah drew back, and Arran darted forward seizing the glowing hot pin in hands wrapped in a thick cloth and plunging it into the nearby bucket of water, where it hissed noisily, a cloud of steam rising from it.

Now that this process was finished Garrick cleared his dry throat noisily. The heat of the fire was scalding his face and he could feel rivulets of sweat trickling unpleasantly down his back. How he too longed to plunged into the bucket, where the cool water would soothe his sizzling skin, pour into his parched mouth and wash the grit from his bleary eyes.

Noah looked up at him, while Arran was still gazing, fixated at the cooling pin.

“Somethin’ we can be doin’ fer yer Lordship then?”, Noah asked, as Arran turned around with a start, not noticing Garrick’s presence till then.

“I’m just coming to check on your progress”, Garrick croaked.

He cleared his throat in embarrassment, turning to Arran who was not gazing at him as acutely as Noah, “So then lad, I see Noah is showing you the ropes. Have you ever done any blacksmithing before?”

Arran stared at him, his moss green eyes wide and startled. He reminded Garrick of a rabbit he had once shot while hunting, the look of surprise at the thud of the arrow before the pain began to flow through its soft body. The thought brought up a dreadful pang of guilt and sorrow, rushing up through his body so he thought he might be violently ill right there on the ground before those startled eyes. He would never shoot an arrow again.

“N…no Yer Lordship… I ain’t done nothin’ like this before. I ain’t got no experience whatsoever”.

The young man suddenly looked as though he thought he had said too much, “But I am doin’ me very best yer Lordship and I do think I’m qualified fer this here job yew’ve given me”.

“I really really am tryin’ me very best”, he reiterated.

Seeing the young man’s discomfort Garrick tried to change the subject, “So when will you be putting up the next retaining wall?”

Arran stared blankly at him, his fingers tapping nervously at his sides, “errr…”

“We will be bein’ puttin’ up that one next week yer Lordship. We’ll be needing more men fer that so some of those that be workin’ on the church will be comin’ over here to be helpin’.

Arran was nodding his head furiously in agreement.

“But we still got to be makin’ a whole lot more of these here supportin’ pins”, Noah said.

Garrick listened feeling increasingly ill, the fire unpleasantly close, “It’s bloody hot today it is”, he said wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Perraps yew should be goin’ in the kitchen and gettin’ somethin’ cold ta drink and havin’ a bit of sit down”, Noah suggested, “Yer not lookin’ to well there yer Lordship if yew don’t mind me sayin’”.

“It sure is bein’ hot today”, Arran nodded helpfully.

“Perhaps your right, I’ll do that and let you men get back to your work”.

They took the hint and turned back to what they were doing as Garrick stumbled away, heading across the courtyard towards the makeshift kitchen.

He didn’t make it, suddenly feeling intensely ill, guts wrenching upwards and he rushed in through the nearest door, into the stables. He bent over clutching his writhing stomach until the sensation had passed then leaned heavily against the stall.

A soft-nosed mare stuck her head through the bars whinnying softly as she butted her head against his trembling arm.

“Sorry lass… I don’t have anything for you today”, he muttered and then his whole body was screaming with pain and he was on his hands and knees crawling towards the piles of hay in the corner.

He didn’t make it, the world turning red at the corners followed by the dragging curtain of blackness.

Blackness and the soft patter of little feet on dry clay.

Barran, Shildfrith, Tadhgar, Ulcar