“Just a teeny, weeny smidgen more and you’ve had enough good Sir,” Alexis mumbled to himself eyeing the bottle of wine on the desk.

Certainly he had paperwork to attend to, the running of the Kingdom and such, but good Lord it was boring business. So it was that he found himself a tad sozzled though it was still early in the afternoon. He had thought a cup of wine would help ease the pain and had found that a bottle worked even better.

He was startled by a booming knock on the door just as he took a gulp from the bottle. Before he could tell whoever it was to go away the door was flung open and a deliciously plump girl bounced in. Everything jiggled in all the right ways, from her round thighs to her wonderfully full breasts. He almost spluttered wine all over the table and ended up coughing and choking and red in the face while trying to still look debonair. It didn’t work very well.

“Hello Sir Harty… am I pronounciating it right… ooh yer drinking wine… sorry to be startling yew. I’ll just grab myself a chair. No don’t get up,” she chattered turning to slam the door shut behind her.

She plonked down onto a chair with a contented sigh as he tried to regain his composure.

“I’m Dessini, Dessini Cade… but yew can call me Dessy if yer liking,” she said before he could regain breath enough to ask.

She was rather plain in some ways, freckled, ruddy skin but with a healthy glow to it. Her hair was thick and chestnut, with curls that bounced when she turned her head in a saucy way he rather liked. And she smiled. A lot, and with each one her face lit up like summer sunshine, her eyes sparkling.

He was beginning to regret the last swig of wine.

“Yes… well… Dessy is it? Why are you here again?” he asked, feeling rather foggy and confused, “Did we have an appointment I’ve forgotten?”

“Lan sakes no, I just showed my old self in I did,” she grinned at him warmly and he couldn’t help but smile tentatively back.

“Er… so why are you here then?”

“”Well now, I thought to make myself useful. There’s a damn sight too many… oh pardon… that’s to say, there’s being too many of us packed in at Steen’s place so I decided to get myself some employment,” she said happily as though that was all the explanation needed.

“I see, and am I to assume you were hoping to secure employment with me?” Alexis asked slowly, trying not to slur.

Good Gods! Was this woman bouncing in here and offering him services just like that. Hepsie would kill him if he touched her.

Alexis… do not touch the girl.

But goodness she was touchable. Maybe he should just reach out and pinch her cheek… it looked so delectably chubby.

“Uh… I’m not sure that would be the best idea. You see, I know your sister-in-law very well and I’m not sure she would…”

“What’s it like then?” Dessy asked ignoring him.

“What’s it…” he almost choked and then he saw her staring at the wine.

“Oh, well… it’s alright. Not the best I’ve had but you do know that’s the life when you are stuck in exile on a ruddy island. Ah for a fine Ulaanbaatese firewine.”

“Can I try some,” she grinned up at him cheekily her eyes twinkling, “I’ve never been drinking wine.”

God help him.

“I suppose so, here, let me uncork it for you.”

He passed it to her. She took a large swig, her plump lips closing over the neck of the bottle.

If Alexis could have kicked himself under the table he would have.

He watched her neck as she drank, the muscles contracting as she gulped it down. The skin there looked smooth and soft. He would have liked to kiss it, to nip at it a little. A trickle of wine ran down her chin.

Keep it together man. This one is not for you.

She thumped the bottle down on the table and heartily wiped her mouth with a tattered sleeve.

“It wasn’t what I was expecting… burned a bit on the way down. I rather liked it though,” she smiled up at him, her pouty bottom lip stained dark red with wine. He would have liked to lick it off.

“I’m glad you liked it. It isn’t the best there is but it’s a damn sight better than nothing.”

“So, on to business then,” Dessini grinned.

“Yes… about that…”

“Well… I was asking around thinking I might fare well as a nanny type. I do like the children an’ they seem to like me well enough. An’, well I heard yew was having more than most so I thought to ask yew first.”

A nanny! Thank the stars.

“Yes, well, that is certainly true. I have been blessed with three strong boys,” he smiled though it grew a little brittle when he thought of Colthan.

A nanny, that wasn’t so bad now. Though he couldn’t take his eyes off her as she fidgeted on the chair completely unaware of how enticing she was. No… it was a bad idea. He did not want to incite the wrath of small, stern midwives and he had an inkling that Morven wouldn’t be all that fond of the girl, as dear as she seemed.

“Well now, I’m don’t think my wife is really needing all that much help. Thank you for your kind offer though.”

There, it was done. Now she would leave and Alexis would go find some entertainment elsewhere. And not think about the midwife’s sister-in-law.

“Oh… oh… I see,” her smile fell, her bottom lip trembling a little.

She almost looked like she would cry. For a moment Alexis saw something deeply sad, something tragic behind her childish facade.

“I really thought yew would be saying yes. I got my little hopes up an’ everything,” she sniffled.

Goddammit she had got her little hopes up. And he hated dashing little hopes.

“Perhaps you’re right. Three’s a little many for Morven to manage and she does like having some time for reading. You’re hired,” he grinned woozily at her his stomach churning.

“Oh thank yew, thank yew dear Sir Harty!” she squealed, “Yer just the best.”

She threw herself out of the chair gave a startled Alexis a hug and bounced towards the door.

“I’ll be the best nanny ye’ve ever had,” she giggled.

Alexis hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He had had a few nannys in his time. They rather reminded him of old fat Flora who had rasied him and there was something a little naughty about that. But Hepsie would kill him. And death by midwife was surely not worth acting out a saucy fantasy or two. Alexis imagined she had plenty of creative ways to make him suffer.

“Bye then,” she bounded out the door like an excited puppy, curls flying behind.

Oh God… and Morven was going to kill him too.

Elere stifled in an inappropriate giggle.

“Hepsie,” she hissed, “she’s sucking on my ear.”

She carefully pulled the newborn away from her shoulder, nestling the tiny thing in the crook of her arm. The infant was reassuringly heavy, a wrinkled red-faced thing who looked more old lady then newly born babe. Her scrunched up face reminded Elere a little of her grandmother, a grumpy old woman who had sat in her rocking chair and ruled the house with an iron fist until she died. The way the little one was puckering her mouth so resembled Old Ma’s sour expression that she nearly giggled again. She couldn’t help it, she was filled with adrenaline from the many hours of struggling and striving to bring this baby into the world. The sweat, the screaming, the blood, the crying, the harried women rushing to and fro. And Hepsie said this had been an easy birth.

It seemed a wonderful, magical thing that she now held a breathing, living, healthy babe in her arms. And she felt privileged for being allowed to be a part of it.

“Poor little mite’s getting hungry,” Hepsie murmured, “she wants to suckle and the best thing within reach is yer ear… careful now she’ll start on yer fingers.”

“I don’t mind,” she said gazing in awe down at the baby.

“Gena love, do yew hear that. Yer girl’s hungry she is. Do yew want to be sitting up now an’ giving her a feed?” Hepsie called out gently.

Gena did not reply, lying curled up and motionless on the bed. Her frail arms were wrapped around her body, her knees drawn up to her chest. Hepsie had told Elere earlier this was how the baby lay in its mother’s womb, waiting in the dark till the time came to meet the world. It seemed strange to see this reversal, the baby pawing at the air with her uncoordinated limbs while her mother had taken on her recent form.

“Gena,” Igrayne murmured, gazing with concern at the prostrate woman, “do you hear what Hepsie’s saying. Won’t you be sitting up for just a moment now. It’s not good to be lying like that now.”

“Now yew listen ‘Lere, if this goes on much longer we’ll need to take the babe fer a feed elsewhere,” Hepsie said in a hushed whispered, leaning towards Elere.

“Why won’t she feed her? She‘s so perfect.” Elere asked softly.

“Hush now love, I know yew don’t understand it now, but losing a babe is a terrible thing an’ mother’s react in very different ways. Gena, poor dear heart, she didn’t have it easy with Derry an’ now he’s gone. It might take her a while is all.”

Hepsie gently stroked the infants downy head. The hair there was dark brown like Noah’s and just about the softest thing Elere had ever felt.

“If we can’t get her to feed the baby yer going to have to go an’ get Goodwife Addinell. She’s not long had her own an’ is a kind soul. She’ll nurse this little’ un here.”

The baby gazed up at the sound of their whispering, looking blindly from side to side. Hepsie had told her that babies of this age couldn’t see very far. Elere couldn’t help but think she was searching for her mother’s touch. But her mother couldn’t see her at all. If she could, Elere couldn’t believe she would have ignored the baby. She was the most beautiful thing.

Hepsie walked around to the side of the bed where Igrayne was trying to comfort Gena. She bent her head towards Igrayne and started whispering something in her ear.

Igrayne let down and gently rubbed Gena’s arm. Gena flinched away and Hepsie slowly pulled Igrayne away, shaking her head slowly.

Elere didn’t understand. She knew Gena was grieving but she didn’t understand how having a new baby to pour that love into wouldn’t have been a help. In losing Inael she had doubled her affections to her other sisters determined to the let them know everyday how much she cared for them. She had devoted her time buoying up her older brother who blamed himself. Why didn’t the birth of this baby make things better?

The baby began to whine, her perfect plump mouth opening and shutting like a wrinkled, red fish pulled flapping from the water.

Elere raised her up on her shoulder and nuzzled the babies soft head with her face.

“Hush now, hush now, yew’ll be alright littl’ love yew will,” she cooed softly.

She turned away from the scene before her, the two women trying to coax the distraught woman into a sitting position.

She gazed out the window, darkening clouds wavering through the uneven glass. Cypress trees shivered in the gusts of wind that signalled the approaching storm. She looked across the fields to the hilltop where the church huddled in a clutch of trees. She could just make out tiny rows of crosses folorn and alone in the grey before the storm. She had never realised how visible the graveyard was from the Ulcar’s house. She was glad Gena never would.

“Why are yew even here… come to grant a dying girl’s last wish,” Inael voice rasped from her throat, “I don’t really want to be seeing yew don’t yew know.”

The sick girl turned her head contritely in the other direction.

“Well I’m being that sorry about that I am, but seeing me is what yer going to be doing,” Hepsie replied calmly.

“An’ what if my last wish is being not to see yer nosy face poking around in here. Yew won’t be honouring a last wish?”

So she knew, then there was nothing Hepsie could say, “Is there something I could be getting fer yew. Yew seem to be feeling that much better.”

“Hepsie dear, don’t be acting coy with me now. Yew an me both know what’s going to be happening soon enough. This hain’t real. An’ I hain’t being any better so just stop yer pretending. This is only the calm before the final storm. An’ tired as I am I think I’m like to sink.”

Inael’s dark eyes were sunken like the sockets of a skull glaring emptily. Her skin had contracted around her face so that the bone structure of her flushed cheeks was disturbingly apparent. Her lips were cracked and pallid and no amount of water could quench her unending thirst. And nothing could stop her from bringing that water up again, foaming and slimy in the bucket.

“Do yew want me to get anyone fer yew now that yer awake. Steen… or Ana an’ Wynna are here too. They might like to see yew up,” Hepsie tried to keep her voice steady.

Outside thousands of cicadas were singing, rasping their legs together to make a thrumming buzz which grated through the drooping forest. Inside the cottage, the heat was stifling, the sun pounding through the glass so that the room stank like a sick bucket. A drop of sweat trickled down the back of Hepsie’s neck adding to the dampness of her dress.

“No, thankin’ yew Hepsie but the little’ uns won’t understand if they see me sitting up like this. It would be cruel. They won’t understand that’s it’s near done,” Her head lolled weary on her trembling shoulders.

“An’ that brother of mine, well… I don’t want to be seeing him an’ yew can tell him I said that,” she cried passionately then fell back on the pillows exhausted.

“I don’t want to be telling him because it would break his poor heart. None of this is being his fault Inael. An’ if yew want to blame some one it better be me, since I was the one convincing him to come with me to Mhalwae,” Hepsie replied defiantly.

“But he was the one who abandoned us, whether yew asked him to or not. It still lies on his head, what happened there. It’s his fault fer not protecting us all like a man’s supposed to do.”

“What did happen there?” Hepsie asked in a hushed voice, unable to hold back the question that she was burning to ask.

Inael gazed up, not meeting Hepsie’s eyes, “Yew should be telling that brother of mine every word I’m saying. It’s being his fault this all happened.”

She briefly paused clutching at her belly with a grimace of pain and continued, “They came in the nighttime, N’nkasha’s men. Our family was marked out fer days, a cross drawn above our door so we knew it was only being a matter of time. We did our best to hide the littl’ uns so they wouldn’t be taking us all away fer slaves. When they came they knew about Ma an’ Pa, an me an’ Dess but they didn’t know about the littl’ uns hidden in the cellar.”

A cough suddenly burst out of her and she spent long moments, her hands clasped over her stomach, her face dark red as she tried to regain control. Hepsie silently handed her some water, letting her take a small sip. When the coughing finally subsided, Inael lay back on the pillows and continued in her rasping voice.

“They was just going to take us, an’ then they heard a sneeze. Yew know Wynna with her allergies, an’ there was being that much dust down there. They dragged em’ up put em’ all in a line. Told us they would be killing them fer our treason. We begged an’ cried an’ they finally offered us a choice. Me an’ Dess fer the littl’ uns, if they could have their way then they would leave em’ be.”

“Oh Inael,” Hepsie groaned, her hands unconsciously reaching out to comfort the other girl.

“Don’t yew be touchin’ me now. Everything’s hurting it is. So they had their way an’ it wasn’t pretty. Poor Dess was only just filling out, just becoming a woman. Yew go easy on her Hepsie. She’s silly an’ flighty but such is her way. It hain’t been easy fer her. It hain’t been easy fer any of us.”

A single tear rolled down Inael’s flushed cheek an’ she hurriedly turned away.

“So we was taken away an’ the soldiers sure did like their new playthings. But they left Elere an’ the littl’ uns behind an’ the rest of us toiled in the mines. Then there was a fire. A dreadful hot one, when one of the slaves quarters went up. It spread all over an’ Ma an’ Pa… well they were trapped inside. Dess an’ me, we made it out since we was in the soldier’s quarters that night an’ in the confusion we managed to get out. We heard about the underground rebellion an’ after grabbing the littl’ uns managed to hide fer a good long time till there was a ship leaving. We didn’t know it would be coming here till after. Back to Steen.”

“Oh Inael, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how it would be back home. We didn’t know. Faldorn may be a warlord but there was never such suffering heard of when he conquered place before. We didn’t know,” Hepsie murmured.

“Steen abandoned his family that’s what. An’ look what happened to us. He don’t deserve forgiveness. He won’t be getting mine. Yew tell him what I told yew. That’s my last wish. Yew tell him what I said.”

She sank lower onto the pillow, her arms folded wearily over her aching belly.

“I think I want to be resting now. Please go.”

“Whatever yew want Inael. I’ll be back to check on yew soon,” Hepsie knew when she came back the fever would have the girl back in its clutches, the storm would be raging again. It had only been a moments respite.

She also knew that last wishes or not she would never, ever tell Steen what she had heard here.

Igrayne was growing uncomfortable, trying to detach herself from Dessini’s exuberant conversation so she could assist Gena. Though she knew Gena was more than capable of taking care of herself, she felt embarrassed to let a blind woman, and even moreso, a woman in advanced pregnancy wait on her. It was just not the done thing, and if Dessini stopped long enough to draw breath she would point this out.

She found Dessini a little strange. The other girl seeemed completely unaware of what was going on around her, skipping through life as though the woman’s body were just a cloak that she would shed to reveal that it had all been a joke and she was really still a freckled little girl with a cheeky grin. And she was older than Igrayne! Not much, but still, Igrayne had come to learn the hard way that every year made you harder and older. Or at least she had thought so, but Dessini seemed oblivious to the cares of the world, as though they merely washed over her when others would drown.

“And that’s how it is, if yer wanting my opinion,” Dessini concluded and paused about to begin her next story.

“I see, well excuse me please Dessini,” she turned to Gena who had finished flipping the griddle cakes onto a plate, “can I help you at all Gena?”

“Oh no love, yer just fine yew are. Yew just go an’ sit yerself down with the other an’ I’ll be along in a minute.

She waddled awkwardly towards the table and began to serve the griddle cakes. Dessini plonked herself down in a chair, while Igrayne hovered uncomfortably behind feeling as though she should be doing something.

After the food was served they all sat.

Elere turned to Gena with a grateful smile, forgetting that the other woman could not see it, “Thankin’ yew kindly Gena. It’s awful nice of yew to be putting us up like this while the others are sick. Awful kind of yew.”

“Oh yes Gena, thankin’ yew so. We’re that pleased to get away from that house full of sickies we are. Not only are they being that boring but it smells something awful there it does. Not that yer barn smells that much better come to think of it…”

Igrayne cringed and Elere kicked her sister underneath the table.

“Ouch, what was that being fer?” Dessini hissed.

Gena looked unconcerned.

Tilly suddenly squealed, “Dog is trying to eats my dinner!”

“Oh don’t yew be minding him now Tilly. Just give him a sharp rap on the nose an’ he’ll go on his way. He wouldn’t be hurting a fly he’s that gentle. Don’t yew be afraid now. Dog, yew just leave Tilly alone,” Gena chided the docile animal.

Dog slunk away from the table, his tail between his legs and began to snuffle at Derrin who was sitting forlornly on the floor.

“Now Tilly, yew hain’t been eating none of yer dinner. Hain’t yew being hungry then?” Elere asked her younger sister, “Yew’ve got to try an’ eat something.”

“I’ll be having it if yer not hungry. I’m being that starving,” Dessini chimed in, ignoring the glare from Elere.

“It’s not that I hain’t hungry,” Tilly mumbled, her freckled face scrunching with worry, “it’s just normally, when me an’ Wynny eat griddle cakes we has to share em’. An’ take one bite each. That’s the way we’re s’posed to eat em’.”

“An’ I don’t know how to be eating them now wif no Wynny. She’s telling me what to do. I want Wynny. When’s she coming back?”

“Tilly love, she won’t be back fer a while now. Yew should be eating yer griddlecakes on yer own. She’d understand she would. She’s probably eating her own griddlecakes right now,” Elere answered kindly.

“I don’t wanna. I want Wynny. I don’t wanna eat them wif no Wynny,” Tilly whined, “when’s she coming back?”

“Oh sweetheart,” Gena looked down at her concerned, “Wynny’s a little bit sick now. She’ll be being that much better so soon.”

Tilly pouted and tugged on a tangled pigtail.

“But listen now, if yew want to be sharing I know a certain Dog whose being that willing to share griddlecakes, his tongue’s near hanging out. I don’t think anyone would be minding if yew wanted to give half yer griddle cakes to Dog. He can be a pretend Wynny,” she whispered conspiratorially to Tilly.

“Dog, yew come here now yew Dog,” Tilly called and Dog came running.

She broke of a piece of cake in her fingers and dropped it on the floor where he ecstatically licked it up. Tilly giggled and gave him a firm pat on the head.

Derrin began to whimper, “Mamamama.”

“Derry love, what’s being wrong,” Gena heaved herself from the chair manoevering awkwardly around the table, her big belly brushing against Igrayne’s arm.

She picked up her son, holding him aloft with a concerned look, “What’s being wrong now littl’ un.”

Derrin gave a sob that turned into a cough and buried his face in his mother’s dress, clinging weakly to her, his fingers picking at the buttons. Gena peered at him as though squinting would make her see better what was wrong. Derrin whined and rubbed his face against her shoulder.

“What’s being wrong littl’ mite,” she murmured, stroking his back.

“Let me see him Gena,” Igrayne offered, this was at least something she could do.

She reached out her arms to Derrin, but he whinged and clung tighter to his mother.

“Come now Derry, yer aunty Igrayne just wants to be getting a look at yew. Yew don’t mind that do yew,” she held Derrin out for Igrayne to look.

“No,” Derrin mumbled sadly, but he let himself be examined.

“Your alright Derry, your alright,” Igrayne murmured as she peered into the little boy’s face.

If was flushed and his brow felt hot. She carefully lifted up his tunic and gazed in alarm at what she saw there.

“Oh Gena, he’s got a red rash all over his belly!” she cried and Derrin began to wail.

“Hush hush my littl’ love, my own littl’ dove,” Hepsie crooned, gazing in concern at her young son’s flushed face.

Thankfully Hepsie did not have the sickness yet, though it had struck down over half of Steen’s family and their little son. Steen had wanted to stay, but she had sent him away. Him and the rest of them were safe at Gena’s, holed up in the barn. She would not be parted from her son. And besides, who better to care for them than she?

“Let me just take a look at those spots Thaell,” Hepsie tried to pull down her son’s tunic to look at the red rash that was flaring there.

He struggled and squirmed, whining in dismay.

“Poor littl’ mite, it must be very itchy. Mamma’s sorry,” she murmured, while Thaell gave a small cough and snuggled against her neck.

Goodness he was hot, his little face boiling compared to her clammy skin. The evening was warm, warm enough that she had left the windows open in the hope of a breeze blowing through the small, crowded house. But the evening was still, and nothing could break the stifling, muggy atmosphere inside the cottage nor the sickly, sweet smell of sickened breath.

The girls lay on bedding piled on the floor in front of the stove. They would not need a fire for many months and the coals had long been dead. The poor little things lay tangled in their sheets, their sweating, fevered bodies wrestling with the linen as they slept.

Wynna mumbled in her sleep, her baby fat cheeks flushed bright pink. She rolled over in her sleep, arms reaching out for her twin. She gave a small whimper when she found nothing and curled her chubby arms forlornly around her shivering body.

It had almost broken Hepsie’s heart to send away Tilly, but the little girl was not sick like her twin and they could not risk it. How she had sobbed and thrashed in Elere’s arms while little Wynna bravely waved goodbye. They were only babies. Not so much older than her own. Hepsie could only pray that they lived through this.

As if to remind her, the baby gave a sharp kick in her belly, so hard she jolted in surprise. Thaell whinged and snuggled deeper against her neck, his fat fingers curling in her hair. She had so much to lose.

Ana began to cough, a dry hacking sound that went on and on. She sat up, her little hands covering her mouth, trying not to wake her sister. She had always been such a considerate child. She had a vivid memory of the first time she met Ana, her shy smile peeking from behind a bunch of flowers she had carefully picked for Hepsie.

Finally the coughing subsided and she looked around dazed. When she saw Hepsie was awake, she murmured, “Hepsie, Hepsie, my head really hurts.”

“An’ I was having a bad dream,” her lower lip began to tremble as she rubbed her painful head, her princess hair hanging lankly around the blush of her fevered cheeks.

“Oh sweetie, I know yer heads hurting that bad, but it’s sure to be feeling better soon. What did yew dream? Wait, let me be putting this sleepy mite to bed an’ then yew can tell me,” Hepsie murmured, hefting her solid son onto her shoulder as she struggled to turn the doorknob.

She lay him down in the crib, untangling his fingers from her hair and gently tucking a thin blanket over him. She softly padded out into the main room.

“What did yew be dreamin’ then sweetie?” she asked, rubbing the young girls trembling arm.

“Ma an’ Pa were there. They was waiting, just outside the window, in the dark, looking in at us. I wanted to talk to them, but their faces were looking scary so I pretended not to see,” Ana whispered.

Hepsie gave an involuntary shiver and squeezed Ana’s shoulder, “Yew can go on.”

Ana continued, chewing on her lips as she spoke, “Then they came in through the door, an’ I hid my face because they were all white an’ their faces were burned. I peeked an’ Ma was smiling at me but I was still afraid. They went into that room there, an’ then I woke up coughing.”

She pointed to Hepsie’s room, where the girl’s oldest sister was sleeping.

“What does it mean Hepsie?” she asked softly, her eyes wide and frightened.

“Now then sweet thing, it doesn’t mean anything. It was just a dream. Yew know how yer parents loved yew all… they wouldn’t want yew to be being afraid. It was only a dream,” she hugged the small girl against her.

“Hepsie,” Ana mumbled into the folds of her nightgown.

“Yes love.”

“Can I see Inael? Please.”

“Alright sweetie, but yew have to be very quiet. Yew don’t want to be waking her now do yew?”

Ana shook her head, and took Hepsie’s hand in her hot, sticky one. They tiptoed into the room.

A single candle burned in the small room. Inael had woken in the night and been so afraid of the dark that Hepsie had lit a candle to calm her. The light cast ghastly shadows on the sick girl’s face, making the bones stand out in sharp relief beneath her skin. Hepsie could almost picture the shape of her skull…

“Will she be alright Hepsie,” Ana whispered in a frightened voice.

“I hope so Ana. I’ll do everything I can to make it so.”

But Hepsie did not know what she could do but pray.

“Oh thankin’ the Lords, there yew are Steen. I’ve been looking around everywhere I have!”

Thank goodness she wasn’t too late. They probably hadn’t found him yet. Poor Steen.

“Lookin’ around everywhere just fer silly old me. Well what a fine little wife I have. Where yew in need of a kiss then Hepsie?”

He swept her up in his gangly arms planting kisses all over her face.

“No, Steen wait…” she tried to push away from him but his arms were that much longer than hers that she didn’t get far.

“Steen,” she mumbled between kisses, “Steen I’ve got to tell you something.”

She was beginning to feel desperate.

“Steeeeen,” she wailed and he stopped kissing her, looking down at her in concern.

“What love, is there something wrong?”

She planted her hands firmly on his shoulders, more to hold him steady than to push him away from her.

“Yes… it’s… oh Steen… it’s…”

“Steeeeen…. Steeeny…. Steeeeeen.”

A high-pitched squawking came echoing up to the castle like a flock of escaping chickens. She was too late.

Steen turned to see girls of all size tripping over each other, stumbling up the hill, tangling legs in their skirts as they ran towards him.

“Oh my…” he said in shock and then the smallest ones hit.

“Steeny Steeny Steeny!” the twins were squeaking at his feet, wrapping their chubby arms around his slender legs.

“Tilly? Wynny? Is that yew my little mites?” he laughed gathering them up in his arms, ”My goodness me, yew’ve grown into some big mites since I seen yew.”

They tickled him and patted at him as he knelt on the ground so as not to tower over them. Wynna buried her face in his hair, breathing deeply.

“Yew smell just like Dessy was sayin’ hay an’ mud,” she grinned ecstatically.

“Mud?” Steen cried, pulling a mock-angry face, ”Goodness me, I’m surprised yew even remember me yew were being that small when I left.”

“We ‘member,” Tilly proclaimed solemnly and then stuck her tongue out at him and giggled.

If Hepsie could just grab him for one moment…

“Steeeen, when is it my turn?” Dessini whined, hopping from foot to foot with excitement. She must be eighteen now but Hepsie saw she was still as immature as ever.

The twins scattered as Dessini threw herself at Steen, wrapping him in a tight, bouncy embrace.

“Ooof,” Steen managed as she squeezed the air out of him, “Dessy, Dessy… is this little scrawny Dessy… my goodness Dess. Yer a woman now yew are.”

“An look at yew… yer being a big hairy man,” she grinned her eyes twinkling.

Hepsie thought she just might get Steen’s attention for one minute and began tugging at his sleeve, but there were somebody else tugging at his pant leg.

He turned around, stooping towards the small figure primly waiting her turn.

“Why if it isn’t my dear little Ana,” he smiled warmly as she tiptoed towards him.

“Hello Steen,” she whispered, reaching her arms up to embrace him.

They stopped at his face, patting at the black, wire-brush hair of his beard.

“You’ve gotten so beardy,” she said with a soft smile.

He tweaked the end of her plait, ”An’ yew little missy. I see that project of growin’ the most long an beautiful princess hair is working a treat.”

She blushed and smiled proudly, her fingers going up to stroke the tip of her braid.

“An who have we got over here then,” Steen chuckled.

“Hullo stranger,” Elere grinned, nonchantly waiting for him to approach.

Now finally Hepsie could get a word in. Elere would understand.

“El,” Steen went to hug her, “so good to see yew. An I see yer not on board with the pretty princess hair.”

“Good to see yew too champ,” she hugged him warmly, then fluffing her messy hair, “an’ yew know me, I’m not much for the whole princess hair thing.”

There was a sigh of distate from Ana, who intercepted Hepsie as she was about to get Steen’s attention.

“Hello Hepsie,” Ana said politely and then reach up for a hug.

She softly touched Hepsie’s upper lip, ‘Thankfully yew haven’t gotten all beardy.”

She laughed, an almost silent laugh, a slight shake of her shoulders as was Ana’s way and Hepsie squeezed her tightly so pleased to see the little girl again.

She turned to grab Steen but there was Elere.

“Oh Hepsie, it’s such a relief to be seeing someone sensible again. I have to spend all day with this bunch of ninnies an’ well, yew can imagine it just gets that exhausting.”

As pleased as she was to see Elere, Steen was already striding down the hill to the last of his sisters.

“I’m that pleased to see yew too love, but El, Steen ain’t been told yet.”

Elere’s face went pale, “We we can’t let her tell him!”

They both rushed after Steen, but it was too late.

“Hello brother,” Inael’s voice was icy.

“Inael,” Steen said, reaching out stiffly for a hug.

“Don’t touch me!” Inael snapped and then doubled over coughing and spluttering, “I won’t have yew touch me.”

“Are yew ill,” Steen asked, concern in his voice.

Hepsie didn’t like the rattling wheeze of her breath either, nor the husky depth of her voice.

“Inael…” Hepsie began, but it was much too late.

Steen was looking around confused, “Inael… where’s Ma and Pa?”

“Where are they? Where are they? I’ll tell yew were they are? Lyin’ in a shallow pit that’s filled with the bodies of slaves they are. Dead. Rotten. Abandoned by their only son who left us all to fend fer ourselves an’ fled.”

Steen reeled back as though she had slapped him hard on the face.

Hepsie felt a great wave of guilt. It had been her idea to come to Mhalwae. She had convinced Steen. She had thought to save many, that they would need her help. She had not thought that perhaps the sacrifice was her own husband’s parents. And now she had not even been able to protect him from the wrath of his own sister.

Steen turned woodenly from Inael a warped grimace that was almost a grin on his face.

“My parents are dead Hepsie,” he stumbled a little towards her.

“I know my love, I know,” she reached up to stroke his face trying to impart as much strength as she could into that simple movement.

Her husband would not cry now. Would not break down in front of his sisters, fellow orphans who had now been entrusted to his care. Later he could cry, in the darkness of their room and she would wrap her arms around him and run her fingers through his hair. But right now, he needed to be strong.

“Yer Ladyship, ye’ve simply got to be pushing. That baby is not going to come out all on it’s own,” Hepsie’s voice was buoyant and encouraging but Juzzine could see the worried set of her brows.

If Morven had heard, she gave no sign, her body folded protectively around the curve of her swollen belly, eyes open and glazed with pain.

The room was dark and stuffy, the lantern casting an eery green glow over the struggling woman’s worn out features. Over the months Morven had only grown more sickly, her hair falling out in clumps, her body wasting around the distended hump of her belly. Her husband sat outside the door, sobbing and praying and promising as he had done the last time. For all it had meant.

“Morven honey, yew have to get to pushing now,” Hepsie scolded, her hand resting on the labouring woman’s sweat-soaked back, “Come on now love, roll over on yer back Little un ain’t going to come out like that with you all curled up in a big ball.”

Morven sighed deeply, a hollow rustling noise amongst the hacking wheeze of her breath. She was so exhausted Juzzine didn’t know how she was going to manage the strain of pushing the baby out, even if they managed to convince her to try. She lay on her side staring blankly at the small green lamp, the soft light staining her eyes a strange colour of green.

“Now listen here Yer Ladyship… this is being pathetic, it really is. Do yew want yer little baby to die. Ye’ve got to push now or that’s it. It’s now or never,” Hepsie growled, bent over the trembling woman, a firm hand tugging at her arm, trying to roll her over onto her back, “Get down here an give me a hand Juzzy.”

Juzzine was afraid. She had never heard Hepsie resort to threats. She leaned down over her swaying belly to help push Morven onto her back.

At their gentle tugging Morven gave an animal screech of pain which droned off into a dreadful thrumming moan as another contraction rolled over her body. Both she and Hepsie jumped back in fright. The panting woman’s eyes rolled back in her head so that all Juzzine could see was the whites of them, and she champed down on her lip so hard that a trickle of blood pooled there.

The contractions were coming too close. If she didn’t start pushing now…

“Hepsie, what are we going to be doing?” she hissed over the huddled body.

“Listen Juzz, I’m going to have to be getting my hands in there or else there’s no hope for either of them, she’s too far gone,” Hepsie murmured.

Juzzine nodded slowly, though she was desperately afraid.

“Yer going to have to get some help, I can’t have yew holding her. It’s going to hurt something savage and I can’t have her thrashing around and elbowing yew in the belly. Go and find Polina fer me. She’s sure to be in the kitchen. An’ if Maire’s there bring her too. Time she’s learning this fer herself,” Hepsie blew a sweaty curl from her eyes, “an’ if yew can get yer hands on that ruddy priest we might be needing him to.”

Juzzine gulped, a hand flitting to her own belly.

“Will she be okay Hepsie?” she whispered, though she was sure Morven no longer understood a single word they said, so involved was she with the dreadful clamping pain of her contractions.

Hepsie opened her mouth to say something but no sound came out. Then she shook her head very slowly.

“A girl,” Garrick murmured reverently, gently cradling the newborn Lisbet had placed in his arms.

Cindra did not reply, did not even glance up at the baby. Lisbet didn’t like it. Of course Cindra was exhausted from the birth, but she was a strong girl and it had been nothing like this with Atholt. From the first moment she had been unable to take her eyes off the boy and had cried big, silent tears when they took him away to be washed. Now she lay back on the bed, apparently uninterested in the tiny baby lying quietly in her father’s arms. Lisbet didn’t like it at all.

“A girl,” he whispered again, hoisting the soft bundle up onto his shoulder with a father’s grin.

She glanced at Cindra again, her hands lying listless on her belly, her cheeks still flushed from the exertion of birthing. Something felt wrong. The whole thing just felt wrong. She knew Hepsie felt it too. The baby had slid silently from Cindra’s womb, never making a sound, not a single cry though they tickled her feet and poked at her to try and make her. Hepsie had finally declared her healthy, despite her odd silence and all the while the baby had stared up at them with a strange intensity in her wide, green eyes.

But Garrick seemed not to notice and was gazing down at the baby with a father’s adoration.

“Why, isn’t she the most beautiful thing you ever did see,” he exclaimed, holding the baby up so that he could peer at her, his big, bristly, red face close to her small, pink, wrinkly one.

“She looks just like her,” he sighed sadly.

The baby was staring up at her father with that same intense look, her green eyes barely blinking. Covering her head was a soft red fuzz, not unlike the stubble that grew untended on her father’s neck. Lisbet didn’t agree… the baby barely resembled Cindra at all, perhaps she had her mother’s chubby cheeks. But she was the very image of her father.

Lisbet awkwardly maneuvered her swollen body onto the bed, perching on the edge. She gave her friend a gentle pat on the leg.

“Are you alright honey?”

Cindra blinked as though coming out of a daze.

“Lisbet,” she whispered, her voiced wavering, “could you please have Atholt brought here.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep now sweetpea? You must be exhausted.”

“No,” Cindra mumbled, her eyes beginning to fill with tears, her lower lip trembling, “I want Atholt.”

Lisbet glanced up at Garrick, but he seemed entirely unaware of his wife’s distress, cooing at the swaddled bundle in his arms.

“Igrayne dear, could you please go and get the Baroness’ son for her. Don’t mind if he’s asleep. Just bring him please.”

“Of course your ladyship,” Igrayne replied scurrying off to the adjoining nursery.

Cindra was scrambling towards the bedside, wincing in pain as she swung her legs over the edge.

“Are you certain that’s a good idea,” Lisbet said softly, looking to Hepsie for assistance.

“I’m fine,” Cindra muttered.

“Yew just take it easy now Yer Grace. Yew’ve just popped out a baby and it certainly isn’t being the easiest thing in the world to do,” Hepsie chided, “Yew can get up if yew want but just take it easy, alright love.”

Cindra didn’t seem to hear her as she launched herself from the side of the bed, propelling herself towards the door where Igrayne was standing cradling her curly-haired son.

Where Cindra’s face had been dull and lifeless before, now it was all sparkles and rosy-cheeked joy.

“Atholt!” she squealed, gathering the sleepy boy into her arms, “There’s my darling boy.”

Garrick did not even seem to have noticed the entrance of his son.

He was reverently kissing the top of his daughter’s head, his lips brushing against the red fuzz on the crown of her skull.

“So much like her,” he whispered again, clutching the infant tightly to him.

“Cindra love,” he called out to his wife, “can we name her Isabelle?”

“Arright Graney… yew can open yer eyes now!” Arran drawled, his arms clasped tightly around her.

Her feet dangled prettily in their soft slippers, the folds of her wedding dress falling neatly around her legs. She was a soft, white bird gliding through the air, her feet never touching the ground. She had never felt so beautiful or so loved.

She slowly opened her eyes, squeaking in surprise at the sight she beheld.

“What’s this then Arran?”

“Why, this is just our house then Goodwife Barran. Our very own house,” Arran replied with a small smile tugging playfully at the corners of his lips.

“Our very own,” she murmured staring at the fine eaves, the carefully plastered walls. To the side of them the sea lapped gently onto the beach, behind the house the mountains curving into the sky.

“It’s beautiful Arran,” she sighed, “just lovely. Thank you.”

“Well don’t be thankin’ me love. Yew think these two hands of mine can build all that. Yew should be thankin’ Noah an’ Steen. It was mostly them that done it,” Arran blushed modestly.

“Thank you,” she breathed, feeling Arran’s arms tighten around her floating body.

“Aw… it was being nothing Arran,” Steen mubled as Hepsie clutched his arm tightly, smiling softly.

“I didn’t help at all!” Maire cried, “but I would have if they’d been asking!”

“Well, maybe you can be helping me with the gardening Mairey. We can plant all the beautiful flowers from the forest,” she smiled, snuggling against her husband’s chest.

Her own house. Her very own house. It was more than she had imagined. Her very own house to live in with the man she loved. She was sure it was a dream and any moment she would crash from the bed as his arms released her, awake and alone, tangled in the blankets.

But she did not wake.

“Well now,” Noah said gruffly, “Perhaps we’d best be leaving these young’uns to get some rest.”

He winked at Igrayne, his bushy eyebrows framing twinkling eyes, “They must be awful tired after such a big day.”

Gena tittered beside him, her hand reaching for his.

“They won’t be sleeping!” Maire cried, jumping from foot to foot. Igrayne wondered if she hadn’t had a little too much mead.

“Oh Graney, let me have a kiss then. It won’t be the last I’d wager but it don’t matter.”

She leaped forward, planting a sloppy kiss on Igrayne’s cheek.

“Yew’d better tell me all about it in the morning!” she giggled, and Igrayne blushed feeling the warmth of Arran’s chest against her cheek.

“Goodnight dear friends,” Arran’s voice was deep and rumbling from Igrayne’s position huddled against his chest, “thankin’ yew again fer all yew’ve done fer us.”

Their muffled goodbyes faded into the distance as Arran carried her into their house and carefully set her down.

“So,” she giggled, “it’s just us now then.”

He did not reply, his gaze upon her, his green eyes burning with the intensity of copper fire.

She could not fail to remember that he had stood in a room like this before, with a bride like this before. She was new and fresh, like a tiny chick pecking her way resolutely from the egg while he was the shadow soaring high above, coasting on updrafts while she stretched her glistening wings.

His hands fell to her waist and he slowly spun her like a feather twisting on the breeze. His fingers were sure and steady as they went to the laces of her dress.

She wanted to protest, to say something but his fingers were nimble, pulling the laces one by one, as though he plucked the feathers from her body slowly exposing her goose pimpled flesh.

The laced material of her gown slowly slid to her feet, falling in a rumpled pile, white and soft like feathers in a nest.

She turned to him, searching his face for any sign of the Arran she knew, the timid, nervous man who would make her laugh until she wanted to cry. This was an Arran she had not seen before, an Arran of resolute intensity whose eyes glinted from beneath his dark hair, following her every move as though she were a mouse scuttling on the ground far below oblivious of the beak that would soon break her spine in two.

“Igrayne,” he groaned, closing the gap beside her, his arms wrapping around her half-naked body, his lips finding the crook of her neck.

She stood rigid, suddenly frightened as his lips tickled the soft skin that stretched taut over her collarbone.

“Arran,” she tittered as his fingerstips stroked her back.

“Mmmmh,” he murmured, his lips slowly moving their way down towards her breast.

“Arran, but you’re still wearing all your clothes,” she squeaked, “that’s hardly fair is it?”

He looked up at her, that strange look still claiming his features, “Why yer right of course. Now yew just sit yerself down and I’ll get to remedying that fact. No peeking now.”

She plonked down on the side of the bed, closing her eyes. But she couldn’t help it. She just had to peek. She watched him through slitted eyes as he struggled with one boot then the other, fumbled with his belt, whisked his tunic up over his chest and hastily pulled his leggings down.

At that point she shut her eyes, afraid of what might come next.

“Yew can open yer eyes now,” his voice was husky with desire.

She slowly did and was relieved to find he was still wearing his underclothes.

“That’s not undressed,” she smiled giddily up at him as he gazed down at her.

“I didn’t want to be frightening yew,” he murmured.

If she was frightened before now she was terrified. What the hell did he have under there?

He sat beside her on the bed, pulling her close against the hot skin of his body. His arm circled around her neck, fingers heavily weighing on her shoulder were they played with the strap of her bodice. With his other hand he reached up to stroke her face.

She shivered away from his hand, but his touch was persistant, her body pinned in place against his. His fingers slowly sought the humped mass of skin beneath her left eye, moving over the hummocky, pink mess. They caressed the lumpy ridge of her brow with its line of scars marching away from her nose.

She felt as though he had laid her plucked and naked on the table and was only deciding which piece was most succulent to carve.

“Arran, I’m scared,” she murmured, her cheek against the rough, curling hairs of his chest.

He flinched as though she had slapped him, “Of me!” he yelped like a kicked puppy.

“No, no! Of this! This whole thing. You’ve been doing it before but I’m as blind as poor Gena wandering in here,” she muttered, “You’ve done it all before… and what if I’m no good at it.”

Arran carefully pulled her trembling body onto his lap.

“Grane love, I’ve never been doing this with yew now have I?” he was smiling sheepishly at her, “so I’m just as new to it as yew an’ just as nervous I might be doing something yew don’t like.”

He pulled her close to him, and on his face was her Arran’s tentative smile though his eyes still followed her every move.

“Perhaps we can be nervous together yew and I. I know a little more than yew so at least we won’t have any nasty mishaps,“ she giggled as he grinned at her, “but yew an’ I… we’re new and there isn’t nothing to be afraid of because we’re going to help each other along alright?”

She nodded and with a burst of courage tentatively leaned forward to kiss him softly on his smiling lips. He responded gently pressing her to him, his arms around her body which was no longer trembling.

And when their kisses grew more fevered and passionate and he lay her back on the bed she felt as though she were stretching her new wings and soaring upwards into the sky. But she was not alone, for he was beside her, his feathers softly brushing against hers as they rode the warm updraft higher and higher.

Maire wished she were anywhere else. She would even have been happy scraping burnt porridge off the bottom of the big, black pot which was the thing she hated most in the world. Anything but sitting here, next to him.

It was all made infinitely worse by the fact that he kept looking at her. Every time she dared to glance in his direction she would catch him staring at her, his grey eyes furtively darting away as they met hers. It was really a bit much. It didn’t help that even when she stared straight ahead or focused on the inane conversation that she could still feel him. She had crept as far from him as possible so she was wedged cosily against Igrayne’s leg. But it didn’t matter, the man seemed to radiate some sort of heat so that even though they did not touch she could feel him. She could smell him too, a dizzying heady scent that was not masked by the steaming roast that was spread upon the table. It was the intoxicating scent of his skin, of his hair that she well remembered from the time she had pressed her face in shame to his muscular chest.

And now he was staring at her. She may as well have been the roast, spread askew on the table for all to see as Kelgar picked up the knife to carve off the first piece.

“Kelgar, do you think that meat smells quite right?” Illewen murmured beside him and Kelgar turned back to mutter softly in her ear.

Maire felt hot and flushed, a rising nausea in her belly that refused to be stilled. She gulped down a slosh of mead which burned her throat and churned in her stomach.

She did not even have to look at him to know that he was looking at her. All of the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as though he had stroked a finger along the soft skin that resided there. She glanced quickly at him and sure enough, he was gazing at her again with a bewildered look on his face.

There was a dreadful wrenching in her gut like the knife twisting into the juicy roast and she suddenly felt like she might be sick all over her plate. The smells of the carved meat wafted on the breeze so thick and heavy she could almost taste the blood on her tongue.

“Mairey love,” Igrayne looked over, concerned, “are you alright my sweet.”

She leaned over and whispered, “Did you drink too much mead, it’s awful strong stuff?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” she murmured, swallowing her nausea and trying to smile.

Igrayne eyed Kelgar suspiciously.

Leaning back from the table she tapped him soundly on the shoulder.

“You’re not upsetting our little Maire now are you Kelgar. That would be awfully bad wedding guest behaviour. Or worse… are you a boring conversationalist?”

“I… I don’t think so. Well, that is I hope I’m not,” Kelgar stammered.

Good Lord, what was wrong with the man. Kelgar never stammered.

“Alright then. We’ll forgive you just this once, won’t we Maire,” Igrayne chuckled, “but don’t do it again.”

“Don’t… er what?” Kelgar asked confused, but Igrayne had already turned back to her husband.

Her husband, their husbands, Illewen’s husband. They all had a husband didn’t they. Not Maire. She was the only one at the table who didn’t have a husband.

And she was happy for her friend but right now she would rather have rinsed out beer mugs where the last inch of beer had started to grow fungus on the surface than have sat next to her and listened to Igrayne cooing into Arran’s ear.

“Yew bein’ alright there Maire?” Hepsie called over the table looking all happy with her happy husband and their happy marriage, “yew look a little under the weather. Perhaps some water next love.”

Hepsie was not so much older than her and yet she was happily married with a baby and another on the way. Why was everything so unfair?

Oh God, he was looking at her again. It was more than she could bear. His glance was searing the side of her face leaving a trail of flushed skin wherever it went. She knew it was spreading down over her neck and her breast and for a moment she wished she had not worn this bodice. Already she felt naked under his gaze. He had seen every inch of her before so why, oh why did he have to look at her now. What more was there to see?

“Kelgar, I don’t feel very well. Do you think there’s something wrong with the mead. It smells so sickly sweet.”

Kelgar turned to listen to his wife who was also darting furtive glances at Maire.

This was really getting ridiculous. Wasn’t there anyone else to look at, at this party? Like the bride for instance.

When Kelgar’s gaze fell on her again she decided it was enough.

“Was there something yew were wanting Kelgar?” she grumbled.

He looked at her his eyes wide with shock.

“No… I… no,” he swallowed hard, not looking her in the face now that her eyes were turned upon him.

“Well, yew just look real nice is all Maire. Real pretty. Yew should do yer hair more often like that. It suits yew,” his face was blank, no sly grin of the past Kelgar. No teasing and flirting. Was this even the same man?

“Thank you,” she mumbled, looking down at her hands.

“So Kelgar, are yew thinking’ it’s being a boy or a girl,” Illewen piped in.

“Oh, er… I don’t know. Can yew tell that sort of thing already?”

“I think it’s being a girl,” Illewen sighed contently rubbing her belly, “Matilda felt just the same so it must be.”

Maire felt claustrophobic, the overwhelming happiness flooding the air and the heat radiating from the man beside her making it difficult to breath. She tried to stretch out her arms carefully but accidentally bumped Kelgar with her elbow. He flinched as though she had burned him with her touch.

“Kelgar, I’m really not feelin’ that well. Perhaps there was something bein’ wrong with the mead,” Illewen nudged him, placing a tiny hand on the crook of his arm.

“Let me get yew some water then dear heart,” Kelgar muttered, reaching for the jug.

Maire turned away from them, focusing her attention on Igrayne who was smiling uncontrollably.

“Oh Mairey,” her friend sighed contentedly, “Isn‘t this just the happiest day?”