Hi guys. Well once again (for the third time in two months) I am off to France for a conference. But never fear, I will back on Thursday and haven’t got any more trips planned till July (although something might come up before then). I am hoping to get a bit more settled back into a routine of some sort then, as much as I like travelling sometimes it can be a bit bad taking off every other week. So I am quite looking forward to actually having some length of time in Stockholm for a few months. Anyway, enough rambling… I’ve got to go to bed since I have an early flight to catch tomorrow. Meh… and a Sunday too I want to sleep in instead.

Byee!

Before him lay a crumpled figure, her limbs skewed at odd angles, her plain homemade dress bunching around her legs, golden hair draping softly over a beautiful face.

Smears of blood stained her perfect face, dribbling from her nose, flowing over the soft curves of her lips and rolling down her cheek. Tiny white flowers stood guard around her fallen body, their faces defiant as they clustered around her.

“Nell… oh my poor little Nelly”, he murmured, kneeling by her side, his hand gently stroking her arm. Maybe she was just asleep, maybe she would wake up if he shook her hard enough.

But he knew she would not, he remembered this night from before, she would not wake because it didn’t end like that. She would never wake again, forever sleeping beneath a blanket of tiny white flowers, the same flowers she had loved to pick and weave into her flowing golden curls. He had lived this night before, over and over in his dreams, each night shaking at the limp body until his own teeth had chattered in his mouth.

He knew that it would not work, so tonight he was gentle. He only wanted to hold her a little before all the warmth left her body. He just wanted to be allowed to lie beside her. The nights were so cold and lonely without her darling body drowsing next to his.

He carefully wrapped his arms around her, dragging her drooping body into his lap. He leaned his head on hers, smelling the sweet scent of crushed flowers clinging to the soft strands. Her head lolled back heavily on his chest, warming all the way through the brittle web of his ribs, to his shivering heart.

He folded his hands around hers, interlocking his clumsy fingers with her neat, round ones. Oh, they were still warm.

“Oh Nelly my darlin’ Nell, I wish yew could be seeing the moon this night. She really is bein’ a fair sight and yew always did like her didn’t yew. Are you bein’ remembrin’ them nights we was still courtin’ and I used to be walkin’ yew on a well lit night like this ‘un”.

“An’ yew puttin’ yer little hand in mine, so warm, always bein’ so very warm”, he kissed her gently on the top of her head, “an’ they still are, god bless em’”.

He heard a faint whimper and then a felt stirring against his chest.

Arran’s heart swelled, pushing against his ribs so he thought they would crumble with the pressure.

“Oh Nelly… Nelly yer bein’ awake! Yew are!” he pulled her roughly to her feet, wrapping his arms tightly around her trembling body.

“I knowed it I did, if I was waitin’ enough nights then yew’d be wakin’, if I was patient and good yew’d come back to me and yew did! Oh yew did my little Nelly, my beautiful lovely Nell”.

She shuddered and pressed her hot, wet face to his neck and wept.

“Shhh now, don’t yew be cryin’ me lovely girl. Yer Arran’s here now and I won’t let nothin’ ever be hurtin’ yew again. Yew just let em’ try and see what happens to ‘em then”.

She held him tightly, her right hand trembling against the back of his neck. He longed for her to run her fingers through his hair, gripping it in her fists and pulling his mouth against her soft lips. But he would not rush, for now he was just happy to hold her in his arms again, to be held back. It had been so very long.

Suddenly she wrenched from his grasp and looked up at him, her face a mess of tears and blood, her nose running. He smiled down at her reassuringly as she gazed up at him with startled green eyes. Green eyes… now that was strange.

“Arran… Arran it’s bein’ me Igrayne, not Nell. Nell… Nell’s bein’ dead”, she whispered hoarsely,

Arran’s heart deflated, shrinking down to cling to the broken image he held there. It was not the same night, it was not Nell. He could not unmake his mistakes, it was done, she was gone and he would not see her again in this lifetime. Perhaps not even in the next. A single sob wrenched from his throat as Igrayne began to weep beside him, covering her bloodied face with her hands, the fingers on her right hand twisted and broken.

He put a trembling hand on her shoulder and pulled her against his chest, the comforting warmth as much for himself as it was for her.

”Get away from her you beast!” Lochan roared as they burst through the bushes into the clearing.

The other men ran ahead of him, their legs sure and sturdy, their swords glinting in the moonlight like fangs. Arran stumbled after them blindly, barely clutching the blunted length of the burning brand between his trembling hands. His ears were filled with the faint clank of links of rusty chainmail rubbing together, of heavy feet pounding tiny flowers into dust. The screaming had stopped.

His nostrils were filled with the scent of crushed flowers, and below it, a more gritty hint of something metallic. He felt ill, the brand burning close to his fingers, singeing the tiny black hairs that cringed over his knuckles.

At Lochan’s command the dark-haired woman turned, snarling. A tiny blonde figure tumbled from her grasp and fell limply to the ground, the carpet of daisies welcoming her with upturned faces.

“Nell”, he breathed, the brand tumbling from his grasp and falling to the ground, tiny flowers curling back from the scorching flame, their faces wilting in pain.

“Well then… what is it that we have here?” the pale man said while the woman hissed and spat next to him, a red smear across her lips.

Arran saw through blurred eyes that the other men had halted uncertainly. He thought he understood why, as the unpleasant taste of bile was rising in his throat. He recognised the woman’s blood-spattered face too.

“You fiend!” he heard Kelgar choking, somewhere to his left, “what have you done to her!?”.

Kelgar rushed at him, plunging his sword deep into the body of the man. The blade slid cleanly between folds of fine clothing with a foul hiss, into belly and right through to the other side. Arran stared dazedly at the sharp tip protruding from the man’s back.

It flashed fiercely, bright and clean as the man gasped, choking as his body folded over the cruel metal.

Kelgar ripped the blade from the man’s stomach as he crumpled to his knees, writhing in pain. Kelgar gazed in confusion at the clean blade before him. Mella let out a scream of rage.

“You bastard! You dare touch him!” she leapt at him, clawing at his face as she gnashed her teeth, globs of blood dripping from her mouth and flecking the frightened faces of the tiny flowers that shuddered beneath her feet.

Kelgar cried out in pain, his hands flying up to his face, still feebly gripping his sword as blood ran from between his fingers. Mella stared cruelly down out him, her face glowing triumphantly as the moon licked at her pale features.

The other men ran to Kelgar’s aid but Arran could not move, could not even remember that he knew how to as he stood, hunched at the edge of the clearing.

With a dreadful shudder Arran realised the man was clambering to his feet again, pushing the gaping hole in his belly together with fingers like pallid worms. He looked directly at Arran, feeling the young man’s faltering gaze upon him. Arran shrunk from those blood-red eyes as they seared through his ribcage to find his heart where it lay exposed, trembling and raw.

He could feel the cold fingers tweaking and teasing at the wound like maggots, their tiny mouths tearing at the rotting edges until it was ripped open again, hissing and frothing. Blood spouted onto the memory of a beautiful face, a plain homemade dress with holes carefully patched, the image of girl walled up inside, away from the grasping fingers of pain, away from the metallic stench of blood.

All that was left were the blue, sightless, upturned eyes, the blood-stained face and the frail broken body clutched desperately in his shivering arms.

“Ah my friend, was her name not Nell?” Cebrien asked with a cold laugh, then his eyes slid from Arran leaving him retching, splattering the disgusted faces of the bone-white flowers below.

“It is alright mon amour”, he crooned to Mella who was panting in rage, swatting at the men around her, “I was just playing a little joke no? To die again… that would truly be a gift. Ah but it is fun to pretend for just one moment”.

He spread his arms expansively with a wry smile, “You see it is…”.

Lochan’s blade sliced cleanly into one of Cebrien’s outstretched arms, an ashy cascade pouring form the wound.

“Excusez moi”, he said, pushing both Lochan and sword away angrily, the edges of the wound flapping open “How can a man say clever things with some clumsy oaf waving his sword about ineffectually. Have you no sense of common politeness monsieur? I had not finished… ah well… you could not understand anyway”.

“While it has been fun gentleman and I have enjoyed our little games I believe it is the time we should be departing”, he turned to Mella, “Merila mon amour? Shall we?”

Arran saw Lochan recoil in horror as Cebrien’s body began to contort, limbs creaking into impossible positions, punctuated by the dreadful popping sounds of dislocating joints. Mella’s body also began to change, her supple figure withering, shrinking, leathery monstrosities unfurling from beneath her arms, coarse fur sprouting from her face.

Arran blinked, his eyes raw and watering. When he opened them again he could not see where Mella and the man had gone, there was only a bat and a large black dog, heading away from the clearing towards the mountains.

“Follow them!” Lochan roared.

The other men rushed after him, crashing through the bushes and into the forest leaving Arran behind in the clearing, a small crumpled figure before him.

Hi guys,

So I am heading off on another adventure. Not too long… just nine days but I might not have much time for the easter long weekend either since my sister is coming over from the Netherlands (she is studying her masters there) for a visit. But never fear, I have taken the pics for my next two posts and hopefully I will have internet connection where I am going and I will have quite a lot of time to write I think. I am heading to Grenoble in France to do an experiment on the synchrotron (wheeee!). But there has to be someone there at all times so we are taking shifts while the experiment is running (some overnight and 12hrs!). So hopefully I will have a lot of time to write (unless my supervisor is sharing a shift with me… then I will be writing but it will be an article and not Mhalwae

Anyways… wish me big lucks that I don’t break the machine (eeek it costs like a billion dollars or something) and that my experiment actually works (which may not happen… nobody has tried this before so it is quite likely we will have to fall back on plan B which is nowhere near as much fun). So remember just cross your fingers that I don’t explode it. And sorry to leave you hanging with poor Igrayne

Keep up the writing and simming and hopefully I will get a post out soon.

And just for fun here is ultra-shadowy Radomir. See why I had to fix my lighting mod?!

“Kelgar!!! Oh Kelgar! Where are yew bein’ my little honey bee?!”, Igrayne called out loudly, not quite able to suppress a snicker as she imagined Kelgar hidden further from the clearing, fuming at her cries. She did not know exactly where they were but she knew they were close enough to hear if she called out loudly.

It was a warm night, the heady scent of drooping blooms hanging thick in the air. The full moon hung above her, dragging heavily at the sky leaving a trail of twinkling stars as it descended. They had been there for hours, already the glowing white orb had made her journey across half of the sky and now she was drifting wearily towards the horizon.

Igrayne was exhausted too. The many hours of fear pressed down on her body like the weight of the heavy night air. Perhaps he would not come. And then there would be a month between, every day, looking to the night sky as the moon slowly swelled like a rotting corpse. And then another night like this, waiting and waiting until the constant blanketing terror finally suffocated her. She did not think she could bear it… better he would come tonight and it would be done with, whatever the outcome might be.

A chill breeze whispered through the trees, shuddering its way through the leaves, brushing their turgid bodies hedonistically against one another.

Igrayne involuntarily shivered, wrapping her trembling arms around her body. All she had to do was scream and they would come. The duke had promised. She would be safe. The breeze carried a new scent, the pungent smell of rotting and decay, withering the soft offering of the blooms in its foul clinging tendrils.

She looked around frantically but despite the light of the moon she could not see anything. Then, two shadows detached from the edge of the clearing flowing towards her.

She opened her mouth to scream as loudly as she knew how.

Instantly her throat was in the iron-grip of two icy hands, her body lifted from the ground by the neck, the beginnings of her scream choked into nothingness.

She opened her eyes to see the bloody red pools of his, the snarling mouth, the jagged sharp teeth.

“It shall not scream”, he growled and then pulled her against the length of his hard, cold body.

Igrayne had never been held by a man. She could feel the icy clinging of his skin, even through her dress, his hands caressing her back. He kissed her, his tongue slithering obscenely into her soft, open mouth, the metallic taste of blood pouring into her. So this was what it was to be wanted by a man. She felt her body growing supple and willing beneath his stroking hands, her fingers tangling in his hair, her mouth pressing hungrily against his.

“There now… is that not a little better?”, he pulled back from her, holding her wilting body languidly in his arms.

She could not speak, could not move as she looked into his eyes, the cruel curve of his brows, the sneer of his swollen lips, a small trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. She dimly wondered if it was her own.

She heard footsteps approaching as the other figure glided towards them, crushing small white flowers beneath the heels of her boots.

“Is she tainted?”, the woman asked, her voice an icy chill running down the length of Igrayne’s spine.

“Oh no mon amour… she is just fine. Her blood it is sweet and fresh. Oh God, it tastes so good”, the man replied with a shudder, his cold fingers running down Igrayne’s side as he turned away from her.

“Let me taste”, the woman replied with a hungry growl and pouncing on the man kissed him passionately.

Igrayne knew it was not polite to stare, that she should turn away but she found she could not move at all. She could only watch with longing as the man ran his hands roughly down the woman’s body pulling her to him, his mouth panting against her, her body moaning against his.

“See mon amour… is it not fine?”, he pulled away from her looking searchingly into her eyes, “It pleases you, no?”.

The woman pushed him away and turned to Igrayne, her expression soft and welcoming, her smile kind. Igrayne saw that it was the nun, Sister Mella but she did not feel surprised. She smiled tentatively back.

“Ah… she is precious isn’t she? Such a sweet girl”, Mella sighed, stroking Igrayne’s face with her frigid fingers.

She was so beautiful and pious, so good, a blessed wife to the church.

The fist that collided with her face did come as a surprise as sending Igrayne’s body flying backward with the massive force of it.

She did not fall, an icy hand grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet, rows of sharp fingernails digging painfully into her tender skin.

She sobbed quietly, bringing her trembling hands up to her face, blood trickling from her nose and into her mouth, running down the back of her throat so that she gagged, choking and crying.

Mella leapt at her with a snarl, and to her horror Igrayne felt an icy cold tongue, sliding around the edges of her nostrils, lapping hungrily at the blood that ran steadily down to her mouth.

Still she could not make a sound louder than a soft groan of dread, as the revolting tongue flicked over her face, licking at her trembling lips, forcing its way into her mouth to get to the blood that was pooling there.

When she released her Igrayne turned meekly to the man, pressing her bleeding, tear-stained face against his cold hard chest, feeling it shaking as he softly chuckled.

“Oh now ma petit fille… so you think I can help you. Not one can help you now”

And he shoved her back into the waiting arms of Mella.

“Oh… so you don’t like me so much after all girly?”, she snarled and began to shake Igrayne, her fingernails ripping into Igrayne’s back, tearing at her dress.

Igrayne’s mouth opened in a silent sob, as she felt blood trickling down the back of her thighs. Her hair came lose as Mella pulled at it till clumps tore free from her scalp.

“Why doesn’t she scream”, she heard Mella’s anger through the red ringing pain.

“Oh I am very sorry pisliskurja… I forgot to let her”, she heard the man huskily replied.

Suddenly she could move again and she turned to run before her legs failed her. There were men who would help her she remembered. She just had to get to them.

She was dragged back by the throat, Mella pulling her close to her face so she could smelll the stink of blood and rot hissing from her mouth. One cruel hand slid its way down her side and closed around her own flailing one.

“Now scream”, Mella purred as she snapped Igrayne’s finger in two.

And Igrayne did.

The rows of letters had begun to blur into an incoherent mess as Lochan gazed down at the pages. He had been sitting in his study for many hours, pouring over the daily journal he had been writing during their time on Mhalwae. But try as he might, he could not draw any connection between what seemed to be a random series of attacks.

The idea that there might be had come to him in the early hours of the morning, as he clutched Yvaine’s tiny warm body against his chest, calming her soft cries so that she would not wake his exhausted wife. He was tired himself now, but even the thought of that made some part, tucked away deep inside leap with unbidden joy. He was a tired man. A tired man because he had a newborn daughter who had kept him awake. It was such an amazing thought he had to suppress the urge to tell each person that he met.

He paused on the most recent attack, scrawled by a hand that trembled with rage and relief. He could scarcely read what he had written. Perhaps he should go back and try and rewrite the events. It would not do to have them in such a mess. As distasteful as it was to him, it was important that others be able to decipher what he had written.

There was a tentative knock at the door. He looked up from the journal hoping that it was the wet nurse bringing his daughter for an unexpected visit.

“Enter”, he called.

The door opened and a tiny blonde figure peeked around the corner. He had completely forgotten! His heart sank as he remembered why he had called her there.

“Yew sent fer me yer Lordship”, she walked a few tiny steps into the centre of the room and stood there before him.

He saw that she was frightened. Her lips were pursed tightly so that he could see the pattern of her muscles tensing like scribbles beneath the golden-brown skin of her neck. She was staring down at him somberly, a small furrow between the brush strokes of her brows, her hands pulling nervously at her skirts. The rosy blush of her cheeks had faded, her face paling so that her freckles stood out like a sprinkling of punctuation.

She was only very young, though he had to remind himself only a year younger than his cousin, and he imagined it must be a very terrifying ordeal to meet with her Lord.

Lochan felt terrible remembering why he had chosen her. But they were good reasons and something had to be done.

He smiled congenially, hoping to calm her fears somewhat as well as to hide his distaste for what he was about to do.

“Yes, yes, please come in. Have a seat”, he offered, snapping his book shut and placing it on the growing pile before him.

She turned slowly to the door, pausing for a moment before it, then reached for the door handle with a trembling hand.

Lochan suddenly understood why she was frightened and was sickened. He was reminded of her supple young body as she turned, her dress straining against her thighs trembling like the letters on the page, the tips of one thick blonde braid seductively brushing invisible symbols against her breast. She who had not been tainted by the thoughtless hands of a man, tearing her innocence till all that was left lay shredded on the floor. And he of all men was the one man she could not refuse.

But Lochan was not that kind of man.

“Oh no… you may leave it open”, he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

Her hand dropped to her side as she stumbled over to the chair and lowered herself somewhat gracelessly into it.

“What was it yew were wantin’ from me yer Lordship”, she ventured through the clenched full stop of her mouth, her voice wavering over the syllables.

He saw that she was still frightened, though she seemed to be shaking less as she occasionally glanced over at the open door as though gaining strength from what it stood for.

He quickly began in order to ease her suffering, though what he wanted from her was perhaps a greater sacrifice than what she had thought.

“I need you to do something for me”, he cursed himself inwardly at his poorly chosen words as her eyes went wide.

“For all of us”, he went on hurriedly, “for your kingdom”.

She looked at him incredulously, her face a question mark, the muscles in her neck relaxing as her mouth softened.

“For goodness sakes, what on Earth could I be doin’ fer the kingdom ’sides what I already be doin’ now, workin’ in the kitchens and such?”

“Let me explain”, he tried to order his thoughts, over the guilt that was beginning to well inside him.

“You understand that we have had a number of attacks, as well as a murder”, she nodded carefully and he went on, “and I am sure you know by now that they were done by a man who did not travel to Mhalwae with us. This man perhaps, also has Sister Mella in his thrall as it is believed from what The Countess and Father Harndall could recall that she was perhaps responsible for the attacks made on them, though it may seem hard to believe”.

“You well know the problem we are facing here. It is not safe for anyone to be along outside after dark and now this man has become brazen enough to come onboard the ships”, he stopped for a moment as a shudder of rage slashed across his body.

“We need to stop this man and yet we cannot find where he is staying. The area within a days travel has been searched thoroughly and we can find neither hide nor hair of him. We don’t understand why he attacks when he does”.

She was looking at him, her brows curved into commas above her widened eyes. She didn’t understand what he was going to ask her to do and it was with the dendritic tendrils of a dark stain soaking into his weary heart that he continued.

“This last month we have tried many nights to set a trap for him, with one man out in the forest as … well as bait, and the rest well-hidden, waiting to see if he comes”.

“But so far he has not, and the only conclusion I can come to it that he prefers to prey on women”.

His voice caught in his throat like a dry quill scratching along an empty page, “So I wanted to ask if you would help us. If you would be our… our bait”.

She stared at him for a moment, soft wisps of hair framing the worry on her face.

Then the picture abruptly changed and she smiled widely, the corners of her mouth turning up like mistakes beside neat rows of teeth, her cheeks stained a rosy pink.

“Well if it’s bein’ givin’ me a chance to spend an evenin’ rolickin’ in the forest with the likes of yew men-folk then so be it”, she said with a wild giggle, “somebody’s got to be doin’ it and it might as well be me right. I ain’t got no husband to be a worryin’ or no baby to be a cryin’ now do I”.

He could see her fear beneath the thin layers of bravado as though he held it up to the light to peer through the finely woven fibres, but he admired her greatly for it. She was quite a woman and he was sorry that he had had to ask such a thing of her. He felt the soft thud of another blackened splot, she was clever, she knew why he had chosen her.

“But do I get to be choosin’ which night I’m to be runnin’ about on?”, she asked with a chuckle, “because between yew an’ me I’m thinkin’ the full moon’s a good one. Gives me more of a chance to be gazin’ at yew fine gentlemen… also perraps yew’ll be seein’ better if I do get into some kinda trouble… well I guess that’s what we be wantin isn’t it…”

He cut her off abruptly with his cry, “Of course! The full moon! How stupid of me. Why hadn’t I thought of that?”

He laughed and grinned at her, “You clever, clever lass. I have been sitting here puzzling over this all day and you saunter in and give me the answer just like that”.

“Er… ’scuse me askin’ and all yer lordship. But what answer have I been givin’. I thought I was just ramblin’ nonsense”.

“I’ve been sitting here this whole day, reading and thinking and wondering what the connection between the attacks has been. And it’s just that! The full moon. All the attacks have happened on the night of the full moon, though why I cannot say”.

He picked up his journal, riffling hurriedly through the pages, “Look here! Even the evening that Sir Arwaduhn was attacked was a full moon. Amazing. I can’t believe we didn’t realise it before. You wonderful thing… I could kiss you!”.

“I thought yew weren’t wantin’ me here for that after all though”, she laughed.

“Oh…”, she suddenly realised what she had said, her cheeks flaring bright red at her assumption.

“Oh sorry”, she grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry for what?”, he pretended ignorance to try to reduce her embarrassment, “well… no matter. We are done here if you would like to be on your way. In three nights time then?”

“I’ll be bein’ there if yew an’ my guard of honour will”, she laughed, her body curving out of the chair towards the door.

“Igrayne”, he called softly as she hurried through the door

“Yes me Lord”, she replied turning back.

“You can close the door now”.

She peeked back through and gave him a cheeky grin that ripped his spattered heart.

“Yes yer Lordship”, she smiled and clunked the door shut behind her.

He gazed at the closed door, a wooden punctuation mark at the end of a conversation that could not be rewritten.

He tried to tell himself that he had been right in choosing her. As she had said herself she was unmarried and childless, while most of the other women were not. And of the others could he have chosen the sister of the King’s steward or a fourteen year old girl. No, he had been right, she was the only one.

And yet the paper of his conscience was scrawled deeply in black with a dreadful request. He would send this girl into terrible danger for the good of them all.

He rested his torn face heavily in his waiting hands as the guilt continued to drip steadily, splattering in ugly patterns as it landed.

Igrayne was jumping up and down excitedly and Kelgar could not help but notice the way her ample breasts bounced with her. She had found the first flowers just outside the castle gates.

She bent down to pluck the unsuspecting thing from its stalk as Kelgar watched, her dress straining over her firm buttocks. He almost suppressed a laugh that a man like him and a woman like Nyawe had been sent to guard over these young innocents tonight. Of course Nyawe would not permit anything to happen now, but there was always later.

Maire rushed up to Igrayne, obviously about to congratulate her and then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth and merely grinned at her instead. Kelgar chuckled to himself. These young girls and their superstition.

The strange thing was, that while Maire and Igrayne jiggled and giggled and paraded around for his entertainment, he found his attention was almost entirely fixed on Lyiss. He could not particularly understand it. She was a rather plain girl but something about the sheen of her dusky skin, the faint shadows around the translucent skin of her eyes and the way she carried herself had him transfixed. He could not stop staring at the back of her slender neck, where the skin sometimes peeked shyly between the long strands of hair draped there. He longed to part that hair and brush his lips across the hidden soft skin, his arms wrapped around her scrawny waist.

She gracefully bent to pick a flower as his eyes followed. The other girls had heartily plucked, crushing the fragile blooms between their hurried fingers, shoving them into their apron pockets. Lyiss was different, her long pale fingers, moving down the stem achingly slowly, finding the weak point and carefully bending until the chosen flower was released and fell into her waiting hands in a lover’s swoon.

As he was watching Maire came and planted herself between them, her hands on hips that were tilted towards him.

He winked at her and she gave him a cheeky grin. She was a bold one this one, he thought but still he tried to gaze past her as Lyiss smoothly rose to her feet.

“Goodness me girls!”, Nyawe called from down the hill, “If you’re going to dawdle like this for every flower we’re going to be here to till the crock crows”.

Then she snickered, “Perhaps he will be crowing anyway… but enough of that. Let’s be on our way.”

It was Igrayne once again who found the next flowers, a patch of tiny white daisies scattered haphazardly across the ground. She had run on ahead and when they arrived she was grinning up at Kelgar as she lay among them.

“What have we got here then… look at all these beautiful daisies and the loveliest of all lying right in the middle. I think I would like to pluck that one”, he grinned wolfishly down at her as she blushed.

She leaped to her feet pummeling at his chest with her tiny fists and shaking with silent laughter. He noticed Lyiss watching him, over the top of Igrayne’s tiny golden head.

“All this dilly-dallying! Don’t you girls want to know who your husband will be? The sun setting and you’re only two flowers along. Enough flirting and lets be moving on”, Nyawe called out.

Kelgar looked over to see that she too was standing as Maire had, hands on hips, her slightly swollen belly swaying in his direction and he thought he detected a slightly brassy ring to her voice. So mama hen wanted to play too, he thought to himself with a grin. Well there was plenty of him to go round.

After searching for nearly an hour, Igrayne and Maire had managed to find all but one flower. This last one had proved much more difficult and they had searched everywhere. Kelgar was not willing to take them any further into the forest and so, he would have to deliver the disappointing news soon.

Then from the edge of the clearing came a delighted squeak and he looked up to see Lyiss clenching her fists in excitement, a glowing smile spread across her face.

His heart faltered then, tripping over its witty comments and winking replies. It was the first time she had smiled the whole night and it was a beautiful thing to behold, the faint glow of the swelling moon brushing her face and kissing her dimples.

She had found a tiny patch of flowers huddled at the base of a birch tree, shivering as the faint night breeze caressed their petals.

He regained his composure and sidled up to her, “Well done young lady well done! What would we have done without you, oh Lyiss of the flowers”.

“Surely you deserve a great reward for what you’ve done”, he lowered his voice huskily, raising a hand to pat her mock heartily on the shoulder.

Her face fell, smile wilting, the petals of her lips closing to shut out the night as the slender stem of her body arched away from his reaching hand. It dropped uselessly to his side.

She backed away from him, lowering herself to the ground to reverently cup the open flowers in her hands, their soft blush matching the one that was spreading across her face and down her neck.

He heard the shuffle of heather beneath determined feet and he looked up to see Maire standing beside him, gazing at him defiantly. These women… it was too much for him. What did they expect of him honestly.

“Well… I see we’re done then”, Nyawe snapped, “if you would hurry up and stop communing with the flowers Lyiss then we could head back to the castle. I’m quite parched and my poor aching back would very much like a sit down. Kelgar… perhaps you would be so good as to fetch me some ale when we return”.

Kelgar gaped at her, perhaps he had been wrong, four women was too many for one man to handle. All he wanted was to bury his face in a curtain of pale reddish hair and lie quietly for a while.

He felt a tiny arm slip through his and a warm breast pressing against his upper arm just below the metal plates of his armour.

He looked up sheepishly at Nyawe who was glaring at them both.

“Oh… how kind of you Kelgar, to offer your arm to a lady. Perhaps I might take your other so I don’t stumble and hurt the baby”.

Another arm slipping through his own, another warm larger breast pressing against his arm.

“Of course my lady. It would do me a great honour”, he replied, as they set off towards the castle gate.

“Very kind of you Kelgar”, Nyawe purred in his ear and he felt Maire’s body stiffen beside his.

He had been wrong, he thought he knew how to play the game but these women were more cunning than he could have imagined. Suddenly he was not so happy to be one of the only potential husbands on the island. And now he was trapped, wedged between two of them while another swayed her hips before him in the hope he might be watching.

But the only thing he was thinking of, the only thing he was watching was the tiny pink ear that was meekly glancing at him from behind the strands of hair tucked neatly behind it.