31st October 1102

It was unseasonably warm for the end of October, the afternoon sun’s rays gently kissing her face as she walked from the ships. The fresh, earthy smell of the neatly ploughed fields mingled with the salty air as it wafted onshore with the faint breeze.

(more…)

The King rose unsteadily to his feet with an expectant look on his face as they trudged through the door.

Beside him, the priest Father Harndall stood, his shoulders slumped, arms curved protectively around himself. From where he stood Noah could see the sheen of sweat clinging to the pallid man’s skeletal face. The clear blue eyes nestled in the dark hollows of his sockets, were wide and frightened. His jaw hung slackly, his face drooping like the folds of the burlap robe that hung limply from his angular shoulders.

“Well… how did it go… did you… ?” the King’s inquiry died on his lips as he gazed around at the horrified faces of the men standing before him.

“Lochan… “, he turned to the Duke standing beside him and Noah noticed the shadow of doubt that passed over his face when he saw his cousin.

The duke stood, his head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor shuffling from one foot to the other. His firm golden chestplate gleamed in the candlelight, the burgundy cloth of his sleeves spilling from the interlocking rings of chainmail like blood gouting from an open wound.

“Oh yes… why don’t yew ask Lochan how it went” Osras sneered, “or perhaps better yet, you should be asking my brother bleeding and spewing in the other room his face ruined by that bitch’s claws!”

Osras’ hands were straining into fists beside his body as he beat them against his side. Noah noticed small beads of blood forming on the tightly stretched skin of his knuckles, the rusty mail links tearing angry cuts, threatening to expose the hard white bone that rippled just beneath.

The Duke’s head snapped up and he fixed the man before him with a piercing glare, his lips turning down in a sneer to mirror Osras’. Noah did not think he was a man who would take kindly to the disrespectful tone of Osras’ anger and held his breath as he waited for the response.

“Or better yet… perhaps yew should be asking the little lass, wee Igrayne how it went”, he snarled, “If she hasn’t already died that is!”

Lochan stepped back as if Osras’ clenched fist had collided with his stomach, the air draining from him in a gasp.

“Now then man, steady on”, the King wavered, “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that and perhaps you er… should be showing a bit more respect to his Lordship”.

Noah noticed a flutter of movement at the King’s waist and to his dismay realised Eallair’s hands were shaking as he rhythmically tugged the buttons of his tunic. Noah found it difficult to look away, momentarily fixated by those fingers, the fingers of a King. They were picking nervously at a loose thread which protruded from the hole of a button, the fibers poking through like a worm uncoiling from the juicy confines of the first bite of a ripe plum.

“Begging yer pardon Yer Highness but I won’t steady on!”, Osras roared as the King stepped back, his shoulders slumping, hands planted flat against his thighs for support, “Yew just ask him yerself what he done! Led us trailing behind him into the very mouth of the devil he did”

Father Harndall cringed behind the King with a moan, his face crumpling like old parchment. He clutched desperately at the folds of material, running his wasted fingers over the scratchy fabric as though trying to remind himself that this, at least was real. His hands found one another hidden there and furtively clasped, his fingers clinging together, lovers in one final embrace.

The King turned with a pleading look to the Duke, but the man was bent over, staring in horror at the rusty stain of blood on his hands, etched into the callouses, drying beneath his nails in dirty red crescents.

“Oh Your Highness… her blood, all through her pretty blonde hair. And then there was none… none even though I carved his very arm with my blade… and the black dog howling… oh God!”, he muttered incoherently, running his hands along the hard metal of his plate mail as though trying to gain strength from the hard contours of beaten metal.

“Yew see!”, Osras crowed triumphantly bringing up his fist again to pound against his hip, mashing his knuckles against the ragged edges of the rows of metal plates.

Noah waited long moments for the King to respond, for any of three of the men whom he admired most in this world to reply to such insolence. But not a word was said. The King gazed down at the floor, his cheeks red with embarrassment, the thread wound so tightly around one finger that all the blood had drained out and the pounded of his racing heartbeat was visible at the tip.

Noah carefully rested one steady hand on Osras’ shoulder, the weight of it and the slight pressure of his broad fingertips stilling the other man’s rage. Osras shook him off but he unclenched his fists and crossed his arms with a scowl.

“Yew should be still Osras and yew best be making yer apologies fer bein’ disrespectful to His majesty and His Lordship”.

Osras snorted with anger but conceded and asked for their pardon.

“Goodman Ulcar, if you would please be so kind as to explain to me what has taken place this dreadful night”, the King gazed at him and Noah suddenly felt the weight of responsibility to a King and his Kingdom pressing him down.

He took a deep breath, “Yer Majesty. Let me tell it plainly for I am bein’ but a plain man”.

“This night, as was bein’ planned, we three and also Kelgar Shildfrith and Arran Barran went to lay a trap fer the foul beast what has been attackin’ our good folk”.

“As was planned we hid ourselves, while the little lass waited bravely. We also were waitin’ a waitin’ fer her signal, waitin’ fer a scream but it did not come till much too late”.

He bit his lip and fought back the bile that was rising unbidden in his throat.

“When she did, we of course were runnin’ out as fast as we could. An there was not just the one, no, he had Sister Mella with him. But she was wrong Yer Majesty, I can’t say it no better but she weren’t bein’ herself”.

He heard the groans of the priest as he wrung his hands clasping at the robe between them, but Noah continued on.

“The lass Yer Majesty, Igrayne, she was bein’ hurt pretty bad though still alive. We thought she was fer dead, but the Barran lad stayed by her side and she was wakin’ again though she’s in a real bad state”.

He felt Osras bristling at his side, “An Osras’ brother, Kelgar, he went to her aid but Mella done somethin’ to him an’ he’s bein real ill now too… both of em’… real ill”.

“Good Lord”, the King exclaimed, “Why would Sister Mella throw in her lot with such a man, why is she doing such things?”

Harndall gave a strangled sob behind him, burying his face in his hands as he muttered a prayer under his breath.

Noah took another breath and another, trying to still his thumping heart.

“Yer Majesty… when I said there’s somethin’ wrong with her I should have perraps explained meself better. I’m thinkin’… well I know it’s bein’ blasphemous to even say such a thing…”

He dropped his voice to a low whisper, “I think she’s been possessed by a demon of some sort”.

He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, “Perraps even the devil hisself”.

“The Devil! Good Lord man! What brings you to say such things. Lochan what is he talking about!?”.

But the duke did not move, only rubbed his bloody hands over the contours of his gauntlets and shivered.

“Wait Yer Majesty, there’s bein’ more I haven’ said yet”, Noah continued, “The man… if you can even be callin’ him such, he changed somehow, into a monstrous beast, a huge black dog with glowin’ red eyes. An’ Sister Mella… she… she changed into a foul, mangy bat. They did Yer Majesty, I swear with me heart on everythin’ I hold dear in this Godforsaken world”,

“Right before our very eyes”, Osras whispered, crossing himself with superstitious fear.

“Right before your very eyes!”, the King almost shouted his hands flying up to mimic Noah’s, “A big black dog! A bat! What kind of pagan mythology are you spouting!”.

He turned to the Duke, “What the hell is this about Lochan. Now my men come here to mock me with fairytales and you just stand there snivelling! What the hell is going on!”.

The Duke’s hand flew up to cover his horrified mouth, “It’s true Your Majesty, every word he says. We all saw it. And he would not die… he could not die”.

“What is he talking about Goodman Ulcar?!”, the King turned back to him his face twisted into a horrible grimace, “What the devil is he saying?!”

Noah shuddered involuntarily at the King’s oath but spoke calmly, “Kelgar, Yer Majesty, he ran the man right through with his sword, we were seein’ it pokin’ right through t’other side. But he did not die. There was not even bein’ any blood in sight, only ash”.

The King groaned in horror, looking from side to side unsure what to believe until his eyes fell on Noah’s firm unwavering stare.

“What should we do?”, he asked in a panic stricken voice.

Noah did not point out that it was strange that he, the King of Branwhuld, whose veins ran with the blood of countless noble rulers would ask such a question of he, Noah the carpenter.

He simply answered as best he knew how, “We were followin’ them as far as the old ruined church Yer Majesty, an’ there we lost em in the gloom. I think we should be sendin’ out a larger party of men to be searchin’ the area more carefully”.

He thought for a moment, “Perraps during the day would be wise, they seem to be preferin’ the night after all. Perraps we can catch em’ when they don’t be expectin’ it. An’ were goin’ to need the good Father there. Whatever they are bein’ it ain’t Godly creatures is fer sure”.

Harndall shuddered and looked as though he would be ill.

“We can’t just be lettin’ such things run about and kill our people Yer Majesty, we must be bein’ brave. We must all be bein’ brave”.

“I believe you are right Goodman Ulcar”, the King muttered and stood a little taller, his hands laying still at his sides.

”Get away from her you beast!” Lochan roared as they burst through the bushes into the clearing.

The other men ran ahead of him, their legs sure and sturdy, their swords glinting in the moonlight like fangs. Arran stumbled after them blindly, barely clutching the blunted length of the burning brand between his trembling hands. His ears were filled with the faint clank of links of rusty chainmail rubbing together, of heavy feet pounding tiny flowers into dust. The screaming had stopped.

His nostrils were filled with the scent of crushed flowers, and below it, a more gritty hint of something metallic. He felt ill, the brand burning close to his fingers, singeing the tiny black hairs that cringed over his knuckles.

At Lochan’s command the dark-haired woman turned, snarling. A tiny blonde figure tumbled from her grasp and fell limply to the ground, the carpet of daisies welcoming her with upturned faces.

“Nell”, he breathed, the brand tumbling from his grasp and falling to the ground, tiny flowers curling back from the scorching flame, their faces wilting in pain.

“Well then… what is it that we have here?” the pale man said while the woman hissed and spat next to him, a red smear across her lips.

Arran saw through blurred eyes that the other men had halted uncertainly. He thought he understood why, as the unpleasant taste of bile was rising in his throat. He recognised the woman’s blood-spattered face too.

“You fiend!” he heard Kelgar choking, somewhere to his left, “what have you done to her!?”.

Kelgar rushed at him, plunging his sword deep into the body of the man. The blade slid cleanly between folds of fine clothing with a foul hiss, into belly and right through to the other side. Arran stared dazedly at the sharp tip protruding from the man’s back.

It flashed fiercely, bright and clean as the man gasped, choking as his body folded over the cruel metal.

Kelgar ripped the blade from the man’s stomach as he crumpled to his knees, writhing in pain. Kelgar gazed in confusion at the clean blade before him. Mella let out a scream of rage.

“You bastard! You dare touch him!” she leapt at him, clawing at his face as she gnashed her teeth, globs of blood dripping from her mouth and flecking the frightened faces of the tiny flowers that shuddered beneath her feet.

Kelgar cried out in pain, his hands flying up to his face, still feebly gripping his sword as blood ran from between his fingers. Mella stared cruelly down out him, her face glowing triumphantly as the moon licked at her pale features.

The other men ran to Kelgar’s aid but Arran could not move, could not even remember that he knew how to as he stood, hunched at the edge of the clearing.

With a dreadful shudder Arran realised the man was clambering to his feet again, pushing the gaping hole in his belly together with fingers like pallid worms. He looked directly at Arran, feeling the young man’s faltering gaze upon him. Arran shrunk from those blood-red eyes as they seared through his ribcage to find his heart where it lay exposed, trembling and raw.

He could feel the cold fingers tweaking and teasing at the wound like maggots, their tiny mouths tearing at the rotting edges until it was ripped open again, hissing and frothing. Blood spouted onto the memory of a beautiful face, a plain homemade dress with holes carefully patched, the image of girl walled up inside, away from the grasping fingers of pain, away from the metallic stench of blood.

All that was left were the blue, sightless, upturned eyes, the blood-stained face and the frail broken body clutched desperately in his shivering arms.

“Ah my friend, was her name not Nell?” Cebrien asked with a cold laugh, then his eyes slid from Arran leaving him retching, splattering the disgusted faces of the bone-white flowers below.

“It is alright mon amour”, he crooned to Mella who was panting in rage, swatting at the men around her, “I was just playing a little joke no? To die again… that would truly be a gift. Ah but it is fun to pretend for just one moment”.

He spread his arms expansively with a wry smile, “You see it is…”.

Lochan’s blade sliced cleanly into one of Cebrien’s outstretched arms, an ashy cascade pouring form the wound.

“Excusez moi”, he said, pushing both Lochan and sword away angrily, the edges of the wound flapping open “How can a man say clever things with some clumsy oaf waving his sword about ineffectually. Have you no sense of common politeness monsieur? I had not finished… ah well… you could not understand anyway”.

“While it has been fun gentleman and I have enjoyed our little games I believe it is the time we should be departing”, he turned to Mella, “Merila mon amour? Shall we?”

Arran saw Lochan recoil in horror as Cebrien’s body began to contort, limbs creaking into impossible positions, punctuated by the dreadful popping sounds of dislocating joints. Mella’s body also began to change, her supple figure withering, shrinking, leathery monstrosities unfurling from beneath her arms, coarse fur sprouting from her face.

Arran blinked, his eyes raw and watering. When he opened them again he could not see where Mella and the man had gone, there was only a bat and a large black dog, heading away from the clearing towards the mountains.

“Follow them!” Lochan roared.

The other men rushed after him, crashing through the bushes and into the forest leaving Arran behind in the clearing, a small crumpled figure before him.

Lyiss tentatively gazed over at the men who were standing chatting together and warming their hands before the blazing midsummer fire. She felt awkward and self-conscious and was beginning to wish she had not come. If it had not been for Nyawe she probably wouldn’t have.

She was what they called one of they unlucky few. The girls and women who had not had a husband when they came to Mhalwae. The men where scarce and there was not much chance of making a good marriage. There was barely any choice as it was. And for woman of her status there was not one man. She would marry beneath her if she were lucky enough to marry at all. And she was sure she wasn’t, she was only plain Lyiss. Who would want her compared to the other girls? She gazed over at them giggling together and felt even more sure. Soon she would be the only “unlucky one”.

Her brother turned to her and murmured gently, “Are you really sure you want to go along?”

She appreciated his concern but she had already agreed to go along with the other girls and it would have humiliated her even more to back out at this point.

“No… it’s fine I…”, she began softly.

“Of course she wants to come along silly… don’t you Lyiss dear?”, Nyawe was suddenly beside her crowing.

“It is ever so much fun and who knows who she may dream of. To be sure I never dreamed it would be you Garald”, she chuckled throatily.

Lyiss shrank beside her, feeling more plain than ever, her dusky freckled skin fading away next to the pale glory that was handsome Nyawe.

“So perhaps we might not be putting so much faith in it after all”, she mused, “but it is a good laugh anyway”.

“Alright then Lyiss… if it’s what you want…”, Garald muttered but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Kelgar.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies”, he cried with a flourish.

“It is I who is to be your guide and guard on this dangerous journey of yours tonight. But never fear, I will lead you valiantly to success in your mission and who’s to say by the end of the night perhaps one of you lucky ladies will be a husband richer”, he jeered with a wink.

Lyiss flushed, unable to forget that Kelgar was one of the only unmarried men on the island.

The other girls had begun to giggle helplessly.

“Yer to be our guard good sir… but yer one of them very husbands we may be dreamin’ of tonight if yer bein’ that lucky”, Maire cried boldy while Igrayne snickered beside her.

“Oh I’m not bein’ the only potential man out there for you lovely young ladies. Why just over there by the fire stands our friend Arran Barran and what a fine young man he is isn’t he girls?”

He pointed in the direction of the fire as Arran began to shift nervously from foot to foot, aware that they were discussing him.

“So I think I have a bit of competition eh?”, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at them.

Lyiss began to feel sick and faint, the blush in her cheeks spreading helplessly over her neck and breast. Oh why had she agreed to this. She should never have come.

“If yer could excuse me fer bein’ so daft good sir but if yer to be bein’ our guide tonight then whose to be protectin’ our maidenhood from the likes of potential husbands such as yerself”, Maire cried in mock outrage while Igrayne tried not to giggle beside her.

“That’s where I fit in my dear ladies”, Nyawe chuckled stepping up beside Kelgar, “I will be your chaperone tonight”.

“So you see my lovelies… tonight you’ll be well protected”, Kelgar chuckled, “both from the dreadful beasties that be creeping outside the castle walls and the other beasty that be hiding in a much closer location”.

“A closer location hmmm…”, Igrayne mused, “perhaps we should be playin’ hide and seek and findin’ out that location. I think I be havin’ a fair idea where that beasty is a’ hidin’ I do”.

Lyiss was shocked by their brazen words. They were hinting at things she could only vaguely grasp at, things that were not to be spoken of. She was ashamed to be part of such conversation with her brother standing right beside her. She could feel his body growing rigid beside her as he flinched with embarrassment at his wife’s behaviour.

“Come now ladies… enough of this mindless chatter. Save the hide and seek for later when your in possession of a wedding ring. I believe it is time that you stopped speaking altogether. It begins now. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you or you’ll have to begin all over again”, Nyawe commanded with a hearty laugh.

Maire and Igrayne looked at each other in despair. Lyiss too was wondering how they could manage to stay quiet for the entire time. It would be a much less difficult feat to find seven different flowers than for them to hold their tongues for even an hour.

Lyiss felt her brother’s worried eyes gazing at her. She tried to smile to reassure him but found it all but impossible.

He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by Nyawe.

“Come along now sister dear… it’s a husband we’ll be finding for you tonight”, she grabbed Lyiss firmly around the waist herding her in the direction of the other girls.

“Oh but wait… I must be getting a kiss from my own husband first since I’m lucky enough to have one!”

She thrust herself forward, all hips and breasts and lips. Lyiss watched as her brother arched his body away from his wife’s and turned his face so that she collided with his cheek instead of where she had been aiming.

“Alright ladies, that’s done. Let’s be going then”, she said loudly and turned on her heel leading them away from the fire to hide her blushing face.

For a brief moment Lyiss actually felt pity for her sister-in-law. But it quickly faded as she trotted awkwardly behind.

“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.

Garrick stirred lazily his body heavy in the blurred summer light that was streaming down through the smudged windows. The heady scent of horses mingled with the musty smell of the hay he was lying amongst. He heard the rustling of the straw scratching together and felt the stack beneath him gently shifting.

He opened his eyes blearily but it was only Isabelle, crawling in beside him as she liked to do late at night when everyone else was sound asleep. Then they would lie with their arms around each other, chattering and laughing, or comforting if the day had been hard. Well into the night she would stay until their eyelids drooped heavily and they were close to sleep. Then she would patter off softly on her little feet lest their father discover them there in the morning.

She was wearing her thin white nightgown but it was streaked with dirt. There was dirt clinging to her flaming red hair and he could see shadows of black beneath the perfect crescents of her fingernails. Then he remembered she had sneaked into the stable to be with him, so of course she would have got dirty. His heart gave a great pounding throb as he looked at those dirty little feet and he thought of the lengths she must have gone just to see him.

She tentatively reached out a pale hand towards him. He could see the fingers trembling as she held back from him, her slender body perched awkwardly on the edge of the haystack.

How could she think him angry with her, as she sat there as though waiting for permission to approach him? He reached forward and grasped her chill hand in an instant, twining his fingers around hers, tangling his heartstrings with hers.

He heard her sigh, as her shivering body relaxed against his in relief and he wrapped his arm around her. She was so very cold! He held her tighter, rubbing his hand against her frail arms trying to impart some of the warmth of the stable to her freezing skin. She had become so thin since he had last seen her. He thought he almost could have snapped her bony arm between his hands.

She leaned her little face against his, into the crook of his neck where it had always fitted perfectly and he gave an involuntary shiver at the chill of her skin, the dampness of her hair. She was gently stroking his hand with her fingers, leaving icy trails along them.

He buried his face in her hair to smell the familiar scent that always clung to the strands, the earthy smell of the forest, of oaks and birches and autumn. The scent was still there, but only faintly, underlying a powerful stench of moist decay and disintegration that filled his nostrils and made him choke.

“Where have you been my Isabelle? You smell like a tomb. You know Father will beat you if he catches you in the crypts again. Your curiosity will get you in trouble again, it will”.

“Garrick…”, she whispered, her voice the dry rustling of the wind moving through the dead leaves of autumn.

“It’s alright my love. I’ll hide you from him, if he finds out. We will tell him it’s my fault, that I made you go down there and he can beat me instead. I am stronger”.

“Oh Isabelle how I have missed you!”

She squeezed feebly at his arms, her limbs all skin and bones and angles and then he felt her drawing away from his embrace. He tried desperately to cling to her, but his arms would not move properly and it was as though her body was smoke, winding away from his clutching hands.

He sobbed in despair, “Isabelle please… please don’t leave me again… please…”.

She leant down over his useless body and hissed, “I will come to you again my Garrick”.

She kissed him softly on the cheek and an icy burning pain flared there as his eyes began to blur.

“We will be together Garrick…”, she whispered and then she was gone.

“Garrick! Garrick!”, he heard the loud shouts of men and the frantic whinnying of the horses in his pounding head, trying without success to block them all out.

“Yer Lordship… wake up!”, he felt strong hands shaking him and opened his eyes blearily.

Noah stood above him, and he could see Arran’s worried face bobbing around behind him.

“I’m fine…”, he managed to croak, his throat dry as he struggled to lift himself up with trembling arms.

He looked around in confusion, for he was lying on the floor and where was Isabelle? And then he remembered with a dreadful hollow pang and he understood where he was.

He looked up at Arran’s peaky face and the boy was staring at him with that same wide-eyed terrified expression that seemed to flit across his face a hundred times a day.

“What… what is it boy?”, he snapped as he stumbled to his feet.

“It’s just… it’s just… what’s happen’ to yer face me Lord?”, he wavered.

Garrick brought a hand up gingerly to his face, shuddering in pain as his fingers touched raw open flesh.

He brought his hands slowly down before him, staring in disbelief at the blood that was smeared on his trembling fingers. In his ears he thought he heard the hollow echo of her whisper, “We will be together…”.

Garrick found he was almost panting as he made his way from the ships, up the hill to the workings of what was to be the castle. His stomach churned, broiling in the scorching heat, beads of sweat forming on his brow and trickling down his face.

When he saw who was guarding the gate he suppressed a groan of annoyance. Kelgar had a very high opinion of himself, particularly since he had been made, out of necessity castle guard. Garrick was not in the mood for his sarcastic comments, particularly not today.

He belched, an unpleasant acidic wave burning its way along his oesophagus as he forced himself to swallow it back down. He would not degrade himself by losing the contents of his stomach in front of an upstart fool like Kelgar.

Unfortunately Kelgar had noticed.

“Had a rough night then have we Your Lordship”, he drawled, his lips turning up slightly into a condescending sneer, as he stepped to bar the way into the inner courtyard.

“I don’t know about your rough night Sir”, Garrick scowled, “but I was sound asleep in bed with my wife”.

Which was true. He had been, it had just taken a few tankards of ale to get there. Well perhaps more than a few. He had stumbled to bed as usual, ashamed as Cindra shrank away from his hands, his attempts at gentle caresses turned to fumbling pawing.

But he couldn’t bear it if he did not drink. Then she would come to him in his dreams, always dancing away from him, teasing as he reached out to touch her. To experience the pain of losing her again every morning when he woke was too much and so he drank to keep her away.

He only wished he could find a way to stop his wife from dreaming of her. But he could not help that, someone must have told her what he had done so of course she now found him repulsive. And it was natural for her to have nightmares about such a thing, but it frightened him a little that she was growing so exhausted she had not even realised Atholt had burnt his hand. How it could have happened he could not conceive of but there it was, the evidence that Cindra’s attention must have wandered for a moment. And then how she had woken in the night screaming about it. But of course she had such a terrible fright that night so she must have forgotten about Atholt’s little accident.

He was now standing directly in front of Kelgar, glaring down at him. Sometimes it was a definite advantage to be so tall.

“Now if you would mind standing aside sir, you are in my way”, he snarled.

“Of course, of course your Lordship”, he said with a smirk, stepping aside and waving Garrick through, “can’t be too careful these days you know. There’s all sorts of bad types on this here island”.

“I hope you are not implying I am one of these “bad types”", Garrick said scornfully, pushing past before Kelgar had a chance to answer, tired of the other man’s snide remarks.

What a start to the day. He had managed to drag himself out of bed, head pounding and mouth dry, long after Cindra had already left. It was his job to oversee the building at the castle, and he hadn’t impressed anyone lately with his efforts.

Noah and Arran were working on the East wing. An anvil had been set up there for Noah, who was at this very moment hammering out new iron supports for the side wall. He was issuing instruction to Arran who was all but jumping from foot to foot like an excited puppy.

“Now then lad, are yew bein’ ready for it? Remember it’ll be bein’ mighty hot so don’t let it be touchin’ yer skin else yew’ll be getting a nasty burn there”.

Arran nodded in agreement, then realising Noah was concentrating on the task and hadn’t seen him squeaked, “Yes… I’m bein’ ready for it”.

“Arright now then lad… now!”.

Noah drew back, and Arran darted forward seizing the glowing hot pin in hands wrapped in a thick cloth and plunging it into the nearby bucket of water, where it hissed noisily, a cloud of steam rising from it.

Now that this process was finished Garrick cleared his dry throat noisily. The heat of the fire was scalding his face and he could feel rivulets of sweat trickling unpleasantly down his back. How he too longed to plunged into the bucket, where the cool water would soothe his sizzling skin, pour into his parched mouth and wash the grit from his bleary eyes.

Noah looked up at him, while Arran was still gazing, fixated at the cooling pin.

“Somethin’ we can be doin’ fer yer Lordship then?”, Noah asked, as Arran turned around with a start, not noticing Garrick’s presence till then.

“I’m just coming to check on your progress”, Garrick croaked.

He cleared his throat in embarrassment, turning to Arran who was not gazing at him as acutely as Noah, “So then lad, I see Noah is showing you the ropes. Have you ever done any blacksmithing before?”

Arran stared at him, his moss green eyes wide and startled. He reminded Garrick of a rabbit he had once shot while hunting, the look of surprise at the thud of the arrow before the pain began to flow through its soft body. The thought brought up a dreadful pang of guilt and sorrow, rushing up through his body so he thought he might be violently ill right there on the ground before those startled eyes. He would never shoot an arrow again.

“N…no Yer Lordship… I ain’t done nothin’ like this before. I ain’t got no experience whatsoever”.

The young man suddenly looked as though he thought he had said too much, “But I am doin’ me very best yer Lordship and I do think I’m qualified fer this here job yew’ve given me”.

“I really really am tryin’ me very best”, he reiterated.

Seeing the young man’s discomfort Garrick tried to change the subject, “So when will you be putting up the next retaining wall?”

Arran stared blankly at him, his fingers tapping nervously at his sides, “errr…”

“We will be bein’ puttin’ up that one next week yer Lordship. We’ll be needing more men fer that so some of those that be workin’ on the church will be comin’ over here to be helpin’.

Arran was nodding his head furiously in agreement.

“But we still got to be makin’ a whole lot more of these here supportin’ pins”, Noah said.

Garrick listened feeling increasingly ill, the fire unpleasantly close, “It’s bloody hot today it is”, he said wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Perraps yew should be goin’ in the kitchen and gettin’ somethin’ cold ta drink and havin’ a bit of sit down”, Noah suggested, “Yer not lookin’ to well there yer Lordship if yew don’t mind me sayin’”.

“It sure is bein’ hot today”, Arran nodded helpfully.

“Perhaps your right, I’ll do that and let you men get back to your work”.

They took the hint and turned back to what they were doing as Garrick stumbled away, heading across the courtyard towards the makeshift kitchen.

He didn’t make it, suddenly feeling intensely ill, guts wrenching upwards and he rushed in through the nearest door, into the stables. He bent over clutching his writhing stomach until the sensation had passed then leaned heavily against the stall.

A soft-nosed mare stuck her head through the bars whinnying softly as she butted her head against his trembling arm.

“Sorry lass… I don’t have anything for you today”, he muttered and then his whole body was screaming with pain and he was on his hands and knees crawling towards the piles of hay in the corner.

He didn’t make it, the world turning red at the corners followed by the dragging curtain of blackness.

Blackness and the soft patter of little feet on dry clay.

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.

Noah carefully raised his hands in the air, ready to grasp the squealing pig at his feet. He had spent the majority of the cool spring day slipping around in the pig pen, trying in vain to catch the squirming creatures. Being a carpenter, he had never before had the occasion to capture a pig and he now knew that it was not as easy it looked.

Not to mention that the icy morning sleet had turned the pig pen into a muddy nightmare of scattering pink bodies, and splattered boots. He brought his hands down slowly until they were on either side of the pig’s rotund body and reached out to grasp it with his strong hands.

Suddenly the pig gave a mighty squeal and skittered into the corner of the pen cowering with the other muddy grunting bodies. He swore softly under his breath and then he heard the sound that had startled them and he was over the fence and running before he could even think.

His heart was in his throat as he raced around to the front of the cottage, so he thought he would choke before he ever reached the source of that dreadful sound. His ears were filled with the babies wailing and the sharp desperate barking of Dog.

He opened the door expecting to see the mauled body of his son, Dog standing above him with a bloodied muzzle.

Dog was standing above Derrin but his body was protectively curved over the tiny, weeping baby. He was sniffing carefully at the child, lifting his head occasionally to bark loudly. When he saw Noah standing at the door, his mouth spread into a joyous grin, tongue lolling and he gave the baby one last soft nuzzle and padded over to Noah.

Noah was dizzy with relief as he leant down to scratch the top of Dog’s head. An unpleasant pang of guilt sidled through him reminding him that a moment earlier he had pictured the animal a brute.

“It’s a good boy yer bein’. Now yew best be gettin’ outside. And don’t yew be hasslin’ at them poor old pigs again yer hear me”.

Dog woofed in reply and trotted outside happily, most likely straight towards the pig pen and frightened pigs, thought Noah.

Noah gazed down at his son who was lying on the bare floor boards. He had stopped sobbing for a moment to stare wide-eyed up at his father, his tear-stained face full of confusion at his current situation.

He bent down and picked up Derrin, feeling with horror how cold the baby was. It was a chill afternoon and they had not yet lit a fire in the main room.

As soon as he was safe in Noah’s arms, Derrin began to shriek again, with long hiccuping sobs of indignation at his unfair treatment. Noah tried his best to comfort the little boy, hoisting him onto his shoulder, snuggling him against his neck. He briskly rubbed at the baby’s limbs and back trying to return some warmth to them.

Eventually Derrin stopped crying, resting his tiny face wearily against Noah’s shoulder, his limbs hanging limply.

What on Earth had Gena been thinking leaving him there like that? Then his throat constricted again and a great rush of fear pumped through his veins, his heart fluttering so wildly he thought the baby pressed against it must have been disturbed. He had forgotten all about Gena in his concern for their son.

He crossed the room in an instant, throwing wide the door without preparation for what he might find there.

But all he found was Gena sitting on the edge of the bed, her face turned towards the window as though she could gaze out at the gathering storm clouds, descending on the mountain peaks.

At the sound of his entrance her little hands clenched into fists and he saw that her shoulders had begun to shake like the rustling leaves of a tree as the wind gusts through it the moment before it rains.

“Gena…”, he had only said one word, the warmth of it rising up to meet her chill and the rain came pouring down.

She gave a single sob, her face collapsing into her hands, blades of rain slicing into the leaves and smashing into the ground.

Noah was not an emotional man but at that moment he didn’t know whether to feel brutally angry, compassionate or dreadfully afraid.

He silently went over to the crib with Derrin who was warm now and sleeping soundly in his arms. He carefully lay him down, his hands steady as always, not betraying the disquiet he felt within.

The he turned to his wife who had stopped crying, and now sat, her back to him, her hands clutching at the fabric over her thighs so tightly he could see the whites of her knuckles. Her body was still trembling slightly, the rain subsiding for the moment but the branches still shivering with anticipation for the next downpour.

“Gena…”, he said her name softly, the syllables rolling like thunder from his mouth.

She did not turn so he was obliged to walk around the side of the bed so he could see her face.

She did not speak, her attention fixed on a small thread that had come loose from her dress. She was winding it round her fingers so tightly he could see the deep criss-crossing indentations it made when unravelled, angry red lines marring her delicate pale skin.

“Gena, what were yew thinkin’ leavin’ him out there in the cold like that?”, he asked, his tone more puzzled than accusatory.

She turned her face towards him, and the corners of her mouth drooped downwards, swollen petals sagging under the onslaught of water. She looked exhausted, her head lolling on her shoulders, the stem unable to support the weight any longer.

“He wouldn’ stop cryin’. He was just cryin’ and cryin’ and nothin’ I could do would be makin’ him stop”, she paused for a moment as though a rest was necessary, “I couldn’ bear it anymore so I been puttin’ him in that there other room for a moment so I didn’ have to listen to him”.

Noah was shocked and could not hide it, he knew she had noticed his sharp intake of breath at her explanation.

Suddenly her demanour changed, her shoulders slumping, part of the river bank dislodged spiralling into the rushing water below to be swept away and she began to wring her hands in dismay.

“Oh Noah, what was I thinkin’, leavin’ poor little Derrin out there. I thought it’d just be for a minute then when I was sittin’ here I couldn’ even be bringin’ myself to get up again”.

Noah could have interrupted her, told her what he thought of her behaviour but he thought it best to let her speak. He could tell there was something very wrong. Things had not been right since Derrin had been born, she hadn’t seemed to experience any of the joy that usually overcame new mothers. More and more he had found he weeping beside Derrin’s crib, or sitting dejectedly at the table her head in her hands. He had tried to discuss it with her many times but she had always dismissed the topic with a forced smile. Now that it was flooding out, sloshing at the confining banks he did not think it wise to hault the overflow.

“I… I’m just bein’ so tired Noah, I can’t be doin’ it. I knew I would be bein’ a bad mother and they all knew… and look I been provin’ em right. Can’t take care of me own baby and they goin’ to know… they goin’ to know…”, she broke off into a desperate sob, “and they goin’ to take him away. I’m just knowin’ they are”.

“An he doesn’ love me… little Derrin, he knows I’m not bein’ a good mother and he knows I can’t be seein’ him. He’s knowin’ it! And he don’t love me!”.

It was too much, Noah couldn’t bear it anymore and he swept her up into his arms, the water lapping ineffectively at the barricade of his embrace.

“Now yew be listenin’ here. Yer a wonderful mother, and little Derrin over there in his crib loves yew with all his wee heart. He don’t be mindin’ that yew can’t see him, it’s yer voice and yer touch that’s bein’ important to him”.

He tenderly lifted her hand to his face so she could trace the lines of his expression.

“The amount of love that’s bein’ in that there hand of yer’s, how could he not be feelin’ it?”, he asked, smiling softly so she could feel the upward curve of his lips.

“Now yew know what I be thinkin’”, he murmured, “I think it’s bein’ time his mama be havin’ a rest too. She’s lookin’ real tired and the littl’un over there be sleepin’ soundly so I think it’s bein’ yer turn”.

He began to carefully undress her unresisting body, as soft rain began to patter on the window pane. She leaned on him heavily, her trembling arms around his shoulders, her face buried in his hair.

She lifted her arms weakly for him to slide her nightgown over them, the soft folds of material falling around the battered trunk of her body.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her knees pulled feebly to her chest, tears trickling softly down her cheeks, tiny spatters or rain making wet spots on the flimsy fabric of her nightgown.

“Yer alright love, yer just bein tired is all, in need of a bit of a rest. Yew’ll feel better when yew be wakin’ up”, Noah had the ability to sound convincing and comforting even when he did not believe in what he was saying. He knew his wife and he knew when something was wrong. And something was very wrong.

He helped her lie down, rubbing her back and kissing her neck, pulling the covers up around her tired body.

He sat with her until she fell asleep, looking at the the swollen moist inside of her lips as she inhaled and exhaled, the flushed rosy pink of her cheeks, her eyes closed tightly like flowers folding shut in the cool, afternoon air.

He would send Arran for Hepsie and see what she could do. He was sure she would understand what was wrong with Gena better than he could. He would send for Hepsie.

Noah listened politely while Arran chattered incessantly about the coming spring, the new work planned for the church and the castle and anything else he could think of.

Noah understood that he was trying to distract him from the dreadful cries of agony coming from the next room intermittently. And he appreciated what the young man was trying to do, but he thought if he mentioned foundations or ploughing one more time he too would begin to scream through his clenched teeth and once he started he would not be able to stop.

“Yew see… I figure… if we bein’ puttin’ in these wooden latts in a manner like this ‘ere”, he demonstrated enthusiastically with his arms, “then we’d be all set”.

“I mean, if we was to… “, he trailed off with a grimace as another anguished screech echoed around the small room, amplified by the stone walls surrounding them.

Had Noah known the effect those walls would produce he would never have built them. Right at this moment he wanted to tear them down with his bare hands, anything to stop that terrible sound. If something happened to her he would anyway, breaking apart all his careful work, smashing the rocks to pieces, his axe slicing through the wooden fence she had stroked, digging up the trees he had planted dirt pushing beneath his fingernails, the grainy brown material scraping along the fibres of his heart.

“Sorry lad… “, he mumbled, “don’t think I’m really bein’ in a talkin’ mood anymore. Thanks all the same”.

Arran nodded mutely, with a distraught look, his next sentence dying on his lips. Noah knew that the poor boy, eager to please as he was, was probably scolding himself inwardly for talking too much, perhaps for saying the wrong things. Right at that moment Noah could not even bring himself to care.

He slowly rose from his chair and went over to the window, gazing at the snow-covered fields, distorted by his hot breath panting onto the frosty glass. The world outside was muted pink, the last stars winking out over the horizon. It was dawn and his wife had lain in that tiny room he had built for them for almost a day.

He suddenly had a desperate urge to be outside, where there was no sound but the infinitely soft thud, as tiny snowflakes spiralled down to the ground, and the hollow sound of the wind through the deadened trees.

He fled the closeness of the tiny room with its carefully packed walls, its merrily crackling fire and the awkward conversation of a sad young man, a gust of frigid wind hitting his face as he opened the door.

He cautiously picked his way down the slippery embankment of snow, shivering slightly as the tang of the cold breeze caressed his body. He stood gazing out to sea, under a roof of cypress trees that creaked in dismay under the weight of the countless tiny flakes that had never made it to the ground.

The water gleamed blue in the early light, chill tongues of ice reaching out from the shoreline towards the darker water where sluggish currents still stirred.

He could venture out on that ice, painstakingly making his way over the frozen path. The grating sound in his ears as the ice below his feet began to deform, the tiny crystals kinking and bending until the strain became too much, brittle fractures rampaging through like fast growing roots. Then there would be the dreadful roar as the seemingly solid ground cracked below his feet, the dark, cold water rushing up to meet him as he scrabbled uselessly with numbing fingers on the edges. The first breath taken, the burning of icy water rushing into his resisting lungs, a struggle and then quiet, spiralling towards the depths.

He heard a gentle padding sound behind him, and turned slightly to see Dog gingerly picking his way over the snow, lifting his paws high in a futile attempt to keep them warm.

He came and sat silently at Noah’s feet without the usual whining and begging. It seemed that he understood the solemnity of the morning and for once Noah was glad for the company.

They stayed there for a long time as the sun began to peek her rosy face over the sparkling white fields and the icy blue sea.

He heard an awkward crunching behind him but he dared not turn around for fear of who it might be and what they might have to say to him.

Hepsie came to stand silently beside him. Still he dared not look at her, desperately afraid of what he might find in her face.

“Ooh… now then yew big ruddy baby… I know it’s bein’ that cold out here an yew’ve had a hard day but that’s not bein’ a good reason to start kickin’ at yer poor old Ma”, she rubbed her moving belly painfully until the baby began to calm.

With a burst of courage he turned towards Hepsie, gazing at the soft lines of her face. She was not paying attention to him, her concentration centred on soothing the small being inside her.

She looked exhausted, dark circles around her eyes, her head drooping wearily. Her hair had escaped it’s usual tight bun and hung in sweaty curls around her shoulders.

“Now good sir”, she said turning to Noah with a broad grin, “I am bein’ that pleased to announce that yew are the father of a healthy son… that big he’s bein’ though… and he was so turned around… gave yer poor wife a dreadful time he did”.

“My wife”, he croaked, unable to bring himself to speak properly

“Oh the poor lamb… she’ll be just fine. She’s a bit tired is all. So I’m bein’ as well fer that matter. And I think yew too”.

His heart was suddenly filled with an overwhelming joy and he scooped Hepsie into his arms planting a large kiss on her flushed, cold little cheek.

“Thank yew”, he murmured unable to say anything else, choking slightly on these simple words.

“Yer bein’ welcome Noah love”, she replied, smiling wearily at him, “it was my pleasure to be bringin’ another bonnie wee lad like him into this world. And God’s own pleasure to let me be the one to do it”.

She whistled softly, “He’s bein’ the fifth boy bein’ born this month. Better be gettin’ some girls soon or there be bein’ an awful lot of fightin’ over poor wee Aisling when they grow up”.

Suddenly her smile fell and all that was left was the sagging features of exhaustion pulling heavily at her face.

“Yew be gentle with that wife of yer’s then Noah. She’s had a real rough time of it and she’s goin’ to need both yew and Arran to take good care of her”.

He nodded mutely and they walked back to the house together, Dog trotting along beside them, his eager footsteps squeaking softly in the newly fallen snow.

He accepted Arran’s congratulations as quickly as he could without seeming cruel and then opened the door and walked into the room.

Gena inclined her head towards him as she always did when she heard his footsteps. However her usual radiant smile was missing, her lips slack, her face drawn and weary. Her hair was plastered around her flushed expressionless face.

He bent down and gently kissed her clammy forward, stroking her hot cheeks with his chilled hand. She did not reach out to feel his features as she usually did when he was close, her hands resting wearily on her still swollen belly.

“He’s bein’ over in that there cradle if yew want to be seein’ him”, she murmured, her voice soft as though speaking were a great effort, “yer son”.

Something about what she said disturbed him, though he could not work out what it was and so he crept over to the cradle to peer in.

He gazed down at the baby in wonder. He was indeed a robust little thing with rosy skin, and strong kicking legs. His face was turned towards the wall and suddenly Noah desperately wanted him to turn and look at him.

He reached down a tentative hand, his big rough fingers gently hovering above the chubby body lying restlessly in the crib. His courage faltered, his fingers almost brushing the tiny creature but then retracting to hide shamefully curled inwards to the palm of his hand at the last minute.

Then it did not matter because the baby turned his head to stare up at his father, his brown eyes blinking with curiosity at this new face above him.

“Gena love…”, he breathed, “He’s being the most amazin’ thing I’ve ever been seein’”.

He heard her sigh deeply from across the room, the sound hissing from her exhausted lungs and through her drooping lips.

“I wouldn’ be knowin’ cause I can’t be seein him”, she said dully.

And then he realised what was bothering him. She had said his son, not theirs.