25th December 1102

Darina kept a firm hold on the door frame as she flung it open, ready to slam it again if she saw the dawn light glinting off fangs, or the gleam of blood red eyes half-hidden by the shadow of the house.

But in the hazy gloom of the morning her eyes made out two figures, the Baroness and Father Harndall. The rapid thumping in her chest subsided, the baby growing in her belly giving a few feeble kicks, so that for a brief moment it was as though she had monstrously grown two hearts, both hammering to detach themselves from her body.

She hastily rearranged her features, her fingers loosening their strangle hold, she clasped her hands in friendly glee. The Baroness was still clothed in her Christmas finery the flowing, soft material fell down her body like a dark waterfall. Darina knew this because it was she who had spent so many evenings, squinting in the faint light of the candle, peering down at the needle as she deftly drew it through the heavy material that was draped over her swelling body. Yes, this Christmas had been a lucrative time for the Rawtharns, with the old finery of the nobles growing drab and motheaten in damp, musky chests on the ship. It had been a good year for the Rawtharns, though no thanks to her useless husband. She heard that the Ulcar’s had a barn up (though on inspection it had turned out to be shoddy, all drafts and creaking walls). Thank goodness she had saved enough money to entice another farmhand or two. This year would be different. She was the only seamstress of any talent on the island and there was always a need for new clothing. She could only hope that some contact with the outside world would come before the meagre materials she had to work with completely ran out. Then all she would be was a glorified darner.

“Goodness me, I certainly wasn’t expecting to find yew at my door Yer Ladyship, Father, a Merry Christmas to yew both” she acknowledged them with a bright smile, all the while desperately curious as to why they were here in the first place.

Not only that, but why was the Baroness still wearing her party dress, the Christmas Eve dinner must have been long over. Had they stayed up all night? Darina could only imagine, the steaming plates heaped high with delicious food, the fine dresses that had been created by her very own red cracked hands whirling about in the candlelight. The handsome men in their fine tunics, the bubbling conversation, the laughter, the wine. All of it was so out of reach as to be intangible. She heard Aisling snuffling behind her and felt a brief but powerful stab of hatred for the small girl. What use was a girl with pointed ears?

“Goodwife Rawtharn, I have come to ask you a favour. I hope we weren’t interrupting your Christmas celebrations?”

“Oh goodness no,” she replied, grinning widely,”we had our dinner last night, same as yew. Today is just another day.”

We had our dinner, same as you but it was salted pork and potatoes with a small cup of watered down ale. They had sat silently around the table, Darina’s drab dress with its scratchy material weighing heavily on her knees as she scowled across at her worthless husband while he doted on the small child on his knee who gazed up at him with the barest, starkest adoration. Nobody ever looked at her like that. She had stroked her belly then, a silent plea to the child within that it would be normal and whole and nothing like its father.

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind if the Father stays with you for a few hours. I imagine it won’t be long, he could just… use the company.”

“Oh, has something happened,” she stared out at the priest, slit eyes gleaming with curiosity.

He looked hagged in the early light, which had come creeping, cold and stark this morning. The chill of impending snow was in the air, a stinging tang that filled the lungs clenching and icy. Harndall’s face was all hollows, each one filled with a pool of shadow. Only his blue eyes, faintly peering out of the darkness, his jaw line set and hard.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with Goodwife. It would just be a great favour to both me and His majesty the King.”

She was absolutely dying to know what was going on, but of course she could not ask this great lady who was shivering on her front doorstep. She suddenly realised that the Baroness has no cloak. What on earth could have happened that she rushed out on a morning like this with no cloak?

“Certainly, Engin dear, Father Harndall is going to be stayin’ with us fer breakfast an’ perraps a bit longer.”

She heard Engin’s grunt of reply as he lifted his body from the creaking chair. She knew he was clambering over to Aisling who was sitting behind her somewhere, whimpering nervously. Stupid girl.

“Thank you Goodwife. You are very kind. Come along Father.”

They trailed into the small cabin, the Baroness regal, the soft folds over her dress, flowing and clinging to her plump body, the Father hunched and shambling, his face sorrowful.

“I must be going now,” the Baroness intoned, “but I will send someone back before long.”

Darina smiled pleasantly, “Of course Yer Ladyship. But yew simply must be borrowing a cloak, the snow’s comin’ an yew must be half frozen.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” she nodded her assent.

Beside her, Aisling was snuffling quietly, burying her face in her father’s shoulder, clinging weakly to his shirt while he crooned and murmured to her. She felt a surge of irritation. It was no way to behave in front of a Baroness.

The Baroness turned to Father Harndall, “I will send someone soon,” she murmured.

He looked at her, his face full of grief and protested quietly, “I did not do it Your Ladyship.”

“Then I am sure the Lord will protect you,” she said softly.

What in heaven’s name had the Father done. Darina was desperate to know and she would not stop turning the wheels of gossip until she had found out.

Rawtharn, Tadhgar, The Church