I haven’t abandoned the world of sims blogging. Things have just been so unbelievably hectic and crazy this last few months. We found at we were getting evicted and then had to find a new place to live pronto. The way that Stockholm is set up doesn’t make this easy at all. Apparently on average it takes 105 weeks to find an apartment in Stockholm, whereas other European cities such as Berlin and Madrid it is more like 5! I had no idea it would be so tough so we spent a lot of time panicking and desperately calling people (it seems like most people give their advertised apartments to the first person they talk to) and viewing apartments. It really is a complete shambles, with people behaving badly and everyone out for themselves. But we hit the jackpot just in time and got a last minute student apartment (if you happen to be the first person who clicks on the website you get it… so lucky!). So the last few months have gone by in a panic of apartment-finding and moving (we give up our old room on Sunday).

On top of all of this I had a deadline for two conference papers (one which I am the first author, and one the second). So I have been barely keeping my head above water and I have been so exhausted and uninspired in what little spare time I have had. And the snowstorms have been so bad here that our internet was down on and off for three days including our server so I hope none of you had trouble accessing the site.

But things are looking up now anyway. We have a lovely new apartment with our own kitchen and two little gardens. It seems like it will be an inspiring place to write in and on the way to work the other day Eallair started talking to me finally again (sounds weird, but you know what I mean!). Internet is back in wireless format, though appears to be permanently broken on the desktop (which really needs a visit from Dell anyway). So it looks like there will be a windows reinstall which mean reinstalling the sims. I have a pictures for a few chapters and hope to get to them soon, but new ones will have to wait till the computer is fixed.

So that is basically what has been going on with me. Sorry for being so silent. I hope things are well with you all and I will be paying a visit to your sites to catch up very soon.

Happy simming!

“Could pirates really venture this far north? Why?! What possible reason do they have to come up here?” Eallair muttered, massaging his creased forehead with an unsteady hand.

Garrick’s eye glanced over his friend’s face, noting the deep line forming between his eyes from too many worried frowns, the dark pouches beneath his eyes from too many sleepless nights. Eallair had aged visibly in the years they had spent on Mhalwae, his face crinkling and folding like the map that had led them there. He was only young, though the enthusiastic boy Garrick had once known had all but fled. Now Eallair sat, hunched over, his back humped like an old man’s, his shoulders sagging wearily.

“I suppose they could be evading capture by some fleet by skirting north into the Draldor. We don’t know what is happening back home, it is possible Faldorn has his fleets patrolling further south. He may even have taken Lomorrad, who knows if they could stand firm against his armies,” Garrick shifted in his chair, rubbing his stiff legs. He had walked long that day in the cold, checking the patrolling men for any sign of ship on the horizon bearing the ominous black flag.

“Or they may have been avoiding foul weather. Who knows what drove them this far north,” Lochan added.

“We aren’t strongly fortified,” Eallair murmured, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, “What if there was more then one ship? I don’t think we could withstand a full scale attack. We simply don’t have enough men.”

“Let’s worry about that if we have to Eallair. We’re doing everything we can to protect the people. The scouts on higher ground will spot any ship before it even gets close to the harbour. Rasmus is on alert, the ships are manned and prepared to block the mouth of the harbour if necessary. Our position is better than you think. The men are ready for battle. And it is unlikely that a passing ship would spot us at all. The harbour is hidden from view. Remember, we didn’t see it ourselves until we did a second pass,” Lochan’s voice was both reassuring and commanding.

It worried Garrick that Eallair was so reliant on their counsel. It had not gone unnoticed that every decision made lately on the island had come directly from Lochan or from his own self. It frustrated him that his King could not step into the shoes of a leader. At first Garrick had believed it was only teething pains as the newly crowned Eallair got his head around the duty he had inherited. Garrick still held hope that Eallair would finally come into his own and be the leader they needed. He knew Lochan had given up that hope.

Eallair was lucky he had such loyal friends. A lesser man would have taken advantage of the situation.

“But do you see what this means. We are not the only ones who know about Mhalwae. If pirates maraud this far north surely they know of the location. They cannot have been far out if the little girl managed to swim in to shore. And if they know about the island, well, surely it is only a matter of time until Faldorn does too,” Eallair looked over helplessly at Garrick.

“If only the poor, wee lass could tell us. I’ve no idea what tongue she is speaking though. Never heard it myself before now. Even Rasmus couldn’t recognise it and I did believe till now he had travelled the whole known world over,” Garrick shifted again, trying to relieve the discomfort in his hip joints.

“Where could she have come from? Do you think she’s from the Borderlands? Do you believe those lands even exist? And how did she end up here? It makes no sense!” Eallair crossed his legs with a soft thud as his heavy boots clumped together.

“It’s a decent question. Perhaps the rumours are true. Maybe the Talmasians are to be believed and there’s something out there besides deserts,” Garrick replied.

“Drat the fire has gone out,” Eallair whined, but Lochan was already standing to address the problem, “Oh, thanks Lochan. What would I do without you?”

What indeed, Garrick thought as he stretched his aching legs before him, feeling the rush of blood tingling down through the cramped muscles and into his booted feet.

Lochan poked aggressively at a hulking log until the thing crumbled in two to reveal a hidden, glowing, red center. The fire crackled and spat, as some smaller logs caught, dusty, dry bark peeling back in blackened curls.

“Well done Lochan, it was getting a bit nippy in here. When’s this bloody weather going to break. It feels like it’s been winter for an age,” Garrick shivered slightly, crossing his arms a little tighter against his chest, “it makes me miss Branwhuld. At least then you knew it was going to be bleeding cold for a month but then it would be over. Here it feels like summer never even happened before.”

“We’re lucky to be here Garrick,” Lochan mumbled, rubbing at his bad arm staring into the fire, the flames casting eery shadows on his face.

He went to sit beside Eallair who had resumed rubbing his forehead vigorously with calloused fingers. Garrick was reminded that those callouses were not the product of war, but built up from the etiquette of peacetime tournaments. Eallair was a skilled swordsmen though he had never had to test it. Eallair had not waded into battle as Lochan and Garrick had. For now his sword remained unstained. Garrick’s had run with blood that had worked its way into the grooves of the hilt so it would always be a dark, rusty red. He was sometimes surprised it was not the same with the palms of his hands.

“What if Faldorn comes here? What if he finds us? He will kill us all,” Eallair’s hand floated before his mouth which hung open in a terrified gape.

Garrick felt a surge of rage, fiery and hot in his belly, “God’s teeth he had better not come here or I’ll have his balls for a money bag! Just you see him try.”

Eallair snorted suddenly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something… a little less hairy?” he choked and began to cough.

“Need a pat on the back their Eally, something go down the wrong way? Hope it wasn‘t black and curly.” Lochan pounded heartily on Eallair’s back which only ended with him coughing even harder between guffaws.

“Quit it you two,” Garrick growled but he couldn’t help but grin, “from what I hear Faldorn hasn’t got anything big enough to hold a decent amount of gold anyway.”

“Perhaps you need to start a collection then Garrick. You can hang them all around your belt. One in every colour so to speak,” Lochan snickered, thumping Eallair on the back as he choked again.

“Oh you be quiet before I decide to start collecting right now!”

I thought this year for a bit of fun I would try and cast Mhalwae the movie (or really I think it would have to be a TV series). I picked my best ideas. Let me know if you guys had any suggestions!

First of all I found this guy, Gabriel Aubry for Eallair. He isn’t an actor but a male model, but I think he has the right looks.

I love Eyal Podell from Defying Gravity (so mad that show got cancelled) as Lochan. His hair is a bit darker but he has those piercing eyes and after watching him as Efram in DG he can so do dark and tortured.

I really don’t like Keira Knightely but I think she would be perfect for Isaura. She already looks sickly and frail… just slap on a bit more dark makeup under her eyes and she is good to go.

I am in love with Kevin McKidd after I saw him as Dr Hunt in Greys Anatomy. I think he would be a great Garrick. He is all huge and muscular and looks a bit older and give him a bit bigger beard and some long hair and there he is.

This one was a toughie. In my head, the only character I had ever cast before was Drew Barrymore as Cindra. But Drew is getting a bit older know and while she would have been perfect before with her cheeky smile and her chubby cheeks I am not so sure anymore. But then I found Abbie Cornish. Now if that girl can do a cheeky grin she IS Cindra. She even has the same turned up nose! I put a picture in of Drew at the end anyway for comparison.

Daniel Day-Lewis is going to have to take a break from playing Egelric in Lothere and be my Radomir. I think he could do it. He has a big old nose. He is kind of dark and twisted and rough. The other option was Eric Bana. He did a great job as Henry in The Other Bolyen Girl and I think he could pull of the hulking, looming aspect of Radomir but also the miserable, sad little boy.

And this girl, Tatyana Ali is perfect for Hepsie. It seems she used to be on the Fresh Prince of Bel-air but now I want to scoop her up for Mhalwae.

So that’s all for now. I had some other ideas but not as good as these ones. I hope you all have a beautiful Christmas and a brilliant New Year!

Once again, I have not fallen off the face of the earth. I have just been rather down and lethargic and writer’s blocky. The lack of sunlight really does suck. Looking back on my chapter writing I see that apart from the first November (when I had just started writing) I am woeful at writing during this time of year. So sorry I have been absentee yet again. The three day posting rule fell apart a bit but I am planning to restore it when my energy comes back. It is snowing now so it will be a bit lighter and prettier.

And I am feeling a bit excited and inspired again though. One of my photos on flickr is going to be published in the Insight Guide to Cracow! And I mentioned to the contact there that I am interested in travel writing and after taking a quick look at my travel blog said that it was worth a shot to send along some examples of my travel writing that he would forward to the Editorial Department for me. Now, I am not delusional. I know that most likely they will not be interested. And of course I still have a PhD to finish! But still… it feels like a door and it has given me the hope that maybe there will be more opening and there is a chance I can actually do the thing I love (well the other thing… I am not forgetting you Geology my first love).

So once again… big apologies. But I will be back on track once I get this travel writing together and sent. I feel happy again. And Christmas is coming so I will get a bit of a break and more writing time. And cookies.

If you are interested at all and want to check out my other blog, my travel blog, with sparkles (which definitely doesn’t get as much of my attention as Mhalwae does, but I post there occasionally) it is here.

And just to keep you interested here is a sneak preview from a few chapters away…

The girl murmured in her sleep, muttering and groaning, sometimes crying out in fright. She threw her slender limbs this way and that as she squirmed away from whatever nightmare chased her through the hallways of her dreams. Her face was pale, so very pale but for the angry red welts which ripped away from her lips as though her face was twisted into the most macabre of elongate grins. Her eyes were sunken into hollow pools that made her face appear hagged and skull like. And yet she was somehow so very beautiful that Varda could not look away. The girl muttered something in her foreign tongue and rolled onto her side.

“What did they do to her Hepsie?” she asked the other woman who had just finished examining the exhausted girl.

Hepsie was lucky she was so soundly asleep, it had not been easy for Varda and Osras to bring the struggling girl inside but once they had she had grown limp and supple and it had not been difficult for Varda to pull her soaking dress from her pallid arms and wrap her in one of Varda’s own nightgowns. When Hepsie had arrived she was already dry and safe, tucked up in Varda’s bed, deeply asleep.

“Well My lady… it doesn’t seem like… like they done anything actually. I mean, they hurt her poor little wrists they did where she was tied, an’ she’s got that nasty graze on her face from the gag. But other than frightening her half to death, she ain’t been harmed. She’s very cold though, I’d put on another blanket.”

“But what about the blood?” Varda murmured.

“Oh, there’s blood alright, but it ain’t nothin’ to worry about. She’s just got her woman’s troubles is all. They ain’t… hurt her in any other way that is to say.”

“So they didn’t rape her?” Varda snarled.

“Hush now, My Lady, she might hear you. No, they ain’t hurt her like that.”

“I don’t think she can understand us Hepsie. I’m so glad they didn’t hurt her badly, but I suppose they meant to. Do you think it was pirates?”

“It would be making sense it would. Poor little mite, brave thing she is too… must have escaped and jumped into the water, swam all the way by herself. But my lady, yew don’t think it’s Faldorn’s men do yew. They haven’t found us have they?”

Hepsie’s eyes grew wide with fear, an unnerving sight to see on a face that was usually so bravely defiant.

“I don’t believe so Hepsie. I think it’s more likely that it was pirates, I can more believe that they would sally forth this far north than Faldorn could find us. We just have to hope the pirates haven’t spotted our settlement. And that they don’t come looking for her.”

“Do you think they will?”

“I don’t know. But if they do the King will bring the full force of his power against them. Don’t worry, we have nothing to fear.”

“But where did she come from, Osras was telling me he ain’t heard nothing like her tongue before… nothing. Do yew think she’s from one of the borderlands. Further than Talmasia?”

“Perhaps, I’ve only met Talmasians but they themselves claim there are other lands, past the endless deserts. How a pirate ship would get hold of a borderlander though, your guess is as good as mine.”

“My Lady, I am done with the girl now, she just needs to be resting fer a good long why. Yew can call me when she wakes up, bur fer now just let her be sleeping. But My Lady, how are yew? How’s that baby of yers? Not suffering any from all this excitement?”

Varda gently rubbed her belly with a soft smile, “No, the baby is fine. Though it’s been kicking a lot with all this running around. But… that’s good… isn’t it?”

“Yes luv,” Hepsie smiled warmly, “that’s very good. Won’t be long now an’ yew an’ yer husband will have a bonny wee baby to play with. Now I’ll be taking my leave of yew. Just let me know if anything happens or send word if she wakes. I’ll be staying on the ship this night.”

“Thank you Hepsie,” she murmured, as Hepsie closed the door behind her with a soft click.

Varda shuffled over to the bed, her swollen feet aching beneath her heavy weight. The girl mumbled in her sleep, and flung her arms over her head, her face wrinkling into a frown.

Poor thing. Varda carefully stroked her thin arms that swam in the material of Varda’s too-large nightgown.

She gently tucked the girl’s trembling arms beneath the covers. Her hand brushed bare skin and she shivered at the chill of the girl’s body. She was as cold as when they had pulled her from the water and no amount of blankets would warm her. And yet Hepsie said she was perfectly fine and she did seem alright, though exhausted.

The girl mumbled softly, her pallid lips barely opening, “Ni ska inte döda mig.”

Varda and Lekha waddled along the beach, their huge bellies swaying pendulously before them, their swollen feet crunching in the icy snow.

It was such a relief for Varda that Hepsie had finally decided she could go outside and get some fresh air. She had deemed that the baby was big enough now that it didn’t matter if it came a few weeks early. Her baby was big enough, her baby was strong enough. She had cried silently when Hepsie left, the accumulation of so many months of fear and worry. Her baby was coming. It was only a matter of time now.

And so she may walk outside again and “air the belly” as Lekha liked to say. Lekha liked to take these walks too, in her country, she had told, a woman didn’t stop walking until the baby came, even when the labour pains hit. Varda had attended enough births to know that it was very different for the women of her race who lay prostrate on the bed, writhing and screaming and falling back on the pillows over and over in exhaustion. Varda wasn’t afraid. She wouldn’t let herself be.

“Goodness me Lekha, it’s a simply beautiful day,” she smiled at her friend, licking her finger to test the direction of the wind.

The chill on the skin of her finger thrilled her, so used was she to stuffy rooms that smelt of sickly sweet breath and underneath it the sharp scent of salt and damp wood.

“A northerly if I’m not mistaken. The gentle breath of Andulas rides in from the north,” she quoted a Ulanbaat poem whose author she had long forgotten.

“Bad, boring weather,” Lekha grumbled with a scowl, “How your people live like this I am understanding not. Bad and grey. Always grey.”

“Oh but Lekha dear, don’t you realise. You have to embrace the grey. It will stay for months whether you like it or not. It makes it so much easier if you decide to like it.”

She threw her head back, opening her mouth to let tiny flakes of snow twirl onto her tongue where they melted in an icy sizzle. The wind on her face was so cold it made her teeth ache but it felt so good, so refreshing. She was more alive than she had ever been, two lives sharing her one body.

“Humpf, I do not want it, to how you say, embracing grey. It is making me happy to hate it. Bad, bad weather. Horrible, cold snow. Give me the hot desert. That is better.”

“Oh, but what is that there Varda?” Varda followed the other woman’s gaze out past the melting ice floes to the churning current between the towering cliffs on either side of the natural harbour.

“What, I don’t see anything Lekha… I don’t…” suddenly Varda saw what had caught her friend’s keen eye.

Out past the breaking waves a tangled black mess floated on the water’s surface like dark weed, bobbing around in the current. Varda squinted her eyes to try and make it out when suddenly the matted, black mass broke the surface, a pale face floundering for a few seconds before it went under again.

“Oh my God! Someone’s out there!”

She reached her shivering hands up to pull off the heavy cloak to dive in and help whoever it was, but on the way up they brushed the giant swell of her belly. She couldn’t go in. She was a strong swimmer but she simply could not risk the life of her unborn child. And how could she swim with a belly this big, she could barely walk.

“What we do… what we do?!” Lekha’s English had deteriorated to a disjointed mess in her panic.

“Call out! Someone must hear… HELP… HELP… SOMEONE HELP!!!”

“Adak! Adak! Adak!… Help!”

A large wave came submerging the struggling figure for so long that Varda held her breath sure they would not reappear. But a small arm broke the surface, then another followed by the dark head. Varda took a deep, gulping breath gazing up to the castle ready to call out again when she saw one of the guards careening across the beach towards them.

“There’s someone in the water!” she cried out and he began to pull off his heavy mail tunic, fumbling with his belt, kicking off his boots.

He stripped off his leggings and sprinted into the water, slipping and skithering over the ice floes. He must have been cutting his feet and legs on the jagged pieces but if so he did not make a sound. He waded in, surrounded by floating chunks of ice, his powerful arms pushing them aside as he dove into the frigid water.

Osras swam out past the breakers, strong arms stroking through the water until he reached the struggling figure. She saw the figure’s arms waving frantically, battering him until he hoisted them out of the water with one arm and held them tight against him.

He began to swim back towards the shore and Varda saw that the drowning person was actually a young girl, her long black hair tangled and wet, her dark eyes wide with fright.

Osras carried her struggling in his arms through the jagged ice floes and onto the beach. She kicked and scratched at him, squealing in fright as he gently lowered her to the ground. She was wearing next to nothing, her slender body clad in a thin robe which clung transparently to her skin so Varda could see the swelling bumps of her tiny breasts and the rounded forms of her thighs.

Varda rushed up to meet them.

“Don’t yew worry now lassy, yer alright now, yer alright,” Osras clucked comfortingly, reaching out towards the girl.

“Nej, nej,” she shrieked, “Rör mig inte!” she swatted Osras’ hand away.

Varda came up beside him, “It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you. You don’t need to be frightened.

“Snälla, snälla… skada mig inte,” she whimpered, shrinking away from Varda.

Her face was obscenely pale except for two startling red marks either side of her mouth where the skin had been rubbed raw.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” she backed away trying to reassure the terrified creature.

“She doesn’t seem to speak common,” Osras murmured, “where is she from, I’ve never heard that language before?”

“What do you think happened to her?” Varda asked softly.

“I don’t know, but just look at those red marks on her face and her wrists. Someone’s trussed her up good and simple.”

The girl was gazing at them, her black eyes roving wildly like a caged animal.

“She’s bleeding too…” Varda noticed with shock the spreading stain at the front of her dress where the thin fabric clung between her legs.

“I don’t know what they’ve done to her but we’d better get her inside. And I think yew’d better send for Hepsie,” Osras added.

“It’s okay, you’re safe with us. We won’t hurt you,” Varda murmured reassuringly as she grasped the girl’s arms.

“Nej! Nej! Nej!” she shrieked, squirming and writhing but she was exhausted by her ordeal and Varda’s arms were strong.

“Help me bring her Osras, Lekha… send for Hepsie and then get word to the King. He’ll need to know about this. Don’t worry dear, everything is fine now…”

Garald looked up with a start as his wife clomped into the King’s study. Her dark tresses were tousled, cheeks flushed, her green eyes wild.

“Nyawe,” he stammered with a tentative smile, rising to his feet, “this is a surprise, is there something I can do for you?”

His heart galloped in a sort of crazed excitement, it had been so long since she had paid him any heed whatsoever. Of course that was his own fault, but still, he couldn’t control the way his soul cantered and leaped to find her here.

She stared at him, her dark eyes growing suddenly angry, face rearing up into a scowl.

“You certainly can Garald. You can tell me who the dirty slut you’ve been sleeping with behind my back is so I can claw her roving eyes out!”

“What?!” he cried in shock, all his composure leaving him, “What… what are you talking about?! I haven’t slept with anyone but you… and not even you for many months now.”

“But… I don’t believe it,” she wavered, her face as confused as he imagined his was, “but you were doing penance for so long. I thought… I thought you must have had an affair…”

“Why would you think that,” he gasped in shock, “you… you know what I did. Why I had to do penance.”

She shook her head in confusion, tendrils of dark hair escaping and falling in front of her eyes.

“Will you make me say it? It was because of… you know… what I did to you. The priest said I must abstain for one month. But if you would just forgive me Nyawe I… I won’t treat you so again.”

“What did you do Garald?” she asked looking suspicious again, “I don’t know what it is you have done so how can I know if I should forgive you? Are you sure you haven’t been seeing other women?”

“Nyawe,” he mumbled, his cheeks flaring a bright and painful red with shame, “you know. It’s because… because I raped you.”

“What?! When?! Was I asleep?!” she cried in consternation, blowing an errant curl from her brow with pouting lips.

“I… I don’t think so. You… you cried out. Because I hurt you.”

She stared at him in shock, could it be that she did not even remember what he had done? Had it been so terrible she had blanked it out?

“Garald you goose, I was crying out in pleasure not pain. Do you think if I had really wanted you to stop I wouldn’t have done something about it?”

“But… but you said no, and I… I hurt you… I know I did.”

He didn’t understand, he had been so sure of the wrong he had done to her. Could it be these last months of agony and shame were nothing but a misunderstanding.

“At first a bit, but then it… it was exactly what I needed Garald. Have you really been walking around these last three months thinking you raped me?”

“Well you thought I was sleeping with someone else.”

They stared at each other awkwardly. Garald’s palms were going sweaty in the stuffy room, his tunic sticking uncomfortably to his prickling back. She must have been sweltering in her riding cloak. Her skin was dewy and pink, her startled, green eyes staring into his own. Strands of sable hair were plastered to her hot skin.

All of a sudden she launched herself at him, knocking him back against the table with a resounding thud. His nostrils were filled with the heady smell of animal sweat and beneath the intoxicating scent of her hot skin rising from the woollen material of her cloak. Her mouth was upon his, hungry, insatiable so he found himself panting for breath as his head turned this way and that to meet her ravenous kisses. He was growing unbearably hard, pressing against the warm curve of her thigh for some meagre relief.

The King’s desk dug painfully into the muscles of his buttocks. The King’s desk! He pulled hurriedly away from his wife.

“Hello,” he said with an uncomfortable chuckle.

“What seems to be the problem?” she purred, rubbing against the front of him like a soft, dark cat.

“Uh… we’re… in the King’s study,” he replied, glancing furtively around expecting His Majesty himself to walk in at any moment. Of course, he was out at sword practice…

“Are you going to let that stop you,” she growled, the warm swell of her thigh bumping against him so he could not suppress an errant groan.

His whole life had been about stopping, not taking what he truly wanted because that would have been a sin. If the cake looked delicious he could only sit and stare because gluttony was the cardinal vice of children. When the first sprigs of his downy adolescent beard appeared he shaved in an icy bucket of water, nicking himself for want of a mirror because gazing too long would have left him prey to pernicious vanity. And lust… well wasn’t lust the worst of all.

He grabbed his wife suddenly, so she squealed and swung her around until her round ass was perched on the table edge.

Fumbling frantically he found the hem of her skirt, all the while his lips on her neck, her collarbone, the salty tang of her sweat mingling with horsey scent in his nostrils so that he felt dizzy. He ruched her skirt up, over the deliciously round calf, over the firm swell of her thighs, up around her waist. He felt her hands reaching down to grapple with his belt, yanking up his tunic, scrabbling with his leggings until he was exposed, throbbing in the warm air of the room.

With a shuddering groan he slid inside her slamming her against the desk, the candlestick beside them threatening to topple as the flame shivered and danced.

All his life he had done as he was told, never giving into temptation, doing what his mother said was the right thing. And now here he was fucking his wife on the desk of his King while the books slid one by one to the floor beside her booted feet. He had never felt so alive, bewildered by the taste of her mouth, dazed by the musky smell of her skin, spiralling out of control till all that was left was his body and hers and the rhythmic shaking of the wooden table like a bark bound branch quivering in the wind.

His heart was cantering out of control, capricious as a giddy foal, unsteady on trembling legs. He heard her cry out but it was far, far away. He sped towards her, bolting headlong through the acres that separated them till he was careening on the brink and with a shuddering moan he let himself fall.

They hung together for a long moment, panting and breathless and then Nyawe fell against him with a sigh. She gently nuzzled his neck, her face warm and wet against him.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” he murmured unable to stop himself from grinning.

“Mmmhmmm.”

“On the King’s desk!”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Nyawe?”

“Mmmm, what is it?” her tousled head peeked up from his shoulder, her green eyes soft and warm.

“Do you think… can we do it again sometime?”

Alexis wandered into the stables to saddle up a horse only to be greeted by the all too agreeable sight of Mistress Elmvarn. Her face was flushed a delicious pink from the cold air, her ebony hair come loose from its braid and tumbling around her face in luscious curls. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, her sumptuous pout turning up into a warm smile.

He had intended to go for a ride but this was all the better. Perhaps he still would.

“Why Nyawe, what a great pleasure it is to see you on this fine morning. Have you just been for a ride?”

He knew she had, her tangled, windswept locks, the light bristles of horse hair scattered over her cloak, the slight sheen of sweat on her neck. Not long before Nyawe, the irresistible steward’s wife had clamped her warm, soft thighs around a rippling muscled beast. Alexis felt a hot throb just imagining it.

“I certainly have,” she purred with a grin, “and I can’t say I would be averse to another.”

Her gaze slid from his face, down his chest where his heart was beginning to thump, over the fine folds of his cloak and further. She stared shamelessly and he felt himself growing painfully hard.

She flicked her eyes up to his, dark and hot beneath the bobbing curls that were plastered in places to her moist skin, “What do you say?”

Good Lord she was beautiful. The steward had to be a flaming idiot to let things lie for this long. Either that or his preferences tended in another direction. Alexis could not have lain beside a woman like this for an hour without touching her, let alone months.

He lunged at her with a throaty growl, ramming her into the wooden pillar, his body pressing up against the warm, soft front of hers in all the right places. He leaned his hips against hers and she moaned, her eyes growing bleary with desire, her pouting lips opening for him.

His mouth found the salty skin of her collar bone, covering it with kisses, biting and nipping at it hungrily. He kissed his way up the groove of her pale neck, his mouth finding hers and he could not suppress a groan at the feverish intensity.

They both came up gasping for breath, panting , his chest grazing against hers.

“Well, that certainly was a kiss and a half,” she murmured with a smile of childish gratitude, “have you got anything else up your er… sleeve?”

“I certainly do, but I most certainly don’t hide it in my sleeve. Would you like me to show you?”

“Oh, I think I might have some inkling, you see, something has been poking me in the thigh all this while. Could that possibly be your something else?” she giggled.

“I think you’re getting warmer.”

She began to slide her hand down the front of his cloak, her small, pink fingers rubbing against the thick material.

“Warmer… warmer… hmmm really rather warm there…”

“Hot,” he choked as her hand found its target.

“God, it’s been so long,” she growled throatily, pawing at him, fumbling trying to undo his belt.

So it had, he thought suddenly serious. And the last time had been painful and frightening for her. He pulled away gazing somberly into her wild, green eyes.

“I promise to be gentle Nyawe, I won’t hurt you like your husband did,” he murmured.

She pulled away from him as though scalded.

“What the hell did you say?” she spat, “What the hell do you know about that?”

Suddenly her face was ugly and hard, her eyes screwed up as though he had struck her, her mouth curving up into a nasty sneer.

“I’m sorry, I, your husband told me what happened,” Alexis felt his ardour subsiding as he stared at her shocked at the transformation from purring kitten to enraged tiger.

“That is, ah, he confessed to me.”

“That filthy bastard! How dare he discuss that with anyone. Lying, cheating son of a bitch. I suppose he told you who the splaylegged slut he’s been fucking is. I suppose you’ve probably been fucking her too. Tell me, who is the feculent trollop? Who is it?”

Alexis was shocked and confused by her fury, she had drawn herself up, her shoulders raised like a hissing cat puffing up to appear more menacing. Alexis was certainly menaced.

“I don’t know what you mean Nyawe. He only told me that he forced himself on you and had been doing penance for that. I suppose I shouldn’t interfere but the old lad really does seem sorry about it. I don’t think he meant to hurt you.”

Alexis was burning his own bridges, but he did feel a little sorry for the old boy and he wasn’t sure anymore if he was ready to tangle with this furious wench.

“Forced himself? Penance?” she stared at him incredulously, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

She darted out of the room, leaving Alexis in the company of nickering horses.

“Well ladies, I suppose I will be wanting a ride after all,” he sighed.

Good Lord, well that sounded rather naughty didn’t it, he thought.

“Ahem, you know, a gallop, a canter and whatnot.”

He really wasn’t making it any better was he, “Oh whatever, you know what I mean.”

The sound of her sister’s chattering a dull hum in her ears, Illewen stared at the woman in the mirror. She could scarcely recognise her. She was swathed in fine silk, the material hanging awkwardly from her frail shoulders, her hair braided and tied with shiny ribbons. The face was pale and haggard, the brown eyes dull with deeply ingrained hollows beneath.

Hadn’t there once been a sparkle in those eyes? Her husband had always told her so.

The day had been chill and grey, a frigid wind blowing up beneath her skirts, curling around her legs, teasing them apart. The ribbons in her hair were grey too, intricately twined amongst the thick brown strands of hair that he had so loved to wind in his calloused fingers.

“Land sakes Wenny, I think yer in for a time tonight. That Kelgar, he sure is a catch if I do say so myself,” her younger sister Tirsey drawled.

“Tirse! Don’t be so crass! Maybe Wen doesn’t want to think about that right now. You’re probably making her nervous,” Maela shushed.

“But come on now Wenny, yew must be a little excited. I certainly wouldn’t mind to be in yer place,” she winked saucily, “though I suppose poor old Kel would.”

“Tirse!”

“What?! I’m just sayin’ like it is. Wenny’s gone an married one fine looking man is all.”

“You’re probably making her nervous. Are you nervous Wen?”

“No, I’m fine,” Illewen murmured.

She was nothing. Empty. Drained. Was it really possible to be nervous when all that was left was scraped away. She felt nothing.

“Let me take your hair down Wen,” Maela said softly.

Her hair braided and full of shiny, shiny ribbons. She had married Vance on a warm, summer day, her hair flowing down around her shoulders, a wreath of tiny white flowers tangled in the strands. Her dress had been plain, and they had feasted outside under the stars, the bonfire burning bright, his green eyes never leaving her.

Tonight the blizzard had roared around the ship where the King had been kind enough to let them celebrate in the old throne room. Kelgar’s grey eyes had wandered around the gathered people, occasionally meeting hers with a nervous smile. She had noticed him picking at the buttons of his tunic under the table with trembling, sweaty hands until one fell off and rolled under the table and he blushed bright red.

“There now, let’s help you with your dress love, Tirsey honey, can you get the front.”

Her sister’s hands darted nimbly untying the complicated laces that threaded along the front of her corset. She felt the dress loosening, unwrapping and slipping away. All that would be left was the body. She lifted her arms obediently as Maela dragged her shift over her shivering arms.

The room was cold, but her skin was hot and clammy, tiny beads of sweat cooling in the chill air.

“There now, all done,” Maela cried, she gently rubbed Illewen’s arm, “you’re not cold are you.”

“Don’t yew look as pretty as a peach, that Kelgar is just going to eat yew up he is,” Tirsey snickered, blushing a fetching pink.

Illewen couldn’t even smile, the dragging weight at her lips was too great. How different it had been on her first wedding night, the three of them flushed from wine and giggling as they stumbled around the room, unwinding laces and plucking flowers from her hair. Then she had been nervous, but excited too as she awaited the arrival of her handsome husband.

She carefully pulled back the clean covers, though the gleaming whiteness was no longer important. There would only be blood tonight if her new husband treated her roughly. She didn’t think she cared if he did. Perhaps then she would feel something even if it were only pain.

She sent a furtive glance over to the cradle which was strangely empty. She felt the lack of Matilda’s presence keenly. The little girl was the only tangible thing that Vance had left her with, her deep green eyes a memory of happier times.

She had lain in a wedding bed like this before, waiting for Vance, the scratchy linen brushing erotically against her nipples so they grew frighteningly hard. It had felt so odd then to lie naked beneath the sheet separated from the forbidden world of men by only a thin piece of material. Now she was just tired, waiting for the whole thing to be over so she could let sleep drag her down again into his suffocating embrace.

Her sisters stood at the foot of the bed, all well-wishes and smiles.

“Yew have a good time now Wenny an I want to hear all about it in the morning. Every last detail, yew hear,” Tirsey cried waving her arms flamboyantly, “every one.”

“Sleep well my love. It will all be fine,” Maela added softly, “You’ll see. Things will be better now.”

And then they were gone and Illewen was left alone in the half empty bed, with the empty cradle beside her. When Vance had entered the room she had pretended to be asleep so the stumbling men would not jeer at her as much, but she knew her blush had given her away. When they had finally left Vance had crawled in beside her, his touch warm and furtive, his gaze hot as coals.

She would not feign sleep now. The men knew she had seen a man’s naked body before so why pretend. She would watch as they undressed her husband, the new body she must adapt to. He would climb under the covers and she would let him inside her. But she would never be whole again.

Steen awoke with a gasp, taking breath after panting breath his heart pounding against his ribcage like a blacksmith’s hammer clanging on the anvil.

He took in a shuddering breath, willing himself to stay quiet so as to not wake his sleeping wife. Hepsie was exhausted these last weeks and he did not want to rob of her of much needed sleep. His tiny Hepsie shouldered the worries and hurts of so many, day after day and he was concerned about the strain it was putting on her.

He tiptoed across the chilly floor, quickly peeking in at Thaell. The lad was making little snuffling noises, his blanket clasped and twisted in his sturdy hands. He was a big boy, Hepsie said bigger than the King’s son though he were many months younger. Steen felt a swell of pride, his boy, bigger and stronger than the son of a King. Who would have thought it.

He shivered as he crept into the main room, inching the door shut behind him so as not to start up the dreadful symphony of creaks and screeches that it usually made. He carefully lit a candle, the room filling with the meaty scent of burning fat. The coals of the fire were still warm and Steen sat gratefully with his back warmed by the faint glow.

He tried to remember what had made him wake in such a panic. Was it a nightmare? He certainly couldn’t remember a thing of it, though it had felt like a nightmare when he awoke. The room had tilted and spun madly, a clutching, clenching feeling in his chest, his mouth dry, his skin pricking with sweat in the freezing air of the room.

There was a faint scratching at the window. Steen turned as a reflex though expecting to see nothing more than a stripped tree branch tapping against the glass. He was horrified instead, to be gazing at a pallid face peering in at him from the gloom.

He gulped in shock, and without thinking threw himself to his feet and careened across the room and out the door. The only thing in his tired mind was his soft, sleepy wife curled up warmly in the bed and his sturdy son tangled in his blankets. They were just in the next room.

The heat of his body was instantly quenched as he plunged into the outside air. The cold hit him like a hammer, his body resonating in shivering vibrations, his teeth chattering with the force. He glanced around the small garden, cursing his bare feet, his toes curling under as they came into contact with the icy ground.

“Come out yew, I saw yew I did!” he called out trying to sound confident, but his voice was weak and reedy, trembling from the cold.

He gazed around blindly as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. It was a frigid night, the blanket of clouds drawn back from the sky so that the Earth was exposed and shivering in its sleep. In the small, frozen pond, fish hung in suspension, their frigid blood freezing in their veins, their cold, dead eyes open and staring. The figure was there, at the edge of the clearing, beside the pond, its icy surface glowing faintly in the moonlight.

“Who are yew?” he called nervously.

“Don’t yew know me boy?” the figure rasped, turning to gaze at Steen over one shoulder. The stars hung faintly above, scorching white sparks flown into the air as the hammer struck.

“Papa?” Steen asked, his voice full of wonder.

How could he be? His old Pa, here, on Mhalwae. Weren’t they back at Branwhuld with the girls?

“What are yew doing here? How did yew get here? Is it really yew? Where’s Ma?” the questions rolled off his tongue like thick drops of water sizzling as they fell on the festering hot metal.

He reached out towards his father, desperate to feel those strong blacksmith’s arms squeezing him against his laughing chest.

“No,” his father’s voice rang out harsh and clear, “don’t yew go touchin’ me lad. Not now.”

“What’s wrong Pa?” he peered at his father in the darkness and could make out the blackened bumps and welters that engulfed one half of his face, “Pa, what’s happened to yew? Are yew alright?”

“Yes an’ no my lad, yes an’ no. But it’s not a tale fer now. We ain’t got that much time. We’re just passing through we are.”

“We?” Steen followed his father’s gaze to the garden’s edge, where a demure figure was standing beside Hepsie’s herb patch.

“Ma,” his voice caught in his throat and he tensed his muscles ready to run to her and fall at her feet like a child with a scraped knee. It had been so long.

“No lad,” his father’s deep, croaking voice held him back, “she doesn’t want yew to see her like this. Now listen to me lad. I have some important things to be sayin’ an’ then we have to go.”

Steen nodded slowly, though he didn’t think he understood what was happening here.

“Yew’ve always been a good lad Steen, a fine lad. Dependable and responsible and all that. A son to be proud of.”

A son, he had a son too!

“Pa, I didn’t tell yew! Me an’ Hepsie had a boy, a good strong lad. His name is Thaell. Would yew like to see him?”

“We already have lad, he’s a fine, strong lad isn’t he. Now yew need to listen to me.”

“Steen lad, yew’ve got to be takin’ care of them. They’re going to be needing yew like never before. I know we can trust yew, yer a good lad. Keep em’ all safe won’t yew?”

“I… I don’t know what yew mean Pa,” Steen shook his head in confusion. It was all too cryptic.

“Don’t yew worry yer head about that now. Yew’ll be knowing soon enough my boy.”

“Now lad, I’m sorry to say it but we must be going.”

His father lurched towards the gardens edge, stumbling and limping his way down the small incline to his mother. His walk was all wrong. Drig Cade had always walked tall, towering above normal men, his back only slightly bowed from years of pounding metal against the anvil. Now he was hunched and shambling, his feet making wet crunching noises on the icy ground.

“When will I see yew again?” he asked, and was surprised to hear his voice was thick with tears.

“Not fer a good long time lad. But yew’ll see us again one day. Until then, don’t yew go forgetting how proud we are of yew an’ how much we love yew.”

“Goodbye Steen,” his mother called shyly.

Steen blinked and they were gone, the garden empty. All that remained was him, his skin flecked with goosebumps, his hands trembling in the darkness and the rustle of the wind in the tree branches.

He awoke in his bed, his heart banging against the hard bones of his ribs, his breath coming in great panting gulps.

“Pa,” he groaned, clutching hard with his hands trying to hold onto whatever it was that was disappearing like a rapidly cooling flame.

“Steen, what are yew doing?” Hepsie squeaked, “yer hurting me.”

He unclenched his fists, feeling the warm curves of his wife’s body beneath his grasping hands.

“An yer absolutely freezin’!” she shivered against him.

“Sorry love,” he murmured into her dark hair, feeling his senses returning, “I just a nightmare is all.”

“Yew ain’t got a fever have yew,” she gently kissed his clammy forehead, “No yew ain’t hot at all. But yew sure are cold. Come on lad, snuggle up to me now an’ I’ll warm yew. Even yer feet if yew must.”

“I love yew Hepsie,” he mumbled as he drew her warm body to his, pressing his face into the warm nook between her neck and her shoulder.

“I love yew too yew big goosechild. Even if yew have the coldest damn feet on this island.”