8th November 1102

The days were growing short and dark and Lyiss felt the weight of the approaching winter pressing down on her like a smothering blanket. Soon it would be too cold for her to walk outside and she would be confined to stifling rooms with too hot fires, having stifling conversations with stifling women.

The air was frigid today, she could almost feel the icy touch of the snowflakes that would soon coat the landscape with oppressive white. White was such a dull colour, she preferred almost anything to it, though she also shied away from hueless black. None of the other seasons were so blank and unfeeling, like the empty canvas of a painter too depressed and miserable to make a single brushstroke. Already the sky was relentlessly grey and the only sun she would see for months would be weak and bland by the time it reached her.

She gazed up at the trees above her trying to memorise the fading browns and yellows of autumn. Soon the final clinging leaves would spin slowly to the ground leaving the stark silhouettes of branches stripped bare.

Startled out of her reverie by the gentle whinnying of a horse she noticed the Earl carefully rubbing down a beautiful, chestnut horse.

She was suddenly extremely aware of the minute workings of her heart, particularly as it was beginning to thud with an alarming tempo. Behind her the waves pounded onto the shore, running up the sand with a hiss.

She watched as his large hands clasping the brush slowly moved up and down the horse’s shivering flanks. The mare nickered occasionally, bringing her head around to but gently at this shoulder. She could hear the muffled sound of his laughter, carried to her on a gust of frigid air.

She shuffled up the road towards him all the while watching as he bent down to whisper something into the mare’s twitching ear. He had moved on to her mane and was drawing the brush through the thick hair, firmly working out the tangled snarls that had formed around her muscular neck.

Lyiss’ foot scuffed noisily on the gravel path and he turned in alarm, his face twisted into an angry scowl. When he saw her his features softened.

“Good day Mistress Elmvarn”, he murmured, turning back to picking burrs from the golden mane of his mare.

“Good day Your Lordship”, she choked, blushing bright red, her face flaming hot despite the chill of the November afternoon.

“Do you like horses?”, he inquired in a quiet voice, gesturing towards the handsome animal stamping her feet on the frosty ground and snorting impatiently.

“Yes”, she mumbled, the fire in her cheeks flaring higher.

“Well come on then”, he gestured for her to come closer, barely turning from the horse.

“She’s beautiful isn’t she”, he whispered reverently.

Lyiss nodded silently.

The horse gave a derisive whinny, shifting her weight from one long limb to the other.

“She thinks me stupid for saying so as you can see”, he chuckled with a small smile.

“What is her name?”, Lyiss asked softly, his quiet laugh giving her a momentary boldness.

“Sæglópur”, he replied, his tongue rolling over the foreign sounds.

“That’s beautiful”, she breathed, “what does it mean?”

“It means lost at sea”, he replied with a small frown.

He shrugged as though casting off an unpleasant memory then turned to her again, his face gentle.

“Would you like to touch her?”

“Yes”, she breathed.

“Well go on then”, he rasped with a throaty laugh.

She moved forward, holding one hand toward the horse’s nose, letting her smell the scent of her skin. The soft nostrils flared slightly as she moved her muzzle over Lyiss’ trembling hand. The breath coming from Sæglópur was warm and her nostrils tickled her fingers till she shimmied with pleasure.

“It tickles”, she giggled.

He did not reply and when she flicked her eyes to the side she saw that he was gazing at her with a bemused smile.

He reached out a strong hand and ran it along Sæglópur’s rippling haunch. Lyiss gave an involuntary shiver, an unwarranted image springing into her mind of that steady hand firmly stroking down from her hip along the outer length of her thigh.

The blood thundered in her ears, and pulsed in her cheeks, which flamed red with a dark embarrassment and guilt. She buried her face in the stiff hair of Sæglópur’s mane so he would not see her blush. The horse smelt dusty and raw, the sweat of an afternoon run clinging to her hide and beneath it the more subtle smell of the man who had clung to her back with his powerful hands leading her this way and that with a clench of his thighs.

She brushed her soft lips against Sæglópur’s scratchy hide, the achingly sensitive skin tingling at the prickle of bristling hairs. Her face began to cool and she risked a quick glance towards Radomir. He was still smiling at her. It was strange, now that she thought of it she did not believe she had ever seen him smile. His face was usually twisted into a stony grimace or an unimpressed scowl. She wished he should smile more often. He seemed so much more accessible with that smile. Not the frightening man she had always imagined him to be, nor the terrifyingly vulnerable man she had met that day in the stables.

She searched for something to say feeling awkward.

“How is your wife?” she blurted out.

Before the words were out of her mouth she realised it had been completely the wrong thing to say. The smile slid from his face as rapidly as the sun hidden behind the smothering blanket of grey. She did not know when she would see it again and perhaps then it would only be weak and bland compared to the open smile of today.

He glared at her stonily.

“I think you should go now”, he commanded huskily.

Without a word she did, turning quickly on her heel to flee from that frozen face. She was glad he could not see her expression which was starting to melt into a mess with the flushed warmth of her cheeks, stupid tears pooling in her eyes and threatening to dribble down.

She was such a fool.

She stumbled towards the castle, trying her best to walk in a dignified manner but scuffing her feet clumsily as she went. She almost turned quickly back to see if he was watching her but stopped herself in time remembering the embarrassing tears. Her face prickled as the first flakes of snow began to fall, melting wetly on her hot cheeks and mingling with the tears.

Elmvarn, Moraghdu