9th February 1103

(more…)

2nd January 1103

(more…)

2nd January 1103

(more…)

24th December 1102

(more…)

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.

(more…)

8th October 1102

“Gently now Riandur… Snowy doesn’t like it when you pat her too hard”, Morven chastened her son with a small smile.

(more…)

“Well then my dear Cindra”, Lisbet clasped her hands as she spoke, a gleeful grin spreading across her face, “I think you and I both know your time has come”.

“But Lisbet!”, Cindra cried with an exaggerated shiver, “it is so very cold outside tonight and here I am with nought but a flimsy nightgown”.

“Would you be so very cruel as to send me out on a night like this”, she battered her eyelids with her most endearing look, clasping her hands beneath her chin for added effect.

“Very cold my big fat belly!”, Lisbet retorted.

“Oh!”, Cindra cried in mock dismay, “oh how can you say such terribly crass things. I would not have expected it from a lady such as yourself. I shall feel ashamed to be seated in your company”.

They could not hold in a snigger at this, thinking about the earlier altercation of the day. That Nyawe really was too much.

“Now Cindra, there is no escaping your duty tonight… you have already made every excuse under the sun and it is positively barmy outside this evening. So you better hike up the skirts of that flimsy nightgown of yours and get going around the ship on your pretty little ankles”, she looked down appraisingly, “which are decidedly not swollen and for that very fact you should be exceedingly glad. Oh to run again…”.

“I on the other hand, am going to go inside, rest my dreadful ankles on something soft and watch your progress through the window”.

“But Lisbet!”, Cindra quickly scrabbled around for an excuse she had not already used, “it is so dark. What if I fall and twist one of these pretty little ankles? What will we do if we only have one lovely ankle between the two of us. Someone needs to draw the eyes of the menfolk, else they be continuously focused on the slender ankles of a certain black-haired hussy. And to be honest with you, I just don’t think one will be sufficient”.

“Oh Cindra… truly, you are killing me. Enough with the excuses. You lost the bet. I won. Therefore the end result is you, this ship and three times a nightgown clad run”.

“Beside”, Lisbet gazed upwards, “There is a full moon tonight so I think those ankles of yours are safe”.

“Now my lady, do you think you are up to the task or must I admit that my friend is a coward who cannot keep her promise”.

“Now, now Lisbet, don’t be too hasty to bring out such words. There is not a doubt that I am braver than most, I simply had a few concerns that needed to be dealt with. Do I not look like I am up to the task”.

She paused, lifting her arms in the air in mockery of their husbands posing before an arm wrestle, “Can you not see these bulging biceps”.

“Yes dearest, but I don’t expect you to walk on your hands so what use is a bulging bicep to me”, she giggled as Cindra began to grab a the hem of her nightgown, “No no! Put your skirt down, I am sure you have strong thighs, you are already indecent enough as it is without displaying any more skin”.

“Now off with you and I don’t want to see you again until you have been thrice around the entire ship”.

Cindra began an awkward run down the stairs hearing Lisbet’s giggle behind her. Laugh as she may Cindra was a Baroness and she would run like one. Unfortunately her short stature and the lack of a corset to hold in her jiggly bits were making it a little more awkward than she had anticipated.

Also the waterlogged floorboards were really quite cold under her barefeet despite the warmth of the spring evening, meaning that she felt disinclined to leave them there for too long. This had an undesired effect on turning what would have been a graceful gallop, into a clumsy trot.

She wondered what Garrick was doing. Probably in the galley drinking again. She would wake up after some dreadful dream about his dead sister to find him snoring, stinking of ale. She was so involved in scowling that she wasn’t paying attention as she ran up the stairs and she almost ran into a shadowy figure leaning over the railing.

A large portion of the shadowy figure suddenly detached and she heard both a female and male gasp. Then Alexis and Nyawe were standing before her with sheepish grins.

She stood fixed to the spot in shock. She and Lisbet had whispered many things about Nyawe but they had never thought of her and Sir Hwratar. In fact they had never had any proof of their imaginings at all and so, she realised, this was a moment to be savoured.

“Oh… oh your Ladyship”, Alexis said still unconciously gripping the arm of the steward’s wife, “How fortunate you are here”, his gaze wandered downwards to the buttons along the front of her nightgown, “taking some exercise in your… err… night attire”.

She stared haughtily at him until his eyes moved back up to hers, “I… I was just trying to help Mistress Elmvarn. She… she has something in her eye”.

Nyawe tore her arm from Alexis’ grasp and began to rub furiously at her eye for effect, “Yes.. ow.. it’s really hurting. I can’t think what on earth it might be”.

Cindra desperately tried to keep a straight face and not come up with helpful suggestions as to what might have accidentally lodged there. They stood before her, faces flushed, hair dishevelled, their eyes wide in the moonlight. It really was too perfect.

“Do you have any suggestions”, Alexis asked with a winning smile.

Cindra pretended to consider for a moment while he shifted feet awkwardly.

“Why yes Sir Hwratar. I have always thought that perhaps in such moments, the application of one’s tongue to the mouth is perhaps the least useful method of removal of the offensive object. You might have better luck asking Goodwife Cade for help”.

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively although she was unsure they could see it in the moonlight, probably a good thing on second thought since she suspected she may have looked ridiculous.

“I’m sure she will try a different method. Lord knows how many times the tongue-in-mouth procedure has been employed without a significant result. But really you weren’t to know that it was out of fashion”.

She turned on her heel, scampering down the stairs and onto the lower deck. When she was out of site, she nigh exploded with pent up laughter, leaning against a mast for support.

Really it was too much, to watch them floundering before her, to have her revenge against that woman who had flirted so outrageously and openly with her husband.

She laughed until her sides ached and she was bent over, clutching at her shaking belly. She couldn’t wait to tell Lisbet. But first she had to make it twice more around the ship.

Nyawe hurriedly closed the door behind her to hide her blushing face. The nerve of that woman to embarass her like that in front of the Queen. Not that she didn’t have a point but really, it was undignified to behave in such a manner. And for all she had said, Nyawe had never been unfaithful to her husband.

She began to walk to her mistress’ chambers, taking her time. It was a sunny day and it was beautiful outside. She could not understand why the Queen always insisted on spending the days locked up in that stuffy room of hers. Nyawe would have much preferred to sit outside but Madlenka did so love her company.

She almost squealed when she felt a sure hand on her hips, and then she realised it was Sir Hwratar. She had been flirting with him since they arrived on the island but since his wife had been ill she had barely seen him and even after her recovery he had not sought her out again.

His hand came to rest on her arm as he firmly pushed her in front of him, into a dark corridor leading off the main deck. She pretended to struggle slightly for the fun of it, feeling a rush of heat in her body as he squeezed her arm tighter.

He spun her around roughly so they were face to face.

“Well then Sir Hwratar”, she purred with her most winning smile, “Is there something I can do for you?”.

Her heart was fluttering in her chest, and her stomach felt sick. But this was what she had wanted. Wasn’t it?

“My dear Nyawe, I think in fact there is something I need and you seem like just the woman to help me with it”, he grinned at her, flashing his brilliant white teeth.

“Oh dear”, she said mockingly, twisting her mother’s cross between her fingers, all the time feeling like a hypocrite. He watched her closely, his eyes lingering on the creamy skin beneath the necklace. Then his gaze began to wander around the room he had pushed her into.

“Hmmm…”, he said, his slender brows knotting with worry, “there seems to be an awful lot of swords in here my dear. Where exactly are we then?”.

“Oh”, she tittered, “This is the armoury, did you not know?”.

She continued to twist her fingers around, gently caressing the cross, somehow calmed by the smooth edges, worn down by pious hands that weren’t her own, “Did you perhaps need some help with your sword. Because if you did it seems you have come to the right place”.

He grinned at her, chuckling softly, “You read my mind like a book, lovely Nyawe. My sword is exactly the problem I wanted to consult you about, since you seem to be such an expert on the topic”.

“Unfortunately this seems like an inoppurtune place to have such a discussion with you, I am sure I wouldn’t want your husband to find us here, surrounded as we are by such sharp and pointy objects”.

She thought the mention of her husband should have disturbed her more than it did. Her husband, Garald, taking her to his bed for duty’s sake and now that she was with child she spent the nights cold and alone, waiting while he snored in a chair outside the King’s door.

“Oh Sir Hwaratar, I wouldn’t worry about that. My husband doesn’t know how to use a sword properly and even if he did”, her gaze slid down his torso and she smiled and whispered engagingly “I’m sure your sword is much bigger”.

Her husband who barely had a moment for her. The mornings, pulling open the curtains for the Queen finding her wrapped sleepily in the loving arms of the King. And her husband, an expanse of bed seperating them, her swelling belly distasteful to his awkward hands. In the darkness creeping, curling up beside him while he slept, desperate for some warmth, desperate for his touch, however clumsy.

Alexis threw back his head laughing till tears formed in the corners of his eyes, “I see I have definitely found the right woman for the cause then, En garde!”.

“But I should probably warn you my lovely that I am pretty good when it comes to the sword. Are you sure you can keep up”, he grinned at her, wagging his finger at her.

She could scarcely keep her eyes off the lean lines of his body, the muscular chest peeking through the ties of his tunic. Had it really been so long since a man had satisfied her?

“My dear Sir Hwratar”, she replied mimicking his movements in counter-attack, “Are you forgetting who you are talking to. I am quite the expert when it comes to swords. If I were you I would be concerned that your apparent prowess is not quite enough to keep pace. Perhaps your advances will be met with a parry”.

He leaned in close to her and she felt a thrill through her body, her heart speeding up, her breath quickening.

“And so comes the riposte. Oh my dearest Nyawe, I don’t think I’ll have a problem keeping pace, did I not tell you, I am quite the master of the thrust”, he whispered, his hot breath tickling her neck.

She unconciously began to stroke her bare arm longing to feel the heat of his touch against her skin.

She would give it up, she had been wrong in pursuing Garald. Her husband would never love her no matter what she did. She had been stupid. He was cold and distant where Alexis was warm in all the right places.

He moved even closer so she could feel the length of his body pushing up against hers, corps-a-corps. He was staring at her so intensely she had to look away.

“Now tell me my dear, how did your pussycat of a husband manage to tame a tiger such as yourself”, there it was the feint, reminding her of her husband again, testing her resolve.

“Do I look tame to you”, she replied huskily, her voice a sharp, angry beat against his armour.

Then he lunged at her, throwing her off balance so she had to cling to him while he nipped hungrily at her throat. It had been such a long time since she had felt like this that she could barely contain her moans.

Finally their lips met, taking from each other what they both needed. Her breath was coming ragged between her lips, an unbearable heat building between her legs.

Then he pulled back, gazing at her flushed face.

“Not here, someone might come”, he panted, “Tonight. Meet me tonight by the mast and we will go somewhere noone shall find us”.

She stared at him for a moment, taking in his open lips, his dilated pupils, the face of desire. This was what it felt to be wanted.

“Touche”, she murmured then disengaged, turning on her heel and walking from the room, leaving him alone to compose himself.

The Queen was waiting, she would have to hurry. But there was tonight to look forward to.

She had been so focused on the internal workings of her body that she had not even noticed Alexis until he was right behind her. She had been trying to choose a book to read now that the babies were finally asleep. But the mere movement of lifting her arm to reach to the higher shelves had completely distracted from the task at hand. She was horrified that even with such a small effort her heart would beat sickeningly fast.

She slowly lowered her arm, the thumping in her chest increasing as Alexis languidly ran his hand down her side. Then he suddenly pressed his body desperately against the length of hers, pushing her up against the bookcase. She felt her body stiffen at his touch, her stomach churning and her mouth dry.

His hand found the hollow of her flank, lazily drawing circles over the spot that always made her stomach flutter. Today it did not flutter, but writhed and squirmed away from his touch. He firmly grasped her hipbone, deftly spinning her around his mouth finding hers.

The weight of his body pushed her against the bookcase with a thump and a small cloud of dust floated down around them. The things they had done here, her back to the bookcase, her skirt around her waist and now all she could think of were the wooden shelves jutting painfully into her spine and the dreadful constant pounding of her heart.

She waited for her body to respond to the yearnings in his, but she could only feel weak and sick in his grasping arms. She wondered if she fainted there in those arms would he catch her, or would she merely fall to the floor in a dishevlled heap. She felt dizzy, and in her desperation for air she had to push him away.

She stood for a moment, trying to hide the great gulping breaths she sucked in, almost choking on the dust.

After waiting a moment, Alexis moved in to kiss her again but she turned her face so he met with a cold cheek instead.

“What’s wrong Morven love”, he asked suddenly realising her lack of response might be reason for concern.

She couldn’t tell him, couldn’t let him know how ill she felt most days, how her heart beat rapidly at the slightest task. She didn’t want him to know that the mere act of holding Colthan or Riandur was too much for her weakened body, that when he lay her down at night sometimes the clenching pain was so great she felt she would die there in his arms.

“Oh nothing dear… I.. I’m just a bit tired is all”, she tried to smile, but could feel that the muscles in her face were not living up to her expectations, “I don’t think I’m really up to it right now. You know how those boys of ours are keeping me awake”.

“It took me so long to put them to sleep now, it would be a shame to wake them with all our moaning and groaning and hollering”, Morven thought she was doing a better job with the smiling but it nearly fell from her face at the thought of what she had lost.

Alexis was still looking at her, concern flickering across his face in the green light from her father’s lamp. He rubbed gently at her rigid arm. She would have to do better.

She gently pushed away his hand, “Oh look at you there with your poor eyebrows knotted like that. If you’re not careful, worrying about me is going to give you wrinkles. I’m fine, really, just a little tired that’s all”.

That did the trick as Alexis’ attention was suddenly focused on the dreadful possiblity of wrinkles creasing his handsome face. He rubbed vigourously at the spot between his brows and by the time he turned back to her Morven had managed to compose her face in to a much more realistic semblance of a smile.

“You run along then, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than stay here and watch me read and feed the babies”.

He grinned at her, “Well I wouldn’t mind watching the feeding part. But you’re right, I guess I should go and see how things are going with the church”.

He gently stroked her under her chin, “Alright then kitten, we’ll just have to make up for it another time”.

He pulled her towards him and kissed her. Then he was off, striding towards the door, humming to himself as he clicked out a rhythm with his fingers.

She continued to smile until he had closed the door and she had heard the sound of his footsteps clomping off down the hallway.

The smile cracked and fell from her face slithering to the floor as she slid wearily down the bookcase into a crumpled heap. She would have cried but it seemed like too much effort to her sputtering heart and so she sat there, leaning heavily against the bookcase, her knees pulled towards her face and arms resting limply at her sides.

He would go and he would find another woman as he always did. She had nothing left to offer him.

It was early Spring, and that meant not only was it both Eallair and Lochan’s birthdays, but also nearly a year since they had left their home for this godforsaken island. Despite the hardships faced by the people, Eallair had declared that this be a day of celebration. He had also insisted that everybody present wear red and gold, the royal colours of Branwhuld that had been so often a fixture of court celebrations in the past.

So they had solemnly unpacked their fine dresses and tunics from the musty chests that had hidden them from sight and remembrance. Each of them had carefully shaken off the dust, hanging the cloths to air away the musty smell of a year, empty sleeves hanging limply, kinsmen of Branwhuld dangling from the gallows. But tonight was a night to remember the good things, to be happy despite their exile.

Looking up at Lochan as he danced with Cindra, Isaura thought he looked happy. She was glad, he had not been so for as long as she could remember, the strain of her illness weighing heavily on his shoulders. He was a strong, willful man but she did not know how much longer he could carry this burden, and she thought it might almost be a relief to slide from his desperately grasping hands and let him finally be free.

But then, there was so much to live for, and she was not ready to let go yet as the moving form inside her reminded with a gentle kick. No, all she could do was hang on, despite the pain, despite the diseased, winding fingers that tried to drag her down and hope that she had enough strength left to hold on to him and that he was strong to carry the weight of them both.

She sat next to Morven, both too exhausted to partake in the energetic dancing before them. Morven had not recovered well from her illness, frequently out of breath, clutching at the pain in her chest. And so they sat together watching their husbands dance with other women.

Next to them, Garrick was lounging, his head heavily propped up on one elbow, his eyes bleary. He was obviously drunk, and Isaura thought it a pity to see him that way. The whole night, he and Cindra had barely said two words to one another. Garrick had poured back ale after ale as Cindra chatted animatedly with everyone but him.

Eallair seemed to be having a good time, slightly bleary-eyed himself, but with a good-natured smile plastered on his face, oblivious to any tensions in the room. He was dancing with Varda, whose graceful steps served to conceal his every clumsy movement.

Isaura’s eyes wandered down to her boyish hips which were swaying rhythmically in contrast with the King’s flailing motions. She could not help but notice the flatness of her stomach and she felt a pang for the woman. She herself understood well the suffering that came with an inability to bear children. She rubbed her belly gently, softly murmuring a small prayer of gratitude.

But tonight Varda looked happy, Isaura was surprised to see she was actually smiling, a genuine proud smile directed at the King. Of all of them, Varda had been the only one who hadn’t carefully folded away the robes of Branwhuld, wearing them defiantly every day, to remind them of what they had left behind.

Her gaze fell on Sigurd who was perched awkwardly on the edge of his seat, watching as his wife danced with the King. Every now and then he smiled shyly towards Varda but she never looked his way.

Her eyes came to rest on the large tapestry which was now hanging on the wall. The women had worked hard to make this gift for the King, spending many hours during the winter, their needles flicking through the fabric. Out of the threads had appeared the soaring heights of Branwhuld, emerging from embroidered forests around. A small company on horseback were turning for one last look at the fallen city before they embarked on their journey to a new land. The scene was woven with threads of sadness stained with their tears, stitches of defiance hotly pulled through the heavy material with angry hands and here and there, small knots of hope.

Below the tapestry Lisbet and Cordell had forsaken the dancing for now and were laughing, sharing some private joke. His arm was gently resting around her shoulders as she giggled at whatever he had said.

Lisbet had worn her hair down for a change. Isaura couldn’t remember if she had ever seen it that way, the wild curls cascading down her shoulders. She noticed that Cordell’s hand was almost continuously buried in her hair, caressing the thick strands between his fingers.

He pulled her in closely for a long kiss, oblivious to those around him. Isaura knew this sort of love and she was glad for them, glad that they had been given a second chance at happiness.

She wondered if she would get a second chance. But then again she had taken her first, as she sat in the gardens of the castle, Lochan’s arms wrapped around her slender waist, her face pressed against the warmth of his neck. She had the man she wanted but now her illness was slowly destroying him.

Sigurd was gazing at them longingly, his smile fading, drowning in the stagnant, green pools of his eyes. There was a man who had never even had a chance.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud grunt from beside her. Garrick’s big shaggy head had finally carried him down and he was snoring loudly, his mouth hanging open. She shivered in distaste. How could that dreadful drink change a man so much?

“No Alexis, that is not the key to a woman’s heart”, she was distracted by the Queen snapping at Sir Hwratar.

Beside her Morven was looking up in interest too. She looked over at Alexis who was dancing with the Queen. She always found him slightly ridiculous, especially today with his ruffled shirt and his tight pants. There was a man who thought much too highly of himself.

And that silly little moustache of his, curling above his smirking lips. Really she could not understand how any woman could find it attractive, but it seemed they did. She had often overheard her maids conversing about handsome Sir Hwratar.

Since Morven’s recovery he had become even more insufferable than usual. Morven usually managed to curtail his outright flirtations but since her illness she seemed to have given up, too exhausted to care.

Isaura followed his gaze down to the point on which it was focused, which happened to coincide with the Queen’s ample bosom.

“My eyes are up here Alexis”, she scolded, a brittle smile plastered across her face.

“Oh… Your Highness… you did not think… oh I never… I was just admiring your jewels… er jewel that is”, he smiled winningly.

“They’re all the same aren’t they”, Morven sighed beside her. Perhaps she did care after all.

“What do you mean dear?”, Isaura asked. Everyone knew what sort of a man Alexis was but not everyone was married to a man like that.

Morven said nothing but her gaze turned rather pointedly to where Lochan was dancing with Cindra.

Lochan did look like he was having a good time. She could tell he was happy because he was smiling with his eyes too, not just the dreadful forced contortion of his mouth he wore so often these days.

So he was happy. It was his birthday and it had been a lovely night with their friends. And he did like to dance. And was fond of his young cousin. It didn’t mean anything.

Just then Lochan’s hand swooped close to Cindra’s face as they danced, stopping midflight to cheekily pinch her chubby cheek.

“If you were referring to my husband he is not like that”, Isaura retorted haughtily a burst of anger and doubt flaring in her.

Morven looked at her sympathetically and patted her hand, “Yes dear, of course you’re right. Not all men are like my husband. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you”.

They were startled by a sudden loud snort next to them, as Garrick awoke, rising to a sitting position, blinking in confusion.

His blurry eyes fell on his wife’s form, giggling as she danced around Lochan and the dull look on his face abruptly changed to one of anger. He lurched out of his seat and stumbled towards them.

Lochan noticed first, stopping mid-movement his arms falling to his sides as saw Garrick’s reddened face. Cindra did not see for a moment more, turning towards Lochan first with an inquiring look, then noticing her husband’s bulky form standing before them she stopped.

She slowly lowered her arms, looking straight at Garrick, the radiance of her expression gone, her smile frozen on her face, her eyebrows slightly raised in defiance.

“S’my wife your dancin with Lochan”, he slurred, his fists balled at his side, his mouth curled into a sneer.

“Yes of course Garrick”, Lochan replied congenially, “I was merely minding her while you had a nap. Was it a good sleep then? The sound of our revelry wasn’t too loud for you”.

Isaura could clearly hear the sarcastic lilt in her husband’s voice but it appeared Garrick was too drunk to notice.

“Mphf… well thanks”, he replied, roughly grabbing his wife’s hand, “but I’m back now so she doesn need you anymore”.

Lochan turned away as they began to dance awkwardly, Garrick swaying drunkenly, Cindra’s entire body going stiff as she avoided his pawing hands. His smile fell on Isaura and she instantly knew she had been wrong, that smile was meant only for her.

“Well then my beautiful wallflowers”, he said with a laugh, “I was hoping for a dance but unfortunately I haven’t arms enough for two”.

“Oh that’s alright, I am too tired for dancing anyway”, Morven replied with a forced laugh.

“I think I am too dearest”, Isaura smiled weakly at her husband, wishing with all her heart that she could bend her fragile body to her will.

“How about we make our own dance then, a very slow one without all this arm-waving nonsense. A dance that only goes on as long my lady’s feet aren’t tired”.

“Alright then”, she said smiling as he gently helped her to her feet.

“Garrick, you’re going the wrong way!”, Cindra shrieked, “Ow! And stop stepping on my feet you big clumsy oaf”.

Isaura looked over at the unhappy couple, wondering what could have changed so much between them. They had always seemed so good for one another, and now they could barely stay in the same room without arguing. It was sad to see, but it made her value her marriage all the more.

Lochan carefully wrapped his arms around her swollen waist, rocking her back and forth slowly while the other whirled around them.

“There now, I think the little one in there at least wants to dance with me”, he looked into her eyes with a wistful grin, “judging by the kicking I would wager it’s actually quite enthusiastic about this dancing thing”.

It had only been recently that he had tentatively begun to speak of the child she bore within her. It was only recently that they had dared to hope that perhaps this would finally be the one. If not she knew they would never hope again.

She pressed her face against the warmth of his neck as she had done that first day in the garden.

“Happy Birthday my darling”, she whispered in his ear.

“There now y’see”, Garrick drawled at them with a goofy grin on his face, “mush better dancing with your own wife isn’it”.

“Garrick! You stepped on my toe again! Keep your stupid clumping feet away from mine! And don’t be vulgar!”.

Isaura ignored them and leant forward to gently kiss her husband’s smiling mouth.