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.