There was a timid knock at the door. Igrayne looked up in surprise. Hepsie had already been to check on her today and of course Maire never bothered to knock, flinging the door to their room widely heedless of what was going on inside. Igrayne had become used to ripping her dresses frantically over her head and stuffing her body into her nightgown. Otherwise anyone else who might happen to be walking past at the time would be granted a full view of her body and Igrayne intended to keep that privilege for her husband.

“Come in”, she croaked, swallowing painfully to try and clear her dry throat.

The door shyly swung open on its hinges to reveal Arran standing nervously in the corridor. His murky green eyes were wide, peeking cautiously from beneath his unruly fringe.

“I… er… well that is to be sayin’… I guess… well… er…”, he stumbled over his words, his cheeks beginning to blush ferociously his freckles blurring together with the hot glow of his cheeks.

“I just wanted to see if yew were feelin’ better”, he finally settled on, “and Hepsie said yew may be havin’ visitors now”.

He hovered uncertainly in the doorway until she remembered her manners, “Oh… of course, well be comin’ in then”.

“I hope yer not mindin’ me lyin’ here in my nightgown an’ all”.

Now it was her turn to blush, the warm heat painfully rushing across her bruised cheeks. She turned her head in embarrasment.

“There’s bein’ a chair just there yew can sit on Arran”, she mumbled.

He leaned down to pick it up and her eyes moved across the contours of his collar-bone, the lean ropy muscles flexing as he lifted it. They dragged downwards to the dark curling hair that was scattered across his chest, the skin beneath, a warm golden in the candlelight. As he bent down his shirt fell away from his chest, hanging loosely and Igrayne’s gaze slid down to the shadowed lines of his body.

She felt hot and dizzy, her face glowing even brighter when she realised she was staring at him. She had never looked further than Arran’s boyish face and she was disconcerted at the man’s body that lay beneath. She hurriedly propped herself up in the bed to hide her discomfort, shuffling along the bed side carefully pushing down her nightdress which was threatening to ride up around her thighs.

“It was nice of yew to be visitin’ Arran”, she chirped with a smile that pulled at the edges of the bloody cuts that covered her face.

Her face… she had been so proud of how it looked before, sneaking a quick look when she passed by the windows, peering into the basin when no one was looking to admire her reflection. She had begged Hepsie to let her see after feeling the swollen ridges, the ragged edges of torn skin that ran rampant across her face. She had cried when she saw, the tears running down her cheeks, stinging as they ran over raw wounds, salty as they ran into her open sobbing mouth.

Hepsie had pressed her close and murmured that it would be alright, her face would heal and she would be just as beautiful as before. But while she held her in her soft, warm arms, Igrayne could not help but think of the ugly, twisted ankle hidden beneath Hepsie’s carefully darned skirts.

Well… she thought with a wry smile, at least Maire would be happy now the competition had been removed. No man would want a woman who looked like she did.

She knew that Arran was horrified by what he saw too, he could not keep it from his open, honest face. She knew as he gazed at her, his eyes wet and glimmering like stagnant pools that he saw Nell’s mangled face mirrored in her own.

He took a deep sucking breath, rattling wetly up from the depths of his chest, “I wanted to be apologisin’ to yew fer the things I gone an’ said the other night”.

“I guess I went an’ got a bit confused what with all that was happenin’ but I didn’ mean to cause any distress to yew”.

He looked up at her, his trusting face a parchment of pain that was so raw, so intense she could not bear to read. He looked up at her like a dog that expects to be kicked and thrown out in the cold but still clings to the hope that this time will be different.

She felt ill as she remembered all of the times she and her friends had laughed over awkward Arran Barran with his clumsy hands and his stutter. How they had made fun of Nell, poor sweet Nell when she had told them she was to marry him. The nausea churned as she remembered the dreadful things she had said, the conversations with Maire. How funny they had found it when Nell did not get pregnant year after year, how they had teased her and made her weep. Oh poor dear Nelly, they had cried, you should have chosen a man with a better name.

How wrong they had been, how stupid and silly. She carefully curled her hand around the swollen bent fingers of the other, hanging her head in shame.

“Oh Arran… yew certainly don’t need to be apologisin’ to me”, she murmured.

“I want to thank yew fer stayin’ by my side that night an’ helpin’ me when all the rest of em’ ran off an left me fer dead”, she shuddered at the sudden raw memory that lurched into her head like an animated corpse.

“An of course I must be thankin’ yew fer comin’ to visit me”, she swiftly changed topic and then cursed herself when she realised she had already said so.

He smiled wanly up at her, “Oh it was bein’ no trouble, no trouble at all. I would have been comin’ sooner but Hepsie said yew were too ill to be seein’ anyone”.

“Oh… but I am sorry to have to be receiving you in such dire dwellings”, she put on her best noble accent as she pretended to gaze around in distate at the room.

“And of course I am not bein’ I mean I am not dressed properly for company such as yourself. I should be bein’ er dressed in my finest velvet”.

He gave a relieved grin and chuckled, “Yes, because with my fine clothes an’ all I am entirely insulted by yer, ah your disheveled appearance. Next time I hope yew will be er do better”.

She smiled as best she could though reminded of her ruined face. Her cheeks ached at the effort, the corners of her mouth tugging painfully at the edges of the cuts threatening to drag them open again. In her lap, she carefully traced the lumpy mess of broken bones with her good hand, running her fingers along them like the beads of a rosary.

“Yes Arran, I will try to be doin’ better next time”.