There was a soft knock at the door. Igrayne looked up wearily as it slowly swung open.

The duke stood in the doorway with a brittle smile.

“May I come in”, he asked politely.

“Yes of course Yer Lordship”, she said, wiggling into a sitting position, straightening her nightgown, “But I’m afraid I’m not bein’ that decently dressed fer visitors”.

No silk and velvet, she smiled to herself thinking of her conversation with Arran a few days earlier.

“And you should just note that I am leaving the door open”, he said softly.

It had become a bit of a joke between them now that Igrayne knew that the Duke had guessed what she had thought that first day. But he was kind and his joking was gentle so Igrayne did not feel embarrassed at all. She smiled wanly up at him, her face aching with the effort.

He peered at her in the candlelight and she saw the corners of his mouth drooping, his lower lip trembling. She must look ghastly, she thought, a lump rising in her throat, tears welling up in her eyes. She swallowed hard, blinking furiously. She would not cry in front of a Duke.

He walked slowly into the room and stood before her, his eyes never leaving her face. She sat, awkwardly perched on the edge of the bed, trying to make her aching body as still as possible. She didn’t know what to do, should she speak or wait for him to say something. Oh, if only he would say something.

He looked down at her, his glistening eyes tracing the raw red wounds that zig-zagged across her face, the bruises scattered all over like a garden of rotten flowers.

His face was written with horror and remorse as he looked at her and she resisted the urge to sob and hide her broken face away behind her mangled fingers.

“Igrayne…”, he moaned, her name rattling wetly from the depths of his chest.

“Igrayne…”, it was the sound of the wind, groaning between the creaking branches of the dead trees in the churchyard.

He stared at her face, his eyes blank and unseeing. She shivered superstitiously, resisting the urge to cross herself.

“Igrayne…”, his voice was the rhythmic chanting of a funeral dirge, echoing in the rotting air of her tomb.

“Yer Lordship…”, she cried, desperate to interrupt this terrifying eulogy to her still living body, “I…”.

His trembling hands came up, hovering in the air before her face, his fingers curved as though they lay tenderly on her cheek, “Your face… your pretty little face”.

Her breathing quickened, her breast rising and falling rapidly beneath the clinging material of her shift. Suddenly she was certain he was going to touch her with those shaking hands, those man’s hands and she was utterly terrified. He lurched forward, his head so close to hers she could hear his breath ripping raggedly from his lungs, could feel it burning hot against her swollen face.

She panicked but she could not move, her whole body rigid with fear. All he had to do was reach out his hand.

“Igrayne…”, her name whistled hollowly through his grinding teeth

Suddenly he fell to his knees at her feet, his fumbling hands clasping on of her between them.

“Please forgive me Igrayne”, his whole body was shuddering in distress as she sat immobile, gazing down at him in shock, “I have done you a great wrong”.

“Oh Yer Lordship I… it weren’t yer fault what happened”, she murmured, “Yew did all yew could… yew weren’t to be knowin’ it would be like that”.

He moaned, a dreadful guttural sound and laid his hot, damp face against her hand. She carefully curled her injured hand away from him, terrified that he would clutch at the broken fingers too.

“Please forgive me”, he sighed wretchedly, his head resting heavily on her trembling hand.

“Well of course I’ll be forgivin’ yew, though I don’t think yew’ve been doin’ nothing wrong”, she stumbled over her words, unsure of what was the right course of action when one had a Duke’s head resting on their lap.

She heard quick footsteps coming down the hallway and looked up in dismay at the Baroness standing in the open doorway.

“Oh Lochan! Leave the poor girl alone. Hasn’t she had enough… does she have to have you slobbering in remorse all over her hand too”, she interjected cheerfully.

“Yer Ladyship… I… we… we weren’t doin’ nothin’”, she mumbled, slowly sliding her hand from Lochan’s grasp as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

“Of course you weren’t you poor dear. My cousin, the Duke is just a little upset over what has happened”, she strode quickly to Lochan’s side, resting her fingers gently on his arm and leading him away.

“Lochan dear”, she murmured, stroking his arm softly, “You really should get some sleep, your King needs you and so do your people. It wasn’t your fault”.

He seemed to gain some strength from her words. He turned to Igrayne with a sombre smile, “She’s probably right. I haven’t slept well for weeks, though perhaps it’s due to a certain small person who has taken up residence in my room and isn’t to fond of sleep herself”.

“I am very sorry though”, he murmured as he walked through the open door.

Cindra came and plonked herself down on the bed next to Igrayne as she awkwardly shuffled over to make room for the Baroness.

“Poor man. He really blames himself for your injuries”, she said, “He asked me to come here and talk with you”.

“Oh… it’s really not bein’ his fault, he was protectin’ me as best anyone could. An’ I’m alright, I’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time”, she smiled tentatively.

“I’m glad to hear it”, Cindra said giving her a cheerful pat on her leg, “because I have a proposition to make to you”.

Igrayne looked at her puzzled as she continued, “You see, my maid Bessie, God rest her soul was killed in the fighting and I haven’t had the heart to take on another since that time”.

“But things aren’t so easy now that I have Atholt. And as you know my husband has been ill lately”, her face went briefly dark, “So what I am saying is that I could use some help again and Lochan suggested you might make a good companion for me”.

“So what do you think?”, she gazed at Igrayne shrewdly, one curl escaping from behind her ear.

“Yer Ladyship”, Igrayne cried in dismay, “I don’t think I’m bein’ worthy enough nor skilled to be takin’ the job of a Baroness’ maid. Perraps yew should be choosin’ someone else”.

Cindra chuckled, “Of course you’re skilled enough Igrayne. It’s much less work than slaving away in that kitchen like you have been doing. You know how to lace a dress and rock a baby to sleep. And I wager you know how to gossip which is my main priority of course”.

She grinned wickedly at Igrayne and winked.

“Well… I dunno Yer Ladyship…”.

“Oh please Igrayne”, she smiled widely at her, her pink cheeks glowing in the candlelight, “It will be such fun and I think we are going to be great friends”.

Igrayne was amazed that she was being so kind to her, that this great lady, a Baroness, wanted her, little old Igrayne to be her maid and companion. She didn’t know how to reply.

“So what do you say… please… pleeeease”, Cindra wheedled, “You’ll get new dresses and I can fix your hair. It will be such fun”.

“Well… I guess a new dress would be nice”, Igrayne mumbled shyly.

“It’s settled then! Let’s choose a pattern right now”.

Murchadh, Tadhgar