20th July 1103

“Do you have a moment to talk now?” Lochan asked in exasperation.

He had been trying to have this conversation with Garrick for days but whenever Lochan had the time amongst preparation Garrick was nowhere to be found, or not to be disturbed.

“I don’t know, do we have the time Isabelle?” Garrick asked in a baby voice to the child lying calmly in his arms blinking curiously at Lochan.

Lochan ignored this, “I want to speak to you about Eallair.”

“Alright,” Garrick said his eyes on the baby, “Go on then.”

“It’s just,” he paused distracted for a moment by the baby which was looking up at Garrick with such a look of fervent adoration as Lochan had never seen on a child so small, “er, that is to say Garrick, you’ve really got to keep an eye out for him. He needs friends, friends with his best interests at heart and with me gone there will be one fewer.”

“Hmmm,” Garrick grunted.

“You’ve got to keep an eye out for him Garrick. With this peasant uprising things are more caustic than ever. Especially now there’s a chance people could actually leave Mhalwae. Before everyone had to band together because there was no other choice. But now… well, the last thing we want is some sort of civil war breaking out.”

Garrick gave no sign he had heard, swinging the baby into the air and jiggling her about until she chuckled and smiled.

“Garrick, where you listening?” Lochan asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

“Silly uncle Lochan, thinks we weren’t listening,” Garrick grinned at his daughter, “Of course I’m listening.”

There was something unsettling about Garrick’s behaviour. He hadn’t been like this when Atholt was born. With Isabelle he scarcely let her out of his sight. Lochan couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his friend without the small girl in tow. She was always there, lying quietly in his arms, sleeping in his lap. Lochan wondered that Cindra wasn’t jealous. He didn’t think he had even seen his cousin with the baby come to think of it.

“You worry too much Lochan, always have,” Garrick continued, lifting the baby to his shoulder, where she buried her face into his thick mane of hair.

“I’m worried for a reason Garrick,” Lochan snapped back at him, “You and I both know where Eallair’s strengths and weaknesses lie. Certainly, he’s picked up the reigns a bit more since Sigurd was killed. But we’re on a knife edge Garrick. A knife edge! One slip and it all falls apart.”

“Come now Lochan, calm yourself. You’re upsetting the baby. It’s alright my sweet, there now.”

The baby didn’t seem particularly upset but Lochan was certainly getting that way. It was impossible to discuss anything with Garrick these days. His attention was completely fixed on his daughter. Had he not been holding her at this very moment Lochan might have rammed his friend’s head into the bookcase a couple of times to try and knock some sense into him.

“You’ve got to take care of him Garrick. I can’t do everything. I will be his eyes abroad. You have to be his eyes here,” Garrick didn’t appear to be listening, staring into space, rocking the baby slowly in his arms.

“Yes, yes. Don’t you worry. It will be fine,” he murmured absent-mindedly.

“Garrick it’s just, well… he’s our friend. You’ve got to take care of him,” he sighed dejectedly his shoulders slumping.

Why couldn’t there be more than one of him?

“Just keep him safe,” Lochan mumbled, turning away and striding from the room.

Behind him he could hear Garrick cooing nonsense to his daughter.

Murchadh, Tadhgar