The saga continues: The pebble and the Rock

[sadhbh]

*Whispers of the evening made Sadhbh smile a little. All were in good cheer yet as she sat alone; with the fire crackling and the warmth reaching her fingers; Sadhbh found herself at peace. It was why she had begun to embroider a patch of the dove of Peace. She hoped the peace would reign in Windstorm forever.
Peace and love were supposed to go hand in hand. Sh knew Peace but...did she know love; did she understand it? Could she understand it. For years it was understood that she would marry Beaufort and Sadhbh was content with that. She knew him, he was kind to her. What more could she have expected and yet now she wondered if he ever knew love? Certainly what she once thought was love was little more than intimate friendship. This was explained to her by a laughing Lady in waiting. Sadhbh still wondered at herself and yet she wondered if indeed she was worthy of love. It frightened her in a way; just as it frightened many perhaps. Duty caused her to speak of it and yet..was her ferver to explain due to her fear or was she already in love. These questions wer given to her by their Priest and they left her...more bewildered than ever...
Sadhbh pulled at the stitching; making it a little tighter before charming the patch into shape. She smiled a little and shook her head. She wished that she did not ask the Priest of his opinion. Perhaps she was better off seeking her Mothers words. Sadhbh took a deep breath and pondered. Would she say aye..or nae. Would she grow angry or simply tell her her duty. Sadhbh thought that it would be the latter and yet she wondered if there would be a trace of rebellion in them. Oh how she wanted to rebel!
how easy it was for her to say in her mind. I am not going to marry who you choose. I am not going to leave Kent. I don't want to leave Windstorm for that matter. I just want to live my life and love and be loved. I want to find a man for myself and marry him if I want. So easy it came out in the mind and yet another part frowned upon those words; it beat them down with cold hard facts and drove them from her mind. Sadhbh let out a sigh an wondered if she could have run away that day.
Dreams, they held so much and offered so much. One could not have come so far without dreams. Indeed these castles were but dream in one mans eye so his dream became a reality and yet even though dreams could build great things, they could also destroy just as easily. Sadhbh always wondered if she had the daring or conviction to follow her dreams what would happen. Where would she be and would she be happy? Would she have family by now, young children running to her like she had seen Countess Xaviers children run. Would she be unhappy and sorry for herself?. Dreams she oft thought were foolish for her and yet she wondered if she had the conviction....
Certainly she had the conviction to do one thing.. she wrote to her Mother and imparted some of her thoughts to her in the hopes that she could hold her close and say that all would be well.

And so she wrote*

Dear Mother,
I hope myne words find thee well and tae all Kent be content. I pray tae Righarde be in good health and tae Erin doth be in fine spirits.
I must confess thae myne letter be nae simply tae ask after thee. No doubt ye hath heard of all tae came tae pass within Windstorm. I take full responsibility for it, tis myne fault and myne fault alone. I find myself in a quandry since I spoke with tae Priest this eve. He spoke of things tae left me more confused than ever. I be fearful now, fearing tae step ontae a rock tae will nae support me. I fear myne emotions may overwhelm me. I doth have such dreams Mother tae I can but shudder in memory of them for I know they be something I should nae have. How be it tae things become all tae more difficult?. I wish myne eyes were blinded against thae that I have seen, heard, touched after Kent. I realise now tae I be nae ready for what lies beyond tae safe harbours of our Home. I wish tae run away and yea I wish tae stay. Mother, iffn tae weather improve; pray find it in thy heart tae come tae me or send word tae bring me home. I most earnestly need thy counsel.

I write to ye with all myne love

Sadhbh

*she read the last and again wondered iffn the love between a man and a woman was something she fully understood. Did she fear it? Did she fear the unknown. It was most likely and Sadhbh found it easy to think of the times of childhood when things were black and white.

She added another piece*

p.s. Sighehelm be well and safe though in a strange mood of late...

*the letter done she powdered it and sealed it with wax. A trusted messenger waited to deliver it to her Mothers hand only. Sadhbh hoped in her heart that her instincts were right*

[sadhbh]

*The letter caused Sadhbh some distress. Iffn it were true her heart would long to be in her Mothers home country. To have such a loved one lie weak in bed was something that Sadhbh longed to see to. She loved her family well and would speak to Sighehelm about what she had come to hear. Sadhbh hoped that he would follow her heart and that the impracticality of winter would not sway her longing to be by the old womans side. She would speak to him and then she would see....*

[Queen Aethelbred of Kent]

Dear Chylde,

Your letter brings us worry. And it teaches us we have left you at you own resources too much. That will change, daughter of myne.

We wish you to travel this week, in time to celebrate mass at St. David's Monastery upon the sunday. You will remain there untill we send for you. Your prayer devout and true. Bow your head in submission to our Lorde God, Sadhbh, feel his calm love and wisdom. Father Staephen will read with you His word, and sing His joy.

Know you are loved, my beloved Dove. And any decision taken on your furure is one that your brother takes as God and Kent demand it. But rest at peace he will nae take any decision that will harm your heart, for we will nae allow him.

The bloode that courses through your veins is strong and proud, and your heart will nae be without our love, for we remain your mother and your queen.

Through love, for god and the Land of Kent,

Aethelbred of Kent

[sadhbh]

*The letter lay in her hand as she sat up before the dawn. The waining light of the fire left her no doubt as to the words. She would go to St. Davids and remain there till she was sent for. Indeed they could see that she was split in twain. Sadhbh nodded silently to herself then began to rise. She began to pack her things; some would go to Kent; some would follow her to St. Davids.
Sadhbh wrote in response*

Dearest Mother,
I know that your wisdom is true. I shall be in St. Davids before vespers on Sunday and I shall give myneself unto Gods Good care. I will Pray heart for Kent and for those who hath touched myne heart and I shall ask for forgiveness.
I doth love ye all and Kent truelly Mother. Pray send myne blessings tae all at home for I miss them dearly.
Thank ye Mother

With Love

Sadhbh

*Sadhbh picked up the quilt she was doing and sighed a little. Perhaps she could embroider one last piece before she left; perhaps she could give Raven the task. Nodding to herself again she began to ready herself for the day. So few they would be in Windstorm and yet so precious...*

[sadhbh]

*Having set her things aside and placed what she could in storage; Sadhbh looked about the bare room a moment then donned her gloved. She placed the hood over her head and with the dawn; an entourage of 4 guard and one Lady could be seen bound for St. Davids.*

[SighehelmofKent]

There was freedom in just sitting there. It was freezing cold which is why the man sitting by the edge of the stream looked much like a bear, a large coat made of fur his shield to the cold, a pipe in his mouth, a fishing rod in the ground before him. He sat on a large boulder, the rod within easy reach, his feet pulled up beneath the coat. To the passer-by, be it that nae many would, the huddled bulk on a rock indeed look like a bear, for lack of feet that showed. But for the trace of the smoke that cut itself through the cold winter air, many would dread to go near for fear of a conflict with a predator this size; tall, silent, non moving, only one hand lifting the pipe from his lips now and then.

His was a great surprise when he asked the king to court his daughter, for neither was there nae nor yae. Just that one phrase, prove to me you are worthy of my daughter. And at that moment the tall man from Kent was lost for words, words of reason that is. He seemed even more pensive as he recalled his words. Would King Charles the Silent have approved? Were they respectful, yet strong enough to show he was a Prince of Kent.
Had he not proved the last year that his arm was strong, his manners that of a knight of the old code, as instructed by his father, his teachers, Master Swift? Would he have to start all over again? The pipe rested on cold lips, the fishing line moving as the stream tugged on it. Yet the man knew well the ways of fish, and remained where he was, deep in thought.

It was true the King had been absent most of that time, his disappearance still a secret to many, mayhaps to all. He wondered where it was the man had been. What it was that would have prompted him to leave his throne, his people, his child. He had seen her, stood beside her, and like the Captain Hawkmoon, his eyes had been on every step she took, her safety his personal charge. A smile appeared as he lifted the pipe from his mouth, smoke expelled in a breath, a circle, or at least an attempt to one.
Fate had been kind; it was only once he needed to aide her as she nearly fell from a tree. He can still remember the touch to her waist, her hips, the faint fragrance of her skin, her hair; his training would nae allow him to hold her longer than the mishap demanded, and the moment was over too soon.

Yet, often had he escorted her, his eyes on many that surrounded her, assuring her safety as she laughed and talked to so man, so very many. This was a Princess that knew many, loved many, and in return was loved by many more. Yet he disagreed with her father. It would be foolish to think none would hurt her. In this world there were men and women, creatures much akin to the devil that would hurt her for their own pleasure, or to find a way to hurt or control the King of Windstorm. Agustin knew this too, why else would he put guards on his daughter. Had he himself nae been subject to the way these men reacted to a stranger, a stranger not trusted?

Then why was it the king challenged him to say that none would ever hurt his child, therefore his offer to make Windstorm stronger, to enhance her status among the King’s peers slighted the way he felt it had. His brother and he had oft spoken of talks with many that surrounded Kent; to invite all at the same time and enjoy talks of trade and common protection, of lands, goods, and people. To offer his ideas to the King was nae something he did lightly………. Suddenly a sharp tug on his line prompted him to reach out a hand and concentrate on the fishing rod, feeling the vibrations on the wood, the struggle of a fish on the ned of his line. He placed the pipe beside him, and braced himself. This was a small fish, but the water and the small animal would nae allow him to be casual about this catch. He stands and feels the warmth leave his coat like cloak as the cold wind invades it from below and he shivers, his senses focussed on the catch for now.

[SighehelmofKent]

((a post in two parts, sorry.........it was too long ))

-feet planted firmly on wet soil, the leather of his boots settles into the muddy bank, yet his eyes are on the line, knowing better than to put too much strain on tender cord, for it will snap. It was nae a big fish, but indeed big enough to strain the muscles in arms. He smiles as he pits his cunning with the fish', lifting the rod, the end of the rod set against the sturdy leather of his belt, the line duly wrapped around his strongest hand, his left, he tugs on it slow, wishing nae to make the fish jump, or pull so hard against the line that restricts his flight, to break it, and lose the battle.

In this simple act of nature where one measure strength and cunning against the other that pleases him most, nae the fight for blood, or land, or crown, or pride, but one where food and the need to feed is fought. He steps back one pace, bracing himself thus that he will nae lose footing, lifting the rod higher, watching the way the water signs the oncoming victory, a v-shape forming at the brook's surface. He tightens the muscles of his arms and slowly, with one hand on the rod, the other on the line, works to deliver the fish from the water.

The watery animal fights him, and he feels how it too increases its efforts. The large man's foot slips slightly, and he adjusts, the hand on the line gripping more firmly. Yet the tension on it urges him to relinquish, for now let the scaly opponent get the upper hand, ere the line would break. He will nae allow the fish to escape, and for minutes to follow he keeps the line taut, if need be releasing it further. How strange it is that within that struggle, such an epic battle of nature, a pocket of time is spun around him, and his mind wanders. And it seems this moment in time is fettered with women, of kin and befriended flowers, those that shaped is past, others that feed his present, and of some that he hopes will fill his future.

Within the fleeting stream of time the face of his protector, his origin, and his mother dawns from the memories in his mind. Her size belies her strength for she has indeed protected him from the hordes that would belie him and his brother the right to live, the right to be what any child is; a defenceless young human being, born in the reflection of the Lord God, an echo of his smile.
Her teachings were nae always easy, she would not stand for moments of repose oft. But the Fox and Rock of Kent were taught what wisdom men could impart on them; wisdom that expanded their mind and their world. Men who taught them slight of hand, strength of arm, quick of mind. To view an adversary and read his body, answer his call. Men and woman who taught the ways of a knight.......... etiquette, diplomacy, languages, statesmanship, philosophy, strategy, laws, rules, humour, the animal world, the world of men. To this day his mother still teaches him, even when he is not near her. He knows even now when he is at Windstorm again she teaches his blood, his flesh, and nurtures the seed that has grown from his loins. For such is het task, her duty to the crown of Kent. He misses her indeed.............

For an instance, he focuses again, as if adjusting his senses again, to perceive more poignantly that which is at hand, IN his hand.............the line, the rod. He leans back, trying to estimate the size of the fish. It is nae big, he has caught bigger. But never in a stream swollen with winter, water that races to find the sea. The fish uses this force to its advantage and the tall man pivots on his feet, again fixating the rod, the line, wondering if the line will hold. His eyes on the line, seeing how taut it is and how the tip of his rod, the supple material, bends dramatically. He steps back, feels the boulder against the back of his legs, resting his bulk against it as he holds the rod, a status quo reached.

And again he allows his mind to wander to the most beloved of Kent fowl. Sadhbh, his sister, like him, raised to follow in the steps of their parents, and yet, her road not his, nor that of his brother. Her mind shaped to learn different things, her hands taught to serve, to love. His mother well had taught her the place of a woman beside a man. And like him, she also felt the weight of the crown, the name of Kent, upon her shoulders. It was her laughter, her way of always appeasing their father, more so their mother would or could, her gentle ways, the kind kisses and gentle hugs that fed him what his mother did not. What no courtier, or courtesan could bring him, carefree love, with no bounds, no demand for return; love in abundance displayed for all, which made him bigger stronger than he ever believed he could be..

His wife, a whisp of Irish mist, who brought to him perfection and status, continuation and formality, for she was not his choice, as his was nae a choice. The firstborn of a firstborn had no choice in the matter. Diplomacy and strategy, demands of state and crown fed this part of his life. And yet, in all she was nae a bad wife. They had care for one and other; care that came to fruition, a daughter............and from that daughter a daughter. Death had come too soon, for mayhap he could have found that love would grow from their care. Her beauty had often beguiled him, make him turn back and watch her secretly. But time had not been granted. The Lord God took her, bestowing the beauty his once wife had on their daughter.
He longed to see her, to see the child she had borne. It had been long so very long. Petite..........

-A tug on the line, a reaction without thought, he releases the line, the fish grasping its comparative freedom. The line cuts through the skin of his fingers and he clenches hard, stopping the fish, the tug pulls him forward. A step forward regaining his balance, his jaw clenches, the muscles in his leg tight again, leaning back. Mayhap this fish is larger than he thought? Again he seeks the balance, knowing soon the fish will grow tired, only then will he attempt to snatch it from its natural environment, end its life and have fresh fish for dinner.

He could offer it to the Princess mayhap? Here his thoughts truly wander, the hand at the fishing rod less controlled, less dedicated to the battle at hand. He can sketch her face, for it lives in his dreams, it his dreams, it feeds his step, guides his thoughts, is his now, and he fears and hopes alike it will be his then. She is nae like any he knows, yet much like those he loves combined in all. But is she is perfect? Verily nae she is not. She is nae the beauty that his sister is, nor the flower that M'Lady Dream is. Nor does he have the exotic promise of wild passion that a lady from Kielder promises. She is small, so small, almost skinny, her skin at time bleuish, almost transparent. He fears touching her, as she would break if he holds her too tight, to him, close to him.
Her face he believes nae always speaks the truth, it is not like many believe her to be a true mirror of what lives within. And yet.......... he adores the hue of blue that is her appearance, the blush that marks her cheeks, the small fire that very seldom ignites within her eyes. He has watched her walk, as if every step would disturb others, a hesitation within them always. How he wishes to place his step before her, to allow her to bask in his size, his strength, his dedication to her, to raise her small face, the smile of an angel upon it, enough to charm most any man and woman., to never hesitate, but feed of his confidence, to shine in strength as she would make him walk taller still.
Is it not so that the difference in men and women serves them to fit together, as one is naught without the other? Would nae his silent moods, his doubts and giant pride be served by her friendly words and smiles to others, her gentle assurance to see the best in all, her wish to serve any, to aide any, match him most perfectly? Would not her form fit to his, small to large, soft flowing lines to firm………….here he grimaces, the face of a laughing squire appears, drawing attention to the presumed layer of idle fat around his waist pointed out……………. to FIRM muscular flesh, small hand in his, a woman easy to carry, less easy to care for?

A smile has appeared on his face, and it as if the man at the side of the brook feels the warm sun of summer on his face, instead of the cold wind of late winter. The hand on the line automatically secures the line, keeping the fish where it is, on the hook. Again the rod bends, minute tugs within tell him it will break soon, iffn he nae pays attention. He looks at the rod, and starts to walk small steps backwards along the back, coaxing the fish to swim with him, thus releasing the tension on the rod slightly, the threat of breaking and losing his prey averted for now. He places his feet beside each other again, shivering as the wind grows colder, his thoughts nae allowing him the warmth from within this moment.

[SighehelmofKent]

((this is a a post in two parts it was too long. I suggest you read the one before this one first, or you may find it spoils the fun))



The face of his niece appears, much more than a niece, much more than a friend. A sister, a beloved kin, the woman he believes would have served his brother well as his spouse. His pride will nae allow him to forget how her words have wounded him, cast him aside. How years of shared days, but tears as well, for he knows her sadness more than most, seemed nae to urge her to allow him to be like a father to her. For lack of a father, his death having drawn many an unseen tear from her eyelids, he had taken such a position may hap without word since she had arrived at Windstorm, never discussed, never.............approved. But then the tall Kent Lord believes it nae needed approval, their past was approval as such, was it nae?
Yet Erin now turns to another it seems, nae the stature of a mere brother he knows, but that of a friend and more. A man of honour and respect he knows, is told, but one of mystery as well. Dark whispers feed the image he holds of the man as much as what he has witnessed himself. People in the villages near speak of him in mixed tongues, yet all fraught with respect; some warn him, others sing of his praises. Were he Erin's father he would caution her, ask her to walk slow. Were he Erin's father he would ask the man his intentions, much as he was asked the same when he approached the princess by nae one but many. Had Erin nae bound his tongue, his words, his questions, Lord Hawkmoon would nae approach his niece without speaking to him, or his brother, lift some of the veils that hang around him, tell him of his origin, his past, his deeds, his kin, and his friends.

This was the right of any who cared for kin................yet, Erin had been clear, he nae be kin, she nae sees him as kin. That very fact burns like acid in his chest, it eats at him, for he does care............he does love! He has failed her now twice. Twice now he has nae been there to keep her from harm, and like his pride it eats at him. So much that his gratitude towards the strong man that did save her is weak, almost meaningless, nae as his station and teachings have taught him, and nae as his mother would have him express it.

His eyes widen as the rod bends further, and he is drawn from his musings yet again. A shake of his head, as if the very physical act does indeed draw him from the land of thought, and he holds the line in his hand, and starts to pull it in, winding it around the palm of his hand, feeling the tension as the line tightens around the callous flesh, white lines appear, then as if it has been decided that the battle is ended, one sharp tug on the rod. Like a cork on a bottle, the fish flies from the water, dangling, dripping on the end of the line, grey, glistening……… The tall man laughs sudden, deep laughter, laughter that alleviates his mood, and makes him humble at the same time. For the Lord God has taught him a lesson, why should he fight what is............nae there? Why should he allow his pride to control lines, or hold rods that only make him fish for a rag, a dirty dripping rag?

He pulls in the line further; the rag misses his face by a foot or so as it swings on the rod, and lands near his feet. He looks at it, picks it up with two fingers, smiles and looks up, mumbling a prayer for a smelly prize.

“Thank you Lord God for all the women ye have placed in my path, and all ye will send to accompany me, be it a small ways, or all the way. I will mend my ways in thy sight. I will seek my niece and make my amends. Yet, I will nae let mine eye leave her, nor will I stop protecting her, nae matter what she says! “

With that he releases the rag, and throws it back in the stream, grinning as he hopes it will find the line of some other valiant fisherman. With that he gathers his lines, his hooks and rod, and carrying most in one hand, but for the hooks in the other, makes his way up the muddy bank, back to Windstorm, he is cold, cold to the bone, which neither the smile on his face, nor the spring in his step would show to any.-

(( *phew* for a moment there I was afraid it would turn into a book!))

[Sinold Bragasson]

( That was looooooooooong, but so gooooooood, Sighe! I wish i could write such posts... once I was able to, a long time ago.)

[Dream Loxley]

very enjoyable read!

[Pensive]

(WOW...that was awesome...GREAT read)

[SighehelmofKent]

-He tossed in his bed, it seemed less comfortable, less inviting, the coverings suddenly as if they were too short. He pulled in his legs, and muttered something about his squire. He would talk to Hadrian upon the morn. He had had more than enough of his cheeky ways. Of late they had bordered on disrespect, and he was not happy with it.

Also he found his rooms nae clean enough, and Mollie and Millie too giggly.............

Here his thoughts stopped, and he frowned, sat up and got from his bed. The tall Kent man nae wore a stitch. He found clothes cumbersome in bed; they would wrap around him and restrict him like the skin on a sausage. He pulled the coverings from his bed and wrapped them around, underneath his arms; holding them up thus, and then sat, found pen and paper.

He sat there for the longest time, for he had suddenly realised, it was nae what other people did , or did nae, it was what he did nae. Too long had he clung to Camelot like a drowning man, even when there was no dread of drowning. Even when his Liege and brother had assured him that the Kent Stewards has resigned their foolish demand to have one of the two Kent mirrored twins killed, even when his mother, the Queen had informed by letter repeatedly when he would return home, even when his daughter begot a daughter, even then had he remained here.

His care for the Lady Edfeil, nae………..his love for the Lady was strong, but did it chain him so that he could nae bear to be from her but a few days, a week may hap? The man sitting down in the chair and the table that seemed almost dwarf sized compared to him, started to write a letter, taking his time, shivering now and then, but for now nae noting the cold that made him do so.


Your Majesty, My brother, beloved Fox of Kent,

It is with a joyful heart I write to you. Know that I will be returning home soon. I will take with me all that have gathered around me here at Windstorm. I long to see the faces my heart shows me every day. My yearning grows stronger, and so does my guilt for staying away so long from home.

I long to hold my blood in my arms. Here at Windstorm the Lady Dream is quite great with child, and it made me long for the days when my child was like her. Those days have been taken from me. Yet I will nae rob myself of any more days without her.

We have much to discuss, matters of state, matters of the heart, matters of the bond between us. I believe we should both seek a wife. And I wish it to be soon. As you know I have walked that path now for some time, as I have once before. You and I will talk about these matters and more. For I grow weary of hesitating like a dotty old spinster. Around me I see too many men that take liberties I deny myself. The code of chivalry seems watered down here at Windstorm, and it makes my blood boil at times. Yet we do nae need an incident between Kent and Windstorm, that I know.
The Lady Edfeil has claimed my heart, yet she will nae elude to the fact that she knows she has, and I believe the time has come to make my intentions more clear. I wish to take with me some of the ornaments worn by Kent women through the ages. I need your consent and that of mother. I would be obliged if you discuss such with her, brother.

I need to know what lands, goods, and men are mine to direct and take back. For they will be what I am, what I will present to the King of Windstorm once again. For if I nae do such soon, I will have outstayed my stay here, and will leave, travel on and seek a place elsewhere to live, though I will do so without my heart, for it will stay at Windstorm.

Know brother, King of Kent, that I will make it my pledge to you, that a wife will be found for you as well, if Mother has not done so yet. The King of Kent needs a wife. And you are………..

-here he hesitates a moment, but continues-

……….King of Kent.

Have my rooms prepared, brother. For a son of Kent will return home, to kiss those he has missed, to share words with those he has missed, to be………………with those he has missed.

Through honor, bound to God,


Sighehelm of Kent


He read the words again, again it seemed………………..for naught happened for a long time. It was then he noted the cold in the room, looked at the fire, placed a large hand on his shoulder, the skin cold as ice. He growled and stood up, attending to the fire. He longed for his pipe, yet he nae smoked it in his rooms, for sleep and it nae matched well. He stood there for the longest time, watching the fire grow. The warmth exuded grew as well, and he drew the bed coverings higher around him, the shoulders taken from view, yet now his feet and lower legs were exposed. He moved in front of the fire, grinning as the warmth travelled inside and up the cocoon of material around his body, warming him quickly. It tickled him and he laughed a little, with it the morose mood lifting even more.

The letter, the decision to leave for Kent, had alleviated most. All he need do now is sooth the nagging pain that had surfaced instead. He would nae mind much to leave Windstorm; it still did not feel like home, yet deep within he knew it was this way as he would not allow himself to think of it as…….home. And though some of the people had warmed to him somewhat, he would but call very few friend. He frowned and thought on this, for who indeed would he call such, and nae acquaintances? The frown grew deeper, as he realised, that but for the Lady Halethala, and the Lady Alexandreania, he would call none his friend…………… The king, Lord Hawkmoon, the jesting man Sir Joseph, the men from the north, Sinold, Thorgrimm, Tyrun, all men he respected, some more than others, but knew naught of any. He had spent more time talking to his horse than he had spent time with them.

The pain that still gnawed on his heart was how the distance between the Lady Edfeil and himself nae seemed to grow less, but more. How he hoped his visit home would allow him to act more free. For what was it he knew of the princess, as told to him by the Princess; he shared even less with her than he had with any in Windstorm? In part that was his own doing. Like a lovesick loon he would just watch her, and quench his thirst for her with her smiles, her voice, the way she moved and cared of others.

He smiles a wry smile, for he had often thought he would be better served with a constitution not like it was, one of iron. Would she wait on him, tend to his needs as he lay there sick? Or would one of the healers in fact do such? He shook his head for he was worse then a lovesick loon…………..a lovesick fool. He was nae different than any other male stuck by emotions such as these. He nae liked them, and yet he would fight any that would take them from him. May hap a fool was what he was destined to be, a fool to wait on a woman………….hand and foot. He grinned and muttered…………….-

And she nae even has to be ill to have me do so!

[Righarde]

*Righarde was in the middle of a meeting with the master builder when he received the letter. He completed his affairs with the man adding that he was pleased with the chosen wood for the housing.

Righarde spoke to the Captain then before he turned to the letter. Its contents drew a rare smile of joy. His brother was coming home at last!. Perhaps now they could finish that chess match they had set aside so long ago.
Still the words his brother gave him gave Righarde some sense of wavouring emotion. Though this letter began as a warm wish to return, it bore with it the heavy hand of a man duty bound to speak his mind on business.
Righarde rubbed his chin slowly then sat down. He watched the words awhile and noted how carefully they were made; though their Mother had demanded that their writing was flawless; one could perceive how much thought a man placed upon his words. Righarde could see that his brother had indeed thought long and hard on this.
With a breath he rose and approached the table to pen his reply*

Brother,
Kent will rejoice with your return. Too long has the mirror been without its reflection. Perhaps now we can finish that game of chess we had began long ago.
Marianne and the bairn are fine, indeed she finds wonder in the cold weather we have had of late.
Kent grows and has become a power of its own. Already we have much work done before the spring. The people are beginning to shake the winter from their souls and are preparing for sowing.
Mother is planning on holding a feast to celebrate the end of winter in the hall. I hope that you will be there with perhaps Lady McGrault?
As for the kiss, please brother do not think to proof my lips with yours. Such things would prove too much of an amusement for your daughter and our Mother.

Come Home Sighehelm and soon we shall ring the halls true with song.

Yours
Through Honour, Bound to God
Through Kent, Bound to my People

Righarde

*he read the words again then sealed them with wax before handing it to a servant.
The only armed chair in the room held him as he leaned against his hand. He thought long on his brothers words. In the darkness Righarde could see that the tides were changing somewhat. For the better or no he did not know.
Righardes voice echoed in the room and a old John came into answer*
John, ask Lady Aethelbred to attend me at her convenience *at this John bowed deeply then left Righarde to his own devices*

[SighehelmofKent]

-He had nae opened his door when Millie knocked, and when Mollie knocked he had opened, but refused her entry. His upper body bare, he had spoken to her, calm words, almost distant words, but she was nae allowed in either.

Yet he had asked her for his squire. When Haedrian entered he was ready to start straight of the bat seeing his master stripped bare to the waist, yet the black and blue right side of his body stopped him. As he stepped forward the face of the Kent Lord he had know all of his young life appeared equally bruised, and the boy asked to know who had done such. Sighehelm shook his head, nae answering the lad, and instructed him to find bandages and medication, as well as a sling for his arm. The shoulder joint was indeed swollen, the elbow slightly. The lad nodded, for a moment hesitating if he should leave the tall Kent man alone, but Sighehelm nods and he lies down again on his bed. With that the boy leaves

There was something ironic about the situation. Was nae the fight started because he was jealous and the one he saw as his woman…………….the princes, should nae be touched by another? Sighehelm grunts for it was now certain that he would nae touch her in a long time. For weeks to come, nae months, he would be looked upon with hawk’s eyes, trust shattered in an instant. As Sir Joseph said, he thought much higher of him. Sighehelm coughed, the very act brings pain, and then he snorts. HE even thought much higher of himself!

He looked up, but never saw the ceiling. He would write a letter, an apology to the King. He well knew the princess, she would nae tell the truth………………and the truth was, his rash anger damaged her, the blood on her face was enough to make his stomach turn. Ho was he to protect this woman, when all he did was hurt her?

He sits up, grunting. Suddenly the fishing forfeit dawns on him. That too……………would nae be. The dance…………… he stands, shakes his head………….no dance. He walks to the window, looks out, a silent man, silenced even more by his own stupid behaviour. Had he been right to hit Tyrun? Could he nae better have curbed the anger inside? And yet, the anger lies deeper. He was asked to prove his worth…………and he nae knew how!

He would slay an army, kill a monster………………..but it would nae impress this ruler. He was like was himself a father, and he knew nae a man was ever good enough for his daughter. Haedrian walks in and Sighehelm remains silent through the entire ordeal, sweat beading on his forehead as his bad arm is lifted every time to wind the bandages around his torso. They hold a foul smelling compress to his side, and the tall Kent Lord looks down at the lad, who explains that the blackness has to be drawn out. Sighehelm sits on a chair in the middle of the room as Haedrian dresses him, and tends to the arm, constructing a sling from a triangular piece of cloth. Both the bandages, and the sling ease his pain, and give support. When Haedrian opens a jar to administer to his face, he looks at the boy and grunts-

Leave it, leave me…………..

Haedrian almost refuses, but sees the look in the eyes of his liege and leaves, silently. The tall Kent man searches and finds another pipe, and with some difficulty stuffs it, the pipe clenched between his legs as he does so, lighting it in the same way. It is not until he lies on his bed, that he brings the pipe to his lips, and smokes………slow, muttering-

And all for a …………….pipe.

From then on Haedrian can be found sitting outside the man’s room, on a chair, witling, turning rope, sleeping…………………but he seldom budges.

[sadhbh]

*It hath been a hurried journey to Windstorm; one which drew much of her strength that hath been gained through bedrest and now she lay quite still in the infirmary having fallen beneath the spell of illness once more.
Sadhbh fell between bouts of wakefullness and sleep and oft drew feverish whispers too garbled for the ear to perceive. Once she spoke His name but none was there to hear and once another heard her speak of her brothers dear and smile fondly whilst in a feverish dream.
She was visited sometimes by many and soon her health by chance lifted her illness enough to speak with them. Words of the weather, babies and the news soon filtered to her ear yet she felt the veil oft fall before all was said. She grasped what she could yet whether or not Sadhbh recalled all was something only she and the Lord in Heaven knew of.
Under Lady Rayvens tender ministrations and good Lady Edfeils gentle care did Sadhbhs health bolster and rise to challenge the dreaded bug.
With time her cheeks were returning their colour and her eyes began to shine with a true and gentle light. Food was fed to her and soon her appetite grew yet for many a day she was oft asleep and settled in a deep slumber.
Such was the malady of Sadhbh.....*