31st October 1102

It was unseasonably warm for the end of October, the afternoon sun’s rays gently kissing her face as she walked from the ships. The fresh, earthy smell of the neatly ploughed fields mingled with the salty air as it wafted onshore with the faint breeze.

All Hallows’ Eve, the night according to tradition that the thin line between dead and living was blurred, the dead prowling silently amongst them. It seemed improbable that a man with such an unlucky name could be born on such an unlucky day.

And yet, with the warm rays of afternoon sunlight caressing her face the dead seemed terribly far away. It was almost possible for Igrayne to forget the scars that marred her face, to forget the dreadful killings only a week earlier. On such a warm, sweet afternoon the sunlight swept away the nighttime fears that always clawed their way back as darkness fell on the island.

Igrayne was not thinking of the dead. She was thinking of the neatly ploughed fields and of the lean arms that had pushed that plough, occasionally reaching up to brush away an unruly fringe that had no concern if it fell into a pair of worried, green eyes. She found herself grinning uncontrollably as she walked up the path.

She had not yet reached the front steps when the door was flung open. Gena hovered nervously in the doorway.

“Hepsie love, is that bein’ yew?”, she called.

Startled, Igrayne hurriedly composed her face, tugging the corners back down from their goofy flight of fancy. Then, blushing, she remembered that Gena could not see her expression anyway.

“No, no Goodwife Ulcar, it’s me, Igrayne”, she cheeped timidly reaching her hands out towards the blind woman as she made her way down the path to join her.

“Igrayne! Yew must be callin’ me Gena though. What a pleasure that yew came, I suppose yer here to see a certain birthday lad eh?”,

“Yes, yes. I thought I might just wish him Happy Birthday if he happened to be around”.

She felt herself blushing bright red, and thought in dismay of the skin around her scars which would be turning a raw crimson. But then, Gena could not see her scars.

“Oh well ain’t that a sweet thing”, Gena cooed, “we’re havin’ a dinner fer him, perraps yew’d like to be stayin?”

“Oh no really Goodwife. I don’t want to impose upon yew… you. I shall just say a quick hello to Arran if he’s here and then I best be off and leave you to yer celebration”.

“Gena love, and yew simply must be staying. I’m certain Arran would have wanted yew himself but I think he doesn’ like askin’ fer things. Always worryin’ about causing us too much trouble yew see. As if the poor lad could be trouble if he tried”.

“Oh, I really don’t think I could”, she protested feebly though she would have loved to stay.

“Now love, yew simply must be. Arran, he don’t have many friends an’ he certain has a special fondness fer yew. Mentions yew that often. Yew should a heard him crowin’ bout yew all fine in yer new gowns, a lady’s maid to be sure”.

Gena couldn’t see the pleased, glowing smile that was rampantly spreading its way across Igrayne’s face.

“Silly me, let me be calling him fer yew. Arran!”, she called loudly.

“Gena!”, she heard a frightened reply from inside the house and then thumping footsteps.

He tumbled through the door, tripping down the front steps before he noticed Igrayne.

He stopped suddenly, staring at her in shock.

“Don’t yew be worryin’ Arran, it’s only Igrayne here to see yew”.

Igrayne felt her face growing hotter under the warmth of his gaze, and it suddenly felt as though she had accidentally swallowed a clutch of butterfly eggs, which were now hatching fully grown butterflies that batted against the sides of her stomach.

He came slowly down the stairs, as though a single clumsy move would startle her back, pelting along the road that she had come.

“Yes I”, she coughed trying to clear the butterfly that was flapping in the back of her throat, “I just came to wish you a happy birthday Arran”.

It had been Maire’s idea, Maire who had sent her trundling off down the road with a quick kiss and a good luck. Now as she looked at his uncomprehending face she wished she were still in the kitchen, watching while Maire kneaded the dough and wishing she had the courage to go and wish Arran a happy birthday.

“Yew came all this way to tell me that?”, his voice was half-pleading as though he expected her to tell him it was only a joke and run laughing away her blonde plaits flying.

“It’s not very far to come”, Igrayne protested softly and then wished she hadn’t said so.

But he was smiling at her now, the tentative expression vanished in a trusting, open grin.

“Nobody ever done it fer me before”, he murmured.

She felt herself beaming at him in return, her smile so wide it tugged painfully at his scars. She was frightened too, to trust him with such a smile.

Gena who could not see their smiles interrupted the silence.

“I was tellin’ Igrayne she must be stayin’ fer yer dinner”.

“Oh yes Igrayne, yew simply must be”, the excited expression on his face suddenly fell.

“If yew wanted to that is”, he looked worried again, his brow wrinkled, expecting that this would be when she finally revealed her brilliant farce and left laughing cruelly.

She felt sick inside for all the time she and her friends had.

“Of course Arran. That would be really lovely”, his look of relief made her want to cry.

“Well I got to be gettin’ back to the dinner. Perraps yew should be showin’ Igrayne the view from round the back. Arran an’ Noah are always tellin’ me its a pretty place to watch the sunset from. Will yew take her Arran”.

“Yes of course, it is bein’ very pretty”, Arran replied, a frantic blush racing across his face.

Gena was already gone, closing the door behind her with a definite click.

Arran and Igrayne stared at each other awkwardly for a long moment.

Desperate for something to say Igrayne opened her mouth letting a mass of nonsense fly out, “You see Arran… I promised I’d be more finely dressed next time we saw each other”.

He laughed in relief, ” Yes, yew most definitely are Igrayne, velvet and such. But yew looked very fine in yer nightgown too, oh!”.

Igrayne thought he couldn’t have blushed any redder but she was wrong, the red flush spread all the way down his neck and in amongst the curly black hair on his chest. She was blushing furiously too, and she imagined they both looked as though they had been sitting in the sun for too long.

“Perhaps we should go and see that sunset”, she stuttered.

“Yes! Yes! Great!. Just follow me”.

She did so willingly as he led her around the house where Gena’s neat vegetable garden lay with a neat rows of apple trees behind, the small, growing saplings almost as tall as Igrayne.

Before them lay the sea, a glowing blue with the heavy weight of the soft pink clouds pressing down against it. They met at the horizon, the cool, still water lying beside the rosy pink blush of the sky, barely touching.

“It’s beautiful Arran”, she whispered.

Barran, Ulcar