25th December 1102

“Come in,” a soft voice came from behind the wooden door and Lochan carefully swung it open.

Varda lay back on the bed, her hands calmly folded over the swell of her belly. Her hair was neatly tied back, her gown impeccably arranged, the bed tidily made beneath her heavy body. But the air inside the room smelt stale, it had been drawn too many times into the cavernous realms of her lungs. Lochan knew that scent all to well, but the breath that was pulled into his own wife’s congested chest came out harshly rattling, with a sickly, sweet aroma that clung to the blankets.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you Lady Inbar, but I was told you had something you needed to say to me.”

“Yes, please have a seat. I’m sorry to be lying here like this but Goodwife Cade told me I should not get out of bed.”

Lochan noticed that her face was flushing pink with embarrassment as she spoke, “No bother at all. If it were up to me I think all important meetings would be conducted in a horizontal position. Much more comfortable that way.”

She raised an eyebrow and he realised what he said might have been misconstrued. Hastily he moved on.

“Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Varda sighed, the colour starting to sink from her face, fleeing back deep beneath the surface of her skin to whatever deep inkwell it was stored in.

“Well Your Lordship. I think I am not the only one to have been party to the gossip that is rampaging through the ships. Is it true that they think the father of Valeriya’s baby is the good… the priest,” she hesitated at the word good as he had heard so many do over the course of the day. The word was so consistently linked to the Father that people were finding it difficult to separate the two. Lochan did not yet believe that they should.

“It is just,” she swallowed her face paling, “You know that I spent a lot of time sitting with the Countess?”

He nodded and she continued.

“And when I was not there, her lady maid was present. Or her husband. No other people excepting Goodwife Cade were allowed in to see her. So was the expressed wish of her husband.”

This was puzzling, Goodwife Cade had told him that the baby must have been conceived during the time when the Countess was deep in the throes of the fever. Could her Lady’s maid have let someone in to see her? If so this would be a grave crime. But it was not in keeping with what he knew of Mistress Ylder who would never so risk the wrath of her master, the Earl. He would be sure to questions her closely however.

Varda took a deep breath and continued, her tone growing hushed with guilt, “But I let someone in to see her.”

She paused swallowing, trying to gain control of her emotions. Lochan saw that the pale, long-fingered hands that hovered above the rising swell of her belly were trembling.

“Please go on,” he requested in a hushed voice, his heart thudding unpleasantly against his ribcage, his palms growing sweaty. The deep, controlled breaths he took were not enough to satisfy his lungs.

“I let Father Harndall in to see her. And I left him alone with her for at least an hour.”

Lochan’s heart sank, “I see.”

This was the most damning evidence he had yet heard. He was willing to dispel the unsettling looks of the child. Lochan knew that women liked to gather together and coo over the family resemblance of a baby, but to him they all looked rather squashy and red at the beginning. And their eyes usually changed colour after a while. When Yvaine was born her eyes had been inky black, staring up at him from the crib like two burning coals, but they had lightened to the dark blue of her mother’s. Though the baby did bear a startling resemblance to the priest he would have been able to fight for Harndall. How could they convict a man based solely on the look of a squashy-faced baby?

But now. What was he to do. Though it sickened him to even think it, he was no longer as sure as he had been at the start of the day when Cindra’s announcement had ripped him from the pleasant, bordering on comatose sleep of a man who had enjoyed the Christmas Eve feast a little too much. Could Harndall really have done it? Lochan hated himself for doubting the man he had come to respect as a good soul during their time on Mhalwae. How could it be possible?

“Do you think he did it Your Lordship?” Varda asked, her voice wavering slightly.

“I don’t know. But I sure as hell am going to find out,” he growled suddenly angry.

He was going to have to arrest the bloody priest if for nothing else than his own safety. Radomir was already clamouring for his head and Lochan was loathe to leave him out there where the Earl in his blind rage, might find him. He had been rampaging through the castle all day, sword in hand, randomly stabbing hay bales and frightening the peasants.

“Your Lordship,” Varda asked timidly, the lines of her face growing soft and frightened, “What are they going to do with him?”

He was unnerved at seeing this usually strong woman so discomposed, her features mirroring the shock he himself felt.

“I don’t know Lady Inbar. If he did it in then he will be punished.”

What he didn’t want to speculate on was how. The punishment for a priest raping a noble woman was not likely to be merciful.

Inbar, Murchadh