17th October 1102
The candlelight glowed behind Hepsie’s head making her dark face a shadow in the chilly room. But Lochan could faintly see her grim expression, the whites of her eyes as they flicked down to the sleeping pair in the bed.
16th October 1102
Lochan curled his arm protectively around Cindra’s trembling shoulders, pulling her close to his body. He could feel how cold her skin was where it peeked shyly through the interlocking fingers of lacework that covered her arms.
9th October 1102
The autumn air was crisp and damp, clinging to Alexis’ skin in a clammy sheen. The leaves shook in the breeze like wet dogs, sending droplets of water plummeting to the ground beneath. A faint earthy smell rose from the leaf-strewn path as he carelessly squashed their dying bodies beneath his boots.
The fist was crunching into his face before he knew what was happening. He felt the bones of his nose cracking under its weight, a dreadful crushing feeling he remembered well and a gout of blood spurted onto the fist that was coming in a second time. Sigurd’s fingers curled around the neck of his tunic pulling him upright as his fist collided with Radomir’s exposed belly.
“You bastard!”, Sigurd was snarling, his teeth bared, “You dare touch her!”.
He grunted in pain, doubling over, wrapping his arms around his body to protect it from the onslaught. He could have balled up a fist and retaliated, Sigurd would have been on the floor begging for mercy in mere seconds. But he did not raise a hand, only tried to protect himself from the angry fists as he had done so many times. He knew exactly which parts would hurt the most and he covered those, waiting for it to end.
He deserved this. He could not imagine what he would do to the man who had lain with Valeriya and so he understood Sigurd’s need to drive his fist into the harsh features of his face. If their positions had been switched Radomir would not have been satisfied with his fist. It would have been his sword sliding into the smaller man’s belly, ripping open his guts his staring eyes startled. Even that would not have been enough.
“Sigurd!”, the Duke barked wrapping his arms around the howling man.
He struggled like a drowning cat in a bag, his fists flying ineffectually towards Radomir’s waiting body.
“That’s enough Sigurd”, Lochan muttered to him as his thrashing subsided. The duke may have been a smaller man but he was by far the stronger of the two.
Sigurd only stared at him, his eery green eyes flickering with barely controlled rage. He stood very straight, very tall, Lochan’s arms still wrapped around him. Radomir was doubled over in pain, his arm clutching at his chest where bruises were already beginning to form.
“I’m sorry Sigurd”, Radomir managed to whisper, as he licked the blood from his swollen lip.
“You should leave now Sigurd. We will send word to you when we hear of how your wife is faring”, the King commanded evenly.
Sigurd gave a hiss of displeasure and stalked from the room, slamming the door shut behind him with an echoing thud.
Radomir stood up slowly, wiping his nose against the sleeve of his tunic leaving a bloodied mess. His wife and the Baroness were seated before the King. Valeriya’s hair had been pulled up into an elegant bun. She wore a high necked gown so that all he could see of her smooth white neck was a small strip of alabaster huddling between hair and robe. She had not even turned to watch the argument between he and Sigurd. He could see that she was swaying slightly in her chair and a sudden cascade of anger flooded his senses. She was ill, how dare they take her from her bed to testify before the King.
“You also Ladies, we are done questioning you”, he spoke kindly and Cindra rose hastily to her feet, all but dragging Valeriya from her chair.
She slid a steadying arm around his wife’s swollen waist and began to march her from the room. Radomir could see that Valeriya was having difficulty, her eyes fixed on the floor as she stumbled over the hem of her gown. She did not look up at him once and his heart sagged inside the prison of his chest. Then she was gone, the scuffing of their fine shoes receding down the corridor.
“The Earl of Moraghdu”, the King’s steward droned as if none of the events of the last five minutes had taken place.
“You may sit down Radomir”, the King’s voice rang out clear as a blacksmith’s hammer striking the anvil.
“Yes Your Majesty”, Radomir all but whispered, carefully seating himself on the wooden chair facing the man he owed his allegiance to.
The chair was warm beneath him, the warmth of his wife’s trembling buttocks as she had sat before her King. Perhaps her cheeks had burned red with shame when he asked her with whom she had lain. Perhaps she had only stared back defiantly, her hot open thighs imparting their sinful heat, scorching the wood that now lay beneath him. A trickle of blood began to dribble down from his nose, tickling the skin just above his lips. He did not wipe it away, this was only the beginning of his punishment.
“I am extremely displeased with your behaviour Radomir. It is bad enough that you seem to be incapable of treating your wife with respect due to her, but now you have decided to expand this to include all women. How dare you stike Lady Inbar. How dare you lay a finger on her”, he paused for a moment, struggling to control his anger.
“You may do as you please with your God given wife and I cannot stop you though it sickens me. But you have made a big mistake in believing you can do the same to Sigurd’s”, the King’s voice was thick with displeasure as he waited for Radomir’s response.
“I understand Your Majesty and I submit to the punishment you choose for me”.
“First of all you are ordered to hand over two hides of the land you have been allotted in recompense to Sir Inbar for handling his wife. The remainder of your punishment remains to be decided depending on the outcome of Lady Inbar’s pregnancy. You do understand that if you have caused lasting damage to the woman your punishment will be severe”.
“Yes Your Majesty”, Radomir mumbled, a drop of blood dripping into his lap.
He understood. If she died he was a murderer twice over and he would pay for this with his life. A shudder of terror rippled up through his body. He clung to the sides of the wooden chair trying to steady himself.
“If Lady Inbar and her child survive this you will never lay a finger on them again, nor any other woman on this island. I will not stand for this brutality. Should I find out this has happened again my wrath will be swift and crushing. I would not recommend testing it if I were you”.
“Now, we have spoken to your wife and it seems she does not know who the father of the child is. I am inclined to believe her. She is still ill and I do not think she is lying”.
Radomir stared at him, uncomprehending. He turned to each of the nobles sitting before him trying to read their faces. Finally his eyes fell on the Queen who was gazing at him with a mixture of pity and disgust.
“I don’t understand”, he murmured.
The Queen’s brows wrinkled upwards so that the crown sitting on her brow was almost dislodged.
“Radomir you stupid fool”, she began, “We believe that your wife has been raped during the time she was lying unconscious and that is why she does not know who the father is. She was extremely distressed when she realised she didn’t know who it was and that it wasn’t you”.
Radomir recoiled as though her tiny jewelled hand had struck him full across the face, the angular edges of her rings leaving ragged imprints.
“No”, he gasped, his insides freezing in looping coils as he hugged his arms around his waist trying to remember the comfort it had given him before when those arms belonged to a strange, young girl and the scent of hay was all around.
“Radomir, I beg you. Do not go after the man or try and find out who did this. We will do our very best to discover the identity of the rapist among us but I cannot have you going around thumping every man you suspect. I need you and I need the other men. Do not fail me. We will find out who did this and they will be justly punished. But you cannot take the law into your own hands. I will not hear of it”, Eallair’s voice was earnest and remarkably gentle after the ringing steel of moments before.
Radomir shut his eyes tightly, the rage inside him was gone, nothing but a hollow wind blowing over dead coals. He was sickened at the thought of a man stealing into his wife’s chamber, pulling back the covers as she moaned in the throes of fever. Sliding at dirty hand up beneath her nightgown and then pulling it up around her waist. Hurting her while she cried out in her sleep at the pain, running his hands over her slack body, kissing her open panting mouth, twisting his hand in her long golden hair and pulling her sleeping face up to rub against him. Had it been only once, or many times when their heads were turned. It was his fault, he had not protected her well enough.
“Radomir. I am also forbidding you to see your wife. I will not allow you near her until she has given birth and we have sorted this mess out and removed the predator from our midst. You cannot be trusted with her and so you may not see her. I am sorry. I know it will be difficult but I pray that you use this time to repent, perhaps speak with Father Harndall and confess your sins. When the child is born we will have a better idea of who the father is and until then you can rest assured we are searching for this criminal”.
“But who will protect her”, his voice was so quiet it was barely a breathy sigh. There was a polite knock at the door behind him.
“Enter”, the steward called out at a small nod from the King.
The door swung open and Radomir recognised the soft thudding of Hepsie’s determined limp. It was the thumping step of the executioner lumbering up the stairs of the scaffold, wrapping his thick hands around the axe.
“Goodwife Cade Your Majesty”, Garald announced.
Radomir half-turned to look at her face and then his courage faltered, knowing his doom might be written there.
“How is Lady Inbar Goodwife?”, the King asked in subdued tones.
Radomir waited like a condemned man with his head on the block, throwing his arms wide at the last minute. He waited for the whistle of the axe and the brief flare of pain followed by unending darkness.
“She’s bein’ fine Yer Grace, though her nose is bein’ a bit of a mess. I’m thinkin’ it will be healin’ alright though as I set it real careful”, Radomir could hear the anger ringing through her voice and he knew that it was directed at him.
“And the baby?” the Queen asked fretfully.
“Fer the time beins’ the baby is fine. We managed to be savin’ it but I can’t be promisin’ yew it’ll last till the end. It’s got a long way to be goin’ till it see the light of day an’ Lady Inbar’s goin’ to have to be bedridden the whole time which she won’t be likin’. But there’s still bein’ some hope”:
The air whistled from Radomir’s lungs in a soft sigh of relief. The trotting of hooves the moment before the axe fell. The messengers halting the proceedings, the Royal pardon at the last of moments. The pardoned man’s hands falling to clutch at the wooden block, clinging to it for long moments and then leaning heavily on it as he rises trembling to his feet.
Varda stumbled into the room pulling the heavy door shut behind with an echoing thud. The pain in her nose was intense, a heavy throbbing that flooded across her cheeks and pooled in her sockets.
It did not however distract her from the growing pain in her belly, the faint niggling, ache that was flowing from her spine and contracting her lower body.
A massive spasming cramp hit, her body doubling over in pain as she fought the urge to scream. She gritted her teeth together as her breath hissed out between her lips. She clamped her legs shut feeling a gentle trickle of blood winding its way down her leg.
Her hands flew to her belly, “Please, little one… please don’t leave me”, she whispered, her fingers slowly stroking down the slight curve of her aching abdomen.
It had only been days before that she had felt the first tiny shudder of movement, tickling inside her, the tiny pawings of her baby. Her fingers carefully moved over the bumps and knots of embroidery, searching for that feeling, willing it to return.
“Please…”, she clamped her teeth together again as her body shook with another wave of pain shuddering up from her pelvis.
Her vision blurred with unshed tears, the sounds in her ears muffled as though she wore a heavy cloak. It was so very chill in this room, the sweat that was pouring off her ailing body grew frigid and clammy as it met with the air. She thought heard the faint sounds of pattering feet against the wooden floorboards above the ringing in her ears.
“Don’t leave me”, she murmured entreatingly to the small creature whose life hung tenuously, buried deep within her useless womb.
The door swung open and Hepsie rapidly limped in, “Lord sakes woman! Yew should be lyin’ down. Get yerself on that bed now. I’ve seen to the Countess and someone is lookin’ over her so yew don’t need to be worryin’ yerself about that”.
She hurried over to Varda, her hands gently resting on the other woman’s straining belly.
“I’m losing it Hepsie”, Varda managed to choke between chattering teeth.
“Not if I be havin’ a say yew aren’t, an’ I damn well are”, she wrapped her arms around Varda’s trembling waist, herding her towards the bed.
“Are yew feelin’ the cramps? And bleedin’?”, she asked bluntly.
“Both”, Varda managed to reply.
“There now”, she aid helping Varda to lie down, stroking her hair gently, “Lord sakes, yer poor nose must be hurtin’ to bust. I’m goin’ to have to be settin’ it but let’s be worryin’ about that later when we’ve settled the littl’ un”.
She spoke with such calm authority that Varda was reasssured. Certainly she had lost the other babies, but Hepsie had never been there before it was too late. Perhaps she could make a difference.
“I’m just goin’ to have a feel now”, she leant over and gently palpated Varda’s belly, “has the baby quickened yet?”.
“Yes”, Varda managed to whisper, “just these last days I felt it move”.
“But it’s not movin’ now?” she asked a frown of concentration creasing her pretty brow.
“No”, the word rang hollow in Varda’s ears and she had to fight the urge to curl up and just let nature take its course. Perhaps God did not wish it that she was blessed with a child.
“Alright Me lady, I need to be examin’ yew in the more personal places. Is that bein’ alright with yew”.
Varda nodded, biting one lip between her teeth.
Hepsie carefully lifted them hem of her dress and pulled back the soft folds of her shift.
Varda lay very still as Hepsie’s sure fingers moved beneath her dress, her mouth pursed with concentration her eyes distant as though she listened for a very faint sound that Varda could not hear.
Varda grimaced in pain as Hepsie worked.
“Sorry Yer Ladyship, I know it ain’t comfortable but I’m almost done… there now”, she rose, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Will I lose it?”, Varda asked, her voice so quiet she did not know if Hepsie had even heard.
Hepsie looked down at her, her face full of compassion, “I’m not sure yet Yer Ladyship. There’s a good chance yew will but it don’t mean there ain’t still hope fer the littl’un. And I’m goin’ to do everything in my earthly power to keep it here so one day it be seein’ it’s mother’s face this side of the pearly gates”.
“Now yew just lie back and be very still. I’m just off to get Juzzine an’ some clean linen and warm water. Don’t yew be worrying yerself. Yer husband won’t be lettin’ that dreadful man be gettin’ away with this, an’ neither will the King”.
She turned away, hurrying from the room leaving Varda with her own thoughts and the dull clenching pain between her thighs. She was not surprised Radomir had been angry if such a thing were true. And Varda could not help but be glad that she had stood between his rage and Valeriya. The poor girl was damaged enough, scarcely all there since the accident. She couldn’t have let him hurt her.
But was the sacrifice her own child? And how could it be that Valeriya was pregnant if it were not Radomir’s? There had been someone with her nearly all the time. Varda’s mind flitted guiltily back to the one time she knew Valeriya had been visited. She herself had snuck the Father in to pray by her bedside. But she never would have thought…
No, she could not believe the Father was capable of such a thing.
Her nose began to bleed again, a small trickle running down her upper lip and into her mouth. She licked her lips but she did not move. Lying still, her hands resting gently on her belly she waited for Hepsie to return.
Radomir thrust open the door to his wife’s room. The rusty hinges squealed at such rough treatment, the warped wood of the door bending beneath his forceful hand.
He was greeted by a brief look of surprise from Varda, then it rapidly tightened into a defensive glare as she saw the dark, look on his face. Her hair was arranged differently, smoothly sweeping back from her high brow and hanging in dark curls around her shoulders. It made a difference from her usual severe braid that pulled her hair high and tugged at her scalp. As he gazed at the harsh set of her mouth and the proud tilt of her chin he was reminded that a clever hairstyle did not make a woman beautiful and her least of all.
Valeriya didn’t even look at him, staring blankly at the wall.
He saw that he had interrupted Varda helping his wife into her nightgown after Hepsie had examined her. Valeryia’s pale skin glowed silver in the candlelight, her dank, greasy hair hanging limply down her clammy back. His gaze trailed down over the soft humps of her breasts. He could see now that, though her shoulders were frail and wasted her breasts swelled, round and firm. He followed their curves down to the top of her belly. When standing beside Varda with her flat, trim stomach the gentle swell of his wife’s was extremely obvious. He wondered that he had not noticed before, but then he had never expected her capable of such a betrayal. He found himself wondering why. There had not been a single person that he loved who had not betrayed in some way in the end. Not a single one.
And now his wife, his lawful, wedded wife had lain with some man like any cheap, dockside trollop. He wondered if she had liked it, had she moaned and thrashed when he ran his hands over those swollen breasts, cried out in pleasure as he entered her. Had she taken him between those plump, luscious lips of hers as she had never done for him. Had it been only once or had it been many times when Radomir had left his beside vigil to sleep or shit. And yet she had been cool to the attentions he paid her. It was too much to bear. His heart was twisting inside him, roasting like a hog on the spit, the cruel flames licking at his tortured body.
“You splay-legged slut!”, he whispered hoarsely.
Now she turned her head slowly to look at him with tired eyes. One hand unconsciously moved up to rest lightly on the curve of her belly. So she knew.
“What has the she done to deserve these harsh words My Lord?”, Varda demanded coldly.
The fire flared, fuelled by the grating sound of her voice, “That little strumpet has bedded another man and now she carries his simpering whelp”.
Varda stared in shock at Valeriya, her mouth falling softly open. He saw a flicker of emotion pass over her face, a slight tightening of her jaw, her shapely brows flitting into a confused frown, eyes glancing at the gentle curve of Valeriya’s belly and then she composed her face into a look of fixed incredulity. But he had seen the guilty look in her eyes no matter how quickly she had purged it from them. So she had a part in this too.
He was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to make Valeriya his own again, reclaim the territory that had been besmirched by another man. He would show her who she belonged to no matter how much she wept or begged for him to stop. He wanted to shove himself between her clenched thighs, to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of her breast, to rake his fingernails down her back until it was bloody. He wanted to hurt her like she had hurt him and he knew no other way.
He lunged forward pouncing on the frail form of his wife and wrapping his arms tightly around her unresisting body. He glared fiercely at Varda.
“Get out. I wish to be alone with my wife”, he growled.
He yanked Valeriya’s face up by the chin and looked into the clear grey of her eyes. They stared back at him blankly with no hint of the defiance that used to dwell there. They glittered in the candlelight, like twin pools sunk deep into the limestone bedrock. His own eyes were grey like the churning sea in the moments before the storm broke pummelling at the cliffs with its force. While the towering rock could withstand many years of wave after wave breaking over the curving landforms, it would eventually crumble leaving nothing but sand, bleached bone-white in the sun.
He looked at the smooth, pale features of his wife’s face for some emotion, some feeling but he may as well have gazed at the flecks of sand looking for some hint of the coastline’s former grandeur.
“Have you no shame you damned hussy!”, he snarled at her, shaking her by the shoulders, desperate to illlicit some sort of response from her limp body.
She yielded none.
“Who was it you open-lipped whore! Whose seed are you growing in there! I’ll run the adulterous bastard through with my sword!”, he shook her hard, her limp head snapping back and forth, like trees whipping this way and that in the howling wind.
“Leave her alone you big brute!”, he heard Varda’s waspish voice shrieking in his ears and felt her strong fingers wrapping around his arm and pulling him to the side.
The fury that welled up inside him knew no bounds and it exploded from his mouth in an thunderous roar. He grasped a great fistful of her thick, black hair pulling her to the floor. She knelt before him, struggling against his hulking body. He slapped her so hard his hand was stinging. That would teach the meddling bitch.
“You like it down there, on your knees slut”, he growled, slapping her again, “you’re no good for anything else”.
He glanced at his wife to see if she would grant him some response now. Valeriya merely watched, her eyes dull, her body drooping.
He yanked Varda to her feet by the air and as she stumbled towards him trying to regain her balance his fist cracked out like lightning. He felt the satisfying crunch of the fine bones of her nose beneath his pummelling fist and blood splattered on his tunic.
She groaned in pain, bringing a trembling hand up to her face to wipe away the blood.
“Your husband should have done that long ago but your husband is weak as piss”, he snarled, “You can inform him he may thank me later for saving him from your shrewish tongue”.
He raised his fist again, expecting her to cower from it and flee the room. But she did not, his clenched fist wavering as she slowly raised her face. He could see that he had broken her nose, it was slightly bent with blood streaming freely down her face.
“You shouldn’t have done that Radomir”, she swallowed, choking on the blood that was running down the back of her throat.
He stared at her, the gleam of defiance in her dark, green eyes, the hatred in her voice.
One eye was beginning to swell shut as the blood trickled steadily from her nose. Her mouth was twisted into an ugly sneer.
“I do not belong to you”, she hissed, “you have damaged another man’s property and for that you will surely pay”.
The door swung open and Hepsie limped in.
She grimaced as she saw the blood running down Varda’s face and onto her dress and Radomir’s half-clenched, twitching fist.
“Oh my dear, oh Lord sakes… Yer Ladyship. The baby?”, she cried, wringing her hands.
He glanced at his wife, her back against the wall, eyes blankly fixed at the wall behind him. She was gently stroking her belly, her white hands flitting back and forth.
“Not hers yew bloody fool!”, she snapped at him, following his gaze. She wrapped her arms around Varda’s rigid body.
The words were any icy trickle of rain down his spine, cooling his boiling blood and pooling acid in the pit of his stomach.
“What do you mean?”, he whispered, the last breath of wind before the downpour.
“The Lady Inbar is with child”, she hissed, turning back to Varda.
“Oh God, not again”, he choked, reaching a shaking hand towards the woman he had just injured, “I… I did not know”.
“Don’t matter if yew knew or not, it’s bein damn wrong to hit a woman tis”, Hepise lashed back at him, “Yew should be bein’ downright ashamed of yerself yew great brute”.
Her words rang true and a flood of shame and misery drenched his insides as the swollen black clouds of his rage disgorged. It did not matter if the storm subsided now. The menacing black clouds would still hang on his horizon, gradually filling until it burst forth again in a torrential gale of fury. He could never change who he was, no matter how hard he tried.
“I’m so sorry”, he murmured and then fled.
“I do be believin’ she is truly getting a damnsite better if yew be excusin’ my language yer Lordship”, Hepsie’s dark skin blushed prettily as she checked herself for swearing.
Radomir found himself charmed. He was in a good mood today, and the little woman had done so much for his wife. The night before Valeriya had finally allowed him to kiss her, her mouth soft and pliant beneath his. Afterwards, she had rested her tired head against his chest. And he had not even had to force her! She had done it of her own volition. He felt warm inside at the memory of her wispy golden hair tickling his chin, her flushed face drowsily drooping against his fluttering heart.
“An’ of course she be puttin’ on a lot of new weight which is a good thing though I’m guessin’ yew be knowin’ the reason why as well as I be”, she winked at him as he stared at her confused.
But his jubilation was such that he glazed over the strange comment and continued listening. He supposed Hepsie believed he had been bringing her sweets, though he had obeyed her advice in everything despite their many arguments over her ministrations. Secretly he had a massive respect for the young woman that had grown phenomenally in the past months. She had managed to nurse his wife back to health from the very gates of the dead and for that he would be forever thankful.
“She let me kiss her last night!” it suddenly popped out as he found himself desperate to tell someone and having noone to tell. He felt giddy, like the shy, young boy he had once been finally working up the courage to steal a kiss from the sun drenched lips of a plump, blonde milkmaid behind the barn.
She wiggled her eyebrows at him, “Well then Yer Lordship, I think we both be knowin’ she let yew do a lot more than that”.
She shook her finger at him as though he were a naughty child with a widening grin, “An’ after all the good advice I been givin’ yew too”.
“Men will be bein’ men I suppose”, she sighed melodramatically and then cast a flippant grin up at him.
Radomir’s smile grew brittle as he tried to comprehend what she was saying. What was it she was accusing him of. He had done no more than kiss Valeriya for longer than he cared to remember.
“I don’t understand Goodwife Cade”, he forced the words out between his clenched teeth, frightened of what the answer would be but not understanding quite why.
“Aww yew big dunce. Yew men are all bein’ the same. Can’t be seein’ the answer if it be starin’ yew straight in the face”, she laughed up at him.
Suddenly the smile that had seemed so friendly and kind a moment was twisted into a mocking grin. And he had trusted this woman. Now she was laughing at him just like all the rest. He didn’t know why he had ever expected something different.
“She’s pregnant yew ninny”, she exclaimed, rows of teeth golden in the flickering candelight, “though I must admit I did not see it myself. I was thinkin’ her lack of women’s troubles was bein’ because of the illness but today I was feelin’ the littl’un move”.
He barely heard past the first sentence, her voice muffled by the ringing in his ears as his body was suffused with hot, molten rage. His hand flew back of its own volition to strike her filthy, lying mouth. It hung in the air for a long moment, twitching like an insect caught in a web as he tried to control his need for her pain.
Finally it dropped to his side where he grasped a large bunch of his tunic and hissed through gritted teeth, “What did you just say wench?”.
Hepsie was gazing at him, her mouth sagging open in surprise. He had a vivid image of him standing above her, his hands twisted in her hair as he thrust into that slutty, open mouth while she squealed and struggled against him.
His throat caught in dismay as he strived to control his burgeoning anger. It was no good, he was losing himself in the labryinth of white hot rage that ever dwelt within him and he did not know how to find his way back amongst the twisting paths and dead ends.
She was still staring at him but her mouth had slowly closed and now her lips were pressed tightly together in a thin line.
“Yer wife Me Lord. The Countess. She’s bein’ with child”, she whispered.
“That little bitch”, his voice was a low thundering, growl that he could barely recognise as it ripped from his throat.
“Get out of my way Goodwife”, he tried to push past her to the door behind which his unfaithful wife lay.
“But yer Lordship. She don’t know it yet! An’ yew musn’ hurt her. She’ll be losin’ it again!”, Hepsie clawed at his massive body in panic trying to block his path.
“Get out of my way slut!”, he roared, gripping her shoulders and throwing her little body to the side.
She hit the salt warped walls with a thud and went sliding down the floor. He heard her moan in pain and some part of him hoped he had not hurt her. But that part was buried beneath so many layers of anger and rage he barely thought it at all. He reached out a throbbing hand and threw open the door.
“I’ve got to be thankin’ yew that much fer comin’ to see us Hepsie, we’ve been that worried over this I’ve been barely sleepin’”, Darina’s voice grated like the spinning wheel clicking rapidly between her legs.
Engin was well and truly sick of the creaking sound that damned contraption made. Lord knows Darina was at day and night, the wheel endlessly turning, her nimble fingers pulling the thread through with an soft, dusty dragging sound that made the hairs on the back of Engin’s neck stand on end. He was actually glad to get outside collecting the meager harvest they managed to get planted before it turned cold last year. Anything to get away from that confounded noise.
“Oh Darina! It’s bein’ no trouble at all. To tell yew the honest truth I’m just glad to get a bit of walk outside, I’ve been feelin’ that cooped up and Juzzy is watching Thaell for a few hours”.
Hepsie was glowing, her smile as genuine as it had ever been but perhaps a touch more radiant. Motherhood definitely suited her. Engin remembered the weeks after Aisling was born, Darina pale and wan, snapping at him from between thin lips. When she had finally let him bed her again, the skin on her belly had been stretched and flaccid, her breasts leaking milk.
He could see that Hepsie’s belly was still swollen but he thought the gentle rolls would be firm if one ran their hand along them. He could always ask Steen but he didn’t think the lad would be impressed. There were some men you could discuss these things with and some you simply couldn’t. Hepsie certainly had more energy than Darina had, had for months after. Though, Darina had eventually gotten it back. Unfortunately most of it was expended making dresses for the ladies and not nearly enough on being a good wife to him.
“Well then dearie… let me just be takin’ a little look at those ears of yers then”, Hepsie crooned reaching her hands out towards the small girl.
Aisling whined and clung to Engin’s arm, pushing herself away from Hepsie’s searching hands.
“Come on then love… it won’t be hurtin’. Hepsie just wants to be takin’ a little look”, Engin tried to pry Aisling from his arms but to no avail. She squealed and clung still tighter.
“Aisling love! Yer alright… she won’t hurt yew!”, Engin chuckled.
But Aisling was not deterred and she clung to him tightly with tiny bunched up fists and then, with a tearful sniff, buried her damp face in the crook of his neck.
He wrapped his arms protectively around her, stroking the soft hair on her head with his big, calloused hands. He had never felt anything like the downy hair that grew in patches, blonde as his own, on the crown of her head. She loved to be held like this, safe against his chest she would rub her nose sleepily against his stubbled cheek. Then he would kiss her, all over her face and neck, the warm scent of her baby skin in his nose. She was beautiful. His little girl. His Aisling.
And she loved him like no one ever had. He knew that Darina had some sort of love for him, in her own shrewish way but it was not like the soft innocent love of Aisling with her patting hands and her occasional careful smiles. She always clung to him when he had to leave, big tears rolling silently down her trembling cheeks.
“Sorry Hepsie… she’s bein a shy little thing she is”, he laughed as Aisling buried her face deeper beneath his hair. Her warm breath was tickling his neck, her hand tugging gently at his beard.
“Oh… it’s bein’ no problem Engin. I wonder whether Thaell is shy. I guess he’s still at the lyin’ about and lookin’ at nothin’ in particular stage. Though I tell yew, he’s certainly not shy about askin’ fer milk that’s fer sure”, Hepsie replied with a warm smile.
“Stop, foolin’ around Engin and let Hepsie be seein’ those ears”, Darina snapped from behind him.
“Alright love, hold yer horses”, he replied, prying Aisling’s hands from his neck and beard and holding her out so she faced him.
“Come on now Aisling, love. Hepsie just wants to be takin’ a little look an’ then yew can go back to yer hidin’. How does that sound? Will yew be good fer yer old Da?”, he asked with a gentle laugh.
Aisling replied with one her rare smiles. It had only been recently that she had learned, one day as he gazed down at her in her crib with what was possibly the most goofy grin a man had ever had the occasion to smile. She had blinked up at him and then smiled shyly. It was god’s own grace that she hadn’t copied his stupid smile, he wasn’t sure she would impress the boy’s much with that one. His heart gave a jealous ache at the though of boy’s and men in his little daughter’s future. He would worry about that later. For now he would be the only man she loved and that was the way he wanted it to stay.
“Well Darina, yew weren’t wrong. They are bein’ rather pointy aren’t they”, Hesie said, examing the tips of Aisling’s ears as she squirmed in her father’s arms.
“I haven’t been seein’ that before but Lord know I haven’ got as much experience yet as me old ma. But I shouldn’t think it’s anythin’ to be worryin’ yerself about. They’ll probably be growin’ rounder as she gets older. She’s bein’ perfectly healthy an’ normal”.
“Perhaps those old rumours about there bein’ fae blood in yer family are bein true after all Darina”, Engin teased with a wide grin at Hepsie.
“Don’t yew ever be sayin’ that Engin damn yew!”, Darina snarled the wheel grinding to a halt with a squeal of protest.
Engin turned in suprise,shocked by the ferocity of her tone.
“Yew don’t know what they been doin’ to my cousin Mable. She was bein’ born with ears like those”, Darina sighed heavily, her face pale through the haze of tiny dust particles that spun slowly in the filtered rays of summer light.
Her shoulders drooped as she continued, “But I seen what they done. She was bein’ the shame of the family. Them scars never did heal properly”.
His baby’s beautiful ears! He hadn’t thought anyone could be cruel to her because of them. He hugged her warm, heavy body closer to his chest, “But her ears are bein’ beautiful Darina… just beautiful like all the rest of her. An’ we ain’t ashamed… well at least I sure as hell ain’t. There the best damn ears I’ve ever seen that’s fer sure.
“People wouldn’ be hurtin’ her would they?”, he choked, the last sentence catching in his throat which was rapidly closing. He swallowed loudly.
“Don’t yew be swearin’ Engin. An’ don’t yew have anythin’ better to do than be standin’ around here. Get yerself outside an’ see to those crops!”, Darina’s voice was hard but Engin thought he detected something wavering beneath and it was this that made him answer kindly.
“Alright love, I’m a goin’. I know when I’m not bein’ wanted. ‘Cept perraps by yew little one… yer goin’ to have to be lettin’ go now”.
Aisling whined, desperately trying to cling to his tunic as he set her down on the floor.
“Yew shuffle over an’ give yer old ma a cuddle then. She be sore needin’ one”, he winked at Darina who scowled back at him.
“Now don’t yew too be worryin’ yerselves”, Hepsie said with a reassuring smile, “It’s a good bunch of folk we got ourselves stuck with on this here island an’ no one would hurt her that’s bein’ fer sure. yew really needn’t be worryin’”.
“Thanks fer droppin’ by Hepsie. It’s was bein’ awful kind of yew, ’specially with yer little ‘un waitin’ at home. I know how difficult it’s bein’ to leave ‘em behind”, he grinned down at Aisling who was sitting dejectedly on the packed clay floor, her lower lip trembling.
“Oh no Engin, it’s really bein’ no trouble at all”, Hepsie replied, ” I should probably be headin’ off though”.
“Oh Hepsie no!”, Darina interrupted, “Yew must be sittin’ down fer a cold drink while be tellin’ yew who the Baroness comissioned me to work on a dress fer. Yew’ll never be guessin. It think it’s bein’ a terrible idea myself but yew know these noble folk…”
“Alright then, but just for a little while”, Hepsie replied, lowering herself into a chair as Darina began to prattle.
Engin could hear them gossiping as he strode through the door into the hot summer sun.
“Alright lads… I’ll be countin’ to three and then yew all got to be pushin’”, Noah’s voice rang out.
Steen braced his back in preparation, glad to have a distraction. It was Hepsie’s time and each moment his mind strayed over that thought he panicked and forgot how to breath. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation and so he was happy to focus his breathing on moving the heavy stones into position.
“Alright then… one… two… three… PUSH!”
“Yew need to be movin’ it a bit to the left there Sermak”, Engin’s voice whined from behind Steen, “And Arran, yer not pushin’ hard enough… put yer back into it lad”.
Steen was once again glad that he was distracted, otherwise he would have been unable to fight the strong compulsion that was growing in him. He wanted nothing more than to plant his fist right in the middle of Engin’s over-sized nose.
“Okay… now be lettin’ go… well done lads”.
“It be lookin’ a bit crooked from over here Noah… yew might need to be doin’ it again”, Engin said pompously.
Now that Steen’s hands were free he thought perhaps he would just give in to the urge. Just a little bop on the nose couldn’t do Engin that much harm and it would do Steen the world of good.
But as he turned he saw Juzzine standing a little away, gazing at them nervously, waiting till they had finished what they were doing.
His heart was in his mouth, so that he was choking on it, his tongue bouncing around as it thumped and thumped so that he couldn’t manage to say anything at all.
“Er… Steen dear… I think yew better be comin’ with me”, Juzzine said delicately.
Steen managed to untangle his tongue from the wet-meaty lump and blurted out, “Hepsie… she.. I… we… Hepsie…”
Juzzine looked shocked when she realised what he had thought, “Oh no… oh no… she’s bein’ just fine… it’s just well… yew really best be comin’ then”.
“I… the baby… the baby… what about the wee baby?!”, Steen heard his voice growing more and more high pitched until he thought he was shrieking in a rather womanly fashion and tried to compensate with a deep growl.
“The baby”, he finally settled on.
“Oh… it’s not here just yet love… it’s just… well really… yew gotta go there I be thinkin’. We sorta be needin’ yer help”.
In an instant Steen was running through the courtyard, leaving Juzzine and the men behind, scattering chickens in his haste. He ran towards the small room in the west wing where he and Hepsie were staying until their cottage was finished.
The door began to open and he skidded to an abrupt halt, and a chicken that had been desperately running before him gave a relieved squawk and toddled off to the side.
It was Hepsie, her swollen belly swaying beneath her flimsy underclothes as she waddled hurriedly through the door. Gena was following behind, feeling her way along the door frame as quickly as she could manage.
“Please Hepsie love… yew got to be comin’ back inside. Babies comin’ it is”, Gena trembled, reaching her hand around trying to find where Hepsie was standing.
Hepsie looked up and saw Steen standing rooted to the spot, unable to think straight. Wasn’t she supposed to be lying down. Steen didn’t really understand how the process worked nor did he really want to as it terrified the pickles out of him, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to happen here in the courtyard in front of anyone who walked past.
Hepsie’s face suddenly changed, her brows coming together in a ferocious frown, her lips curling down as she glared directly at him. He almost looked behind him to check it wasn’t aimed at someone else, but he felt fairly sure the only living creatures around were the chickens and he did not know what they could have done to provoke such a face.
“Yew!”, she shrieked, and rushed up to him, pounding at his chest ineffectually with her tiny fists.
“Look a what’ve yew done to me yew big ruddy fool!!”
Steen looked around in a panic, but he couldn’t see anything that was different, nor imagine how he could have been responsible.
“Yew put this thing inside me yew big damn oaf and now I got to be bloody well gettin’ it out again now don’t I!!”
Steen didn’t think he had ever heard his good-natured little wife swear before and now she had the mouth of a common fishwife.
She poked him again hard in the chest and was about to do it again when she crumpled over in pain.
“Oooooh… “, she clutched at her heaving belly as Steen hovered before her unsure of what to do.
When the contraction passed she looked up at him, the anger gone leaving behind only the face of a frightened girl.
“I don’t want to be doin’ it Steen… it be hurtin’ that much and I don’t think I got the strength to do it. I don’t want to anymore… can yew just be takin’ me home now and we forget this whole baby thing? Please Steen… can’t we just be goin’ home to our little cottage? I don’t care that it’s only bein’ half built. Please?”.
Her lower lip was trembling as she looked at him, tears forming at the corners of her eyes and threatening to spill down her flushed cheeks.
“Well I dunno love, but I be guessin’ there ain’t much in this here world that’s gonna be stoppin’ that wee baby from comin’ whether yew or I be likin’ it or not”.
“And if I ever knew any woman that was bein’ strong enough it’s bein yew Hepsie… yer just about the strongest woman I ever been meetin’”.
“And surely since yew been bringin’ that many littl’uns into this world yew can be doin’ it fer our own. Just think love… soon we’ll be havin’ our own little son or daughter. Our very own and we can take the wee thing back to our cottage and be startin’ our own little family”.
Hepsie was gazing sadly at the ground, all the anger gone out of her, her shoulders drooping wearily.
“Yew just got to be doin’ this one thing now and yew got to be bein’ brave fer yer old Steen and that littl’un who’s bein’ so desperate to be comin’ out an meetin’ his Ma. And I know yew can Hepsie… yer just about the bravest woman I ever knowed”.
And then she flung herself into his arms, clinging to him like she never had before.
“I’m bein’ that scared Steen”, she whispered in his ear.
“I know love, but yew’ll be alright. Yer strong and brave and from all that kickin’ I been feelin’ these last months so’s the littl’un”.
“Now give yer old Steen a kiss and be off with yew”.
He pulled her gently to him, kissing her soft lips and tried not to let in the thought that perhaps this would be the last time he ever would. He ran his fingers through her long black hair and felt her warm body pressing against his. She was strong. She was brave. They would be alright.
“Ooooh… damn… bloody hell!”, she drew away, shouting obscenities as another wave of pain rushed through her body.
Steen rubbed her arm until it passed.
“I guess you gotte be goin’ real soon then love. Seems like it won’t be too much longer”.
She nodded and allowed herself to be led away by Gena.
Darina was waiting at the door, coaxing in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, “Come on then dearie… best to get it over with. Won’t be too much longer then”.
“I love yew Hepsie”, Steen called after her.
“I love yew too Steen… ooooh”.
And then the door shut and as Steen thought of the room beyond he realised he was “bein’ that scared” too, but he was glad he had not told her.
Hepsie walked towards the cottage, her arm tucked neatly in the crook of Arran’s, listening to him prattle on about the farm and what Noah had managed to do last Sunday. Hepsie was glad to see such admiration in the boy. Noah was a good man, and he had a good little wife. They had done a very fine thing taking in this lonely, grief stricken soul. Their tiny cottage was almost bursting at the seams, what with the new baby and Arran, not to mention Dog. And yet they had not hesitated.
“Well here we are then Goodwife Cade”, Arran said politely as they reached the house. It had been a rough journey for Hepsie in the wagon, and she could feel the weight of the baby throbbing in her bad ankle. But she was not one to doubt the word of a solemn man like Noah. She knew he would not have sent for her unless he was sure there was something wrong.
She had a dreadfully tough time convincing Steen to let her go, especially when she told him her plans to stay for a week or so to help her friend with the baby. He had grown more sullen as the weeks went by and she hobbled around after everyone. She understood his concern, but if there was anyone who knew about childbearing it was Hepsie. It didn’t matter that this was her first time, she knew she was healthy and in good condition. Maybe she was a little tired, but who wasn’t after all?
And so he had finally grudgingly agreed, sending her off on the proviso that she was wrapped in her thick woollen coat. The scratchy thing was hanging limply over her shoulders, the humidity of the day permeated the thick fibres so that her arms were sticking unpleasantly to the fabric.
“Thankin’ yew kindly Arran… and aren’t yew remeberin’. I’ve been tellin’ yew to be callin’ me Hepsie for these last weeks gone”.
He smiled cheerfully at her, a pleasant boyish grin, peeking from beneath his tousled hair.
“I be knowin’ that Good.. Hepsie”, he corrected himself, “because yew are bein’ very good after all. But I always be forgettin’. I’m bein’ ever so sorry”.
“Now then Arran… what did I be tellin’ yew ’bout goin’ round apologising to folks all day long… yew always say sorry an’ folks will think it’s bein’ yer fault and start blamin’ yew fer things”.
“Oh… sorry Good… I mean… oh blast!”, Arran chuckled, his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment, “Well… I best be off to be helpin’ Noah with them there pigs”.
He scuttled off round the corner, as Hepsie wearily limped up the stairs. How could five steps be so difficult to conquer.
“It’s bein’ yer fault yew fat littl’ thing yew”, she whispered to her belly.
The door was ajar, letting the heavy breeze circulate around the tiny room. Hepsie shrugged off her coat with relief, despite the fact that her exposed sticky skin cooled only slightly at the touch of the moist air.
“Gena”, she called out gently in case the baby were sleeping. Perhaps Gena was asleep too, Noah had told her the young woman was exhausted. She turned the corner to look for a place to neatly fold her coat and was surprised to see Gena sitting at the small table in the corner. Her eyes were half closed, her head drooping listlessly on her shoulders.
Hepsie could not help but be shocked at her appearance. Gena was a neat woman, always conscious of the state of her clothes, perhaps fearing the enhanced judgemental nature of those looking upon her. Now her dress was covered with stains, some at least days old, while there was a large new patch of what looked like baby spittle drying on her shoulder.
And Gena usually tied her hair back as carefully as she could without being able to see her reflection. Even though wisps often softly found there wat down around her face, it was always apparent that she had made an effort. But today Gena piled her hair messily on top of her head, tying it haphazardly with a scarf, sweaty strands hanging down around her flushed face.
“Gena”, she repeated again, this time her tone firmer.
The other woman was started out of her reverie, her head slowly rising up, a smile forcing its way across her resisting face.
“Oh…Hepsie… how lovely”, Gena’s voice sounded dull and hollow, the faint echoing rebound in the depths of a canyon.
“Aren’t yew goin’ to ask yer old friend to have a sit down then?”, Hepsie asked jovially, “my feet are just about killin’ me. And me back too…”.
“Oh… yes.. of course”, Gena replied listlessly.
Hepsie lowered herself heavily into the chair, “Well I got lots of grace left in me as yew can tell. If I have to be curtseyin’ one more time for that ruddy Radomir I’m thinkin’ I’ll just be floppin’ on the floor at his feet like a turtle on me back, wavin’ me poor swollen ankles in the air”.
“Now dear”, she smiled broadly while closely watching her friend’s face, “How is that dear young Derrin of ours then?”.
She had been warned by Noah that Gena’s reaction to the boy was not exactly normal, but she hadn’t been expecting this.
Gena’s head sank slowly, the corners of her mouth drooping, her shoulders slumping as though her whole body were dragging downwards by some force pulling from below.
“What’s wrong love?”, Hepsie asked gently, “Is that baby not lettin’ yew get enough sleep at night?”.
A great sob choked Gena’s throat and she buried her face in her hands her shoulders shaking softly.
Hepsie had definitely not been prepared for this. She had heard of mother’s who didn’t take to their babies the way that was normal, but she had never seen it herself and certainly had not expected it of Gena. The young woman had been so looking forward to having her baby.
“Oh love… there now, yew let it out and talk to yer old Hepsie. What’s troublin’ yew dearheart”.
She waited patiently while Gena sniffled, wiping her eyes on an already grimy sleeve.
“He doesn’ love me Hepsie… my son doesn’ love me”, she sighed deeply, her body sinking lower in the chair, “He knows I’m not bein’ a good mother and he doesn’ want me”.
Hepsie opened her mouth to say something but shut it again when Gena continued.
“An’ they’re all goin’ to be knowin’ an’ then they’ll come here an’ they’ll say… “Gena Ulcar… yer not fit to be a mother. God musta made a mistake givin’ yew that baby because yew don’t love him as yew should an yew aren’t the mother fer him”. And then they’ll be takin’ him”.
“An’ Hepsie”, she said in a tiny voice, “I don’t know if I would mind just to stop hearin’ him cryin’ all the time… the poor littl’ soul knowin’ who his mother is an’ cryin’ his littl’ heart out in grief of his misfortune in this life”.
“Gena Ulcar”, Hepsie scolded, “Now yew just stop right there feelin’ miserable fer yerself. Yer baby isn’ cryin’ fer any reason other than the littl’ mites are always weepin’ an’ wailen’. It’s what babies do love. Doesn’ matter who his mother was he’d still be wailin’ his littl’ lungs out cause he’s knowin’ its the best way to get his Ma to come and be holdin’ him the way he likes”.
“An’ no one’s goin’ to be takin’ him from yew. Yer just as fit as the rest of us are bein’ to have a baby, as God as surely shown yew… better than most fer that matter, all the squalling whores my Ma helped with the birthin’”.
“Yew need to be pullin’ yerself together and stoppin’ with this nonsense. Littl’ Derrin loves yew in a way he’ll never love noone else and that’s bein’ somethin’ special”.
“But Hepsie”, she whimpered, “I don’t like him sometimes when he’s cryin’. Sometimes I don’t like him an awful lot”.
Hepsie chuckled heartily over the worries in her heart, “Don’t yew think everyone sometimes is feelin’ like that. I know the Queen herself tells me sometimes the baby is cryin’ so much she feels like screamin’ and cryin’ too till she’s blotchy and red in the face like the littl’ prince”.
“The Queen”, Gena whispered.
“Not just the Queen but the rest too… them babies of Lady Hwratar’s. Sometimes there bein’ so noisy I want to wring their dear littl’ necks. There’s a reason it’s bein’ such a terrible sound an’ that’s to be makin’ the Ma be sittin’ up and takin’ notice because it’s bein’ feedin’ time”.
“It isn’ bein’ cause he doesn’ love yew dear, it’s cause he does an’ he knows yer the one who takes care of him an’ loves him”, she said it with conviction, knowing that these were the ideas that frightened Gena.
Gena sighed weakly, “Maybe yer bein’ right”.
Hepsie laboriously rose to her feet and waddled over, pulling Gena to her feet and then into a very pregnant embrace.
“Of course I’m bein’ right yew silly goose. When have yew ever know’d me not to be bein’ right?”
“Now then”, she said, taking Gena by the hands, “what on earth have yew been doin’ to that dress of yers… an’ yer poor hair, bein’ messed up in that great knot sittin’ atop yer head”.
Gena giggled self-consciously and Hepsie was pleased to see a slight smile creeping shamefully back to her face.
“First of all let’s be fixin’ that hair of yers. Then we’ll see if there isn’ bein’ something clean we can be puttin’ on yew while we wash that there dress o’ yers”.
“Come an be sittin’ over here fer me that’s a good girl”.
Gena sank wearily into the chair and Hepsie began to unwind the scarf from around her knotty hair.
She started to brush out the knots with her fingers.
“What were yer thinkin’ love… these are bein’ dreadful tangles. Looks like yew haven’ brushed yer hair for days”.
“I haven’”, Gena softly admitted, “I was just bein’ so tired and it’s bein’ so hard to make it sit nice”.
“Well then, it’s a good thing yer Hepsie’s been sittin’ around by the poor Countess’ bedside fer these last days. Yew know me, can’t sit still so I been makin’ somethin’ fer yew”.
“Yew have”, Gena asked in surprise.
“I have”, she replied, “Now just let me be findin’ it in my coat”
She rummaged around for a moment, retrieving the item which she laid on the table while she began to braid Gena’s hair.
“It’s bein a hair net… pretty too with yellow thread and littl’ white daisies woven through it”, she carefully fixed it over Gena’s braid.
“There now, that ought to be holdin’ most of them stray hairs in their place”, she exclaimed, satisfied with the finished result.
Gena stood up carefully stroking her head with trembling hands.
“It’s bein’ so neat”, she said in a hushed voice, “an’ so fine. Oh Hepsie, yew shouln’ have”.
“Of course I should silly… an’ yew know what else. I’m goin’ to be stayin’ with yew for a bit to help with the baby while those silly men yew got hangin’ around here run around after them pigs”.
“Thank you Hepsie”, she said softly.
“Well then, yer bein that welcome!”
“Now let’s be seein’ what’s happenin’ with that boy o’ yers. I guess it’s probably about feedin’ time eh?”.
She watched Gena’s face closely as she mentioned the baby, waiting for some reaction, hoping for some sign of happiness, fearing some return of Gena’s earlier misery. She did not get either.
