31st October, 1102

Igrayne rounded the corner in time to see Polina launching her swollen body at Arran.

“Arran love!”, she cried slightly too enthusiastically, “Happy Birthday!”

Before Arran could reply she had wrapped her arms around his awkward body and was pressing her swaying belly against him. Igrayne saw Arran struggling to stay on his feet as the weight hit him but Polina, like many pregnant women did not seem to notice she was twice her normal size.

She gripped Arran’s stiff body like as though she were trying to wrestle him to the ground, all the while patting him heartily on the back. Igrayne was starting to wonder if Arran could breath when Polina finally released him.

Igrayne’s gaze strayed over to where Illewen was standing rigid, her back as straight and tall as the mountains of granite that rose behind her, stained pink in the afternoon light. Her face was a stony relief, every line and shadow a craved eulogy of grief. No more than two months ago this woman had seen her young husband put in the ground and Igrayne could not help but wonder, on this hallowed night, how many steps behind her his dead soul followed.

Polina’s voice startled her out of her musing, “Illewen and I thought we best be stopping by to give yew our best wishes on this happy day, didn’t we Wen”.

She gently tugged at Illewen’s arm, twining her own around, as though trying to coax an answer from her unyielding body.

Illewen didn’t reply, staring towards the sea, the dying rays of sunlight pooling in her sad, brown eyes.

“Didn’t we Wen”, Polina gave her friend a small jab in the side.

Illewen blinked, her face softening though her body remained as rigid as a wooden puppet. She turned her head jerkily, the corners of her mouth uplifting slightly as though pulled by two deftly tugged strings.

“Oh yes, we did”, she murmured to Arran, gazing at him with her soft, doe eyes, “Happy Birthday Arran”.

“Thank yew Goodwife Corstead”, Arran replied, blushing to the roots of his unruly hair as Illewen winced at the reminder of her loss.

Gena, unaware of their reactions interjected, “Oh but yew two must be stayin’ fer supper. Igrayne already agreed to join us an’ there’s bein’ plenty to go round as Noah just slaughtered one of them pigs”.

“That would be lovely Goodwife Ulcar, if yer sure”, Polina replied quickly with a wide toothy smile.

“Of course I’m bein’ sure. It would be lovely fer Arran wouldn’t it, an’ it’s that warm the men folk can carry the table outside an’ we can be eating under the stars”, she replied heartily, with a smile that mirrored Polina’s though she could not have known it.

Illewen looked ill, turning her head slightly towards Polina with a pleading expression. Polina refused to meet her eyes.

“Well sure, I certainly wasn’ expectin’ no celebration but it would be lovely to have more company”, Arran smiled wistfully.

“Well, it’s settled then. Won’t this be fine!”, Polina continued to smile, “Now can we be helping’ yew with something’”.

“That would be fine, would yew ladies join me in the kitchen?”, Gena’s voice had grown shrill with excitement and she kept rubbing her hands nervously against her apron, as though they were dirty “This surely is going to be a party to remember”.

Igrayne sneaked a look at Illewen’s face. Her eyes were tightly shut so that all her lashes stood almost straight. She was beautiful, even in her sorrow. Perhaps the dark shadows beneath her eyes gave more character to her pale, unblemished face. Her lips were soft and kissable even though they drooped at the corners. And her smooth, unbroken skin. How could any man not desire to run his hands across her soft, pale cheeks?

Igrayne self-consciously traced the ridges and bumps that marred the side of her face, running her fingers down to find the puckered skin just above her lip. With a sigh she turned to follow Gena reluctantly up the stairs as Arran disappeared around the side of the house.

Barran, Shildfrith