The door thudded softly shut behind Lisbet leaving Garrick and Cindra staring at one another, as her footsteps trailed off down the hallway. Neither said anything or moved for long moments. Garrick felt a tiny trickle of blood working its way along the creases of his forehead.

“Garrick, you’re bleeding”, Cindra said, reaching her hand up towards his face.

“Don’t touch it”, he snapped through gritted teeth, his head jerking out of reach of her outstretched fingers.

His skull was throbbing dully, a burning pain flaring at the spot where her icy lips had touched his skin. He had not realised he was bleeding when he had awoken, there had only been the familiar aching wrench of separation and the fiery pain. But this time it seemed worse than the others, blood oozing steadily from the ragged mouth of the wound she had left. He felt ill, his stomach churning, an acid taste in the back of his throat. He had slept yet he still felt exhausted, it had been all he could do to drag his heavy feet down from the castle. He was desperate for more sleep and yet, he was so very afraid of what awaited him there. It frightened him too that there was a small part of him that hoped he would never wake up.

“Don’t you go talking to me like that Garrick”, Cindra shouted, her tiny fists clenching into angry balls, “It’s not my fault if you went and got yourself into another drunken brawl”.

From his viewpoint high above her she looked tiny, her cheeks flushed red with anger, her breasts heaving with each fuming breath. Not so very long ago he would have laughed and swept her up in his arms, kissing her red, screwed up face until she was laughing too, her anger forgotten. But so much had changed between them since now and the distance had somehow become too great for him to even reach out his hand and touch her.

“What is it Garrick… the third time this month?!!”, she shrieked, “I’m sick of you crawling back in here, drunk and bleeding. You are an embarrassment to yourself. An embarrassment to me!”.

“For you information woman I am not drunk. And I was not in a brawl. I just banged my head on a rafter in the stables. If you would just keep your nose out of places it doesn’t belong and leave me be then we wouldn’t have a problem”, he barked at her.

He couldn’t help the anger welling up inside him from the heady churning, mixture of fear and alcohol that dwelled inside him these days. It no longer mattered if he drank all night, she would still find her way into his dreams when he dozed off during the day, winding her frigid fingers amongst his hair, her icy lips whispering at his ear. He was so very frightened, frightened for himself but more importantly frightened for Cindra. He knew she had dreamt of Isabelle too. What if she hurt Cindra. He just couldn’t let it happen. If she would only leave him be. He was a dangerous man to get close to.

“I just don’t understand Garrick! You never speak to me anymore. What is going on?! I don’t believe that you just hit your head again. You come in here, bleeding and you won’t even explain to me what has happened. I’m frightened”, she raised her hand shakily towards his face.

It hung in the air between them for a minute, twitching like a puppet on a string, then fell to her side the fingers wringing folds of her skirt mercilessly between them.

“The only thing wrong is that I have a wife who thinks she can spend all her time hounding me with questions and no time in my bed. Someone should teach you to shut your mouth Cindra and open your legs because that’s all you’re any good for”, the words burned up like acid from his stomach, stinging his lips even as they opened to let them out.

“Not that I could care less. I’m too damn tired to even want that from you”, he snarled pushing past her to the bed.

He felt sickened by what he had said but perhaps it had done the job. Maybe now she would stay away from him. Maybe then Isabelle would leave her and little Atholt alone.

A soft sigh came from behind him, long and low as though Cindra were exhaling the final tattered remnants of the happiness of their life together.

He turned around and gazed down at her. Her soft pink lips were parted slightly as the breath rushed out between them. Her eyes were squeezed together tightly as she tried to hold in the tears he could already see collecting on her lashes. Her face was still flushed, the tip of bulbous little nose turning pink as it always did when she was upset. Her shoulders had slumped, her arms hanging limply at her sides. She stood there unmoving, a carved effigy of grief, the only sign of life the tiny trembling of her bottom lip as the last dregs of her sigh dragged over it.

Suddenly she crumbled, her plump lips opening into a silent sob, her tiny hand flying up to her face. The tears spilled free, pouring unheeded over the smooth curves of her plump cheeks. Her shoulders caved in around the frame of her body, her pretty head hanging low.

It was too much for him, he was not strong enough to hurt his wife like this even if it meant saving her from something much worse.

“Cindra I’m sorry”, he whispered, leaning down towards her, “I didn’t mean it”.

“I’m just so very frightened”, the words were out before he could stop them and suddenly she was standing straight again staring at him, her eyes wet with tears.

“Who did that to you Garrick?”, she murmured, her voice choked with tears.

He was very close to her now, his tall body bending at the waist so his face was beside hers. He could not bear to look her in the eyes, could not let his body touch hers.

“Isabelle”, it came out as a hollow croak, barely squeezing through his dry, constricted throat. The name that had once flowed from his mouth in happy ringing tones a dozen times a day.

His entire body was trembling uncontrollably, so that he felt he would shake apart if he didn’t find something firm to hold fast to. And then he felt two small hands on his hips, sliding softly around his bulky waist to rest warmly in the small of his back.

His body shook with a held back sob, as he plunged forward, his face meeting with the soft material covering her shoulder, his lips brushing against the flushed skin of her neck.

He felt her breath hot against his ear and heard her whisper, “Don’t be afraid my love, my dear heart. We won’t let her hurt us anymore”.

She had understood. He had not even had to speak the words. She was the very dearest thing he could imagine, his little wife.

He stood tall, pulling her against his body. She hung from his waist, her head drooping languidly on her neck like a wilted flower. He kissed her softly on the forehead, the warm scent of her hair filling his nostrils. It had been so very long since she had let him hold her close, so very long since he had felt worthy to do so.

“Lie with me Garrick”, her sad little mouth murmured, as she tilted her lips up to meet his.