Synne's long battle begins

“Here you two are!” Sigefrith called from the doorway.

Synne jumped, though she really had nothing to jump for.

“What a nice evening,” he continued as he strolled out onto the cloister. “What nice weather we’re having. Isn’t it nice, Muttonhead?”

“Aye, it’s quite nice,” Murchad agreed.

“And it’s so very nice to see you two enjoying it.” He leapt down into the court and came to sit on the other bench.

“It’s a very nice place to sit,” Synne giggled.

“Indeed! Very nicely dark. Nicely empty as well, I see.”

“Until you came,” Murchad said.

“But it’s very nice to see you,” Synne said quickly.

“Do you children know what else would be nice?” Sigefrith asked.

“What?”

“It would be very nice to get an early start tomorrow morning, and I don’t intend to waste my time dragging the two of you out of your respective beds. So if you’re not up at dawn, don’t come crying to me if we leave you behind.”

“You wouldn’t!” Synne said.

“Why not?”

“You’re far too nice for that,” she said.

Sigefrith laughed. “Granted. But do you know who isn’t very nice, runt? Your brother. And I did promise him that there would be no danger in letting the two of you sleep here tonight.”

“There’s no danger,” Murchad said.

“That is very nice to hear.” Sigefrith sighed and stretched his long legs out before him, and he tipped his head back to look up at the patch of stars overhead, framed by the castle towers. “How old are you two runts again?”

“Sixteen and fifteen,” Murchad said.

“God in heaven! The older I get, the more years of my remaining life I should be willing to sacrifice to be ‘sixteen and fifteen’ again.”

“And the less years you have remaining to sacrifice,” Synne giggled.

Sigefrith sat up and pretended to glare at her. “You’re right, though,” he said. “One of these days I shall be promising more years than I have left to give. Alas! I have had my time in the sun, and now I fear I am only casting my long shadow over you two handsome sprouts.” He stood and smiled fondly down at them. “Have a nice night.”

“Nice sleep!” Synne said.

“Nice dreams.” Sigefrith walked slowly to the stairs at the far end of the court. “And – I mean it! Either be up before dawn, or, if I must come to wake you, please ensure that I need to make two trips to do it!”

“We most certainly shall!” Synne laughed, thankful that there was dark enough to hide her blush. “What a looby!” she said to Murchad after Sigefrith had gone.

“Something like that,” Murchad agreed.

“Oh,” she sighed, “I suppose we should go to bed after all, if we want to get up early. But it’s so nice, sitting here,” she giggled.

“Aye.”

Indeed, she wished she could stay longer. She had never had the opportunity to merely sit with Murchad, outside, alone, at night.

The frogs in the moat were singing, and the crickets with them, and she could hear the faint laughter and cries of the inhabitants of the castle settling into sleep or play at the end of the working day. But in this little court, walled off on three sides and open only onto the empty hill behind the castle, they almost seemed in a world of their own, with their own private little patch of stars.

And Murchad was there. He sat quietly as he always did, but she no longer felt the need to speak when he did not. It was enough to sit beside him. She wanted nothing more.

“Are you tired?” he asked after a while.

“No! I never go to bed early.”

“Nor do I.”

“That’s – ” She was about to say it was a lucky thing, but she had not courage enough to continue when she realized she was about to make a reference to beds and to the two of them.

“Nice,” he finished for her.

“Yes!” she laughed, and then she settled back and looked up at the sky as Sigefrith had done. “You can only see a few stars from here,” she said. “It’s like being at the bottom of a well. They don’t even look familiar, do they?”

“Silly girl! It’s the great plough – can’t you tell?”

“It is?” She twisted her head on her neck until she saw the resemblance. “Oh!”

“I shan’t bother asking you for aid if we get lost at sea at night.”

“Well! It’s hard to tell without all of the other stars around.”

“Tomorrow night you will sleep beneath all of them. And I shall ask you to find the great plough for me, and we shall see whether you can.”

“I can find that, but don’t bother asking me about all of your other constellations. They’re all different from the ones I learned.”

“Perhaps it’s time you learn them, then,” he said softly.

“Perhaps,” she agreed, and there was a sudden hush in her voice as well.

“I shall teach you.”

“I shall like that,” she said, and then they both sat quietly and looked up at their few stars.

After a while, though, her wandering thoughts had frightened her into a need for speech again. “I can’t believe I’m going! I’ve never been anywhere except when we came here from Denmark. And that was with my uncle!”

“I suppose it will be nicer, traveling with Sigefrith,” he laughed softly.

“And you!”

“Aye.”

“But, oh! I’m so afraid! With your father at the end of it! I’m certain he will eat me alive! Or slay me with a look! Or smother me with his beard!”

“Synne!”

He took her hand, to her surprise. He seldom did, now that Brede was watching over them. But on this night, Brede was nowhere near.

“I shall tell him how frightened you were of him,” Murchad said, “and he will only laugh. And so will you, once you have met him.”

“But don’t tell him!” she wailed. “Oh! And Comgeall will have told him everything I said about his beard, before I knew he would be…”

“Your father.”

“Oh…” she whimpered.

“Synne,” he sighed, “I have told you a hundred times, but I shall tell you again: I am certain he will love you.”

“But how can you be certain?” she squeaked.

“Because I do.”

“But… oh…” She was too stunned to speak. He had never told her so.

He looked down at her for a moment, and then he turned his face away, though not before she saw a flicker of regret run over it. His hand lay upon hers as if it were dead. She could see that he thought he had spoken too soon, or to the wrong ears entirely.

The poor boy! She could not allow him to think that. She leaned closer to him and whispered, “But are you certain you do?”

He looked at her again, startled to hear her speak, and further surprised to see her smile. He seemed to shudder with a surge of self-​​confidence, and his hand came to life and clutched hers so tightly that she nearly opened her mouth to gasp. She could not, however, because his own mouth was upon it.

She was being kissed! That was all she knew. Was she supposed to do something? She closed her eyes: she knew that much. Something else? What was she doing? She thought that it must be wrong to move her head, because his other hand came up and settled on the back of it to steady her. He seemed to know what to do. Oh! she hoped he would not do anything with his tongue, as little Emma had warned. If he did, she did not know what she would do.

She was so busy thinking that she was being kissed and worrying that she was doing something wrong that afterwards she could not remember how it felt at all. She did not know whether it was a short kiss or a long kiss, a good kiss or poorly done, or anything…

But it did eventually come to an end. He stared at her with his head still close to hers and his hand still on the back of her neck. His eyes were oddly pleading, as if he were hurt and confused and needed help.

Poor boy! He was so shy, and she knew he would be afraid he had done wrong. She couldn’t let him think so – not now, when they would have to travel together and stand before his father together. If she let him believe he had done wrong, she did not think he would dare look at her again for weeks.

So she smiled at him, and he smiled at her in relief.

Then his one hand dropped away, and the other that held her hand brought it to his lips. He kissed the back of it, and the backs of her fingers, and then the fingertips from underneath, and then her palm, and then he pulled it up across his cheek and held it there for a moment, with his eyes half-​​closed and turned away from her face.

At that moment he did not look like the Murchad she knew, and she was frightened of him. He breathed through his mouth, through his open lips; and she remembered that he had just kissed her with those lips, and she was afraid.

But the hand on his cheek seemed to calm him, and after a moment he was only Murchad again, and he laid her hand on her knee and let it go.

“That was very nice,” he said.

She forced herself to smile. This too seemed to make him feel at ease.

“But I think it’s late,” he added.

“Oh, yes! We ought to get some sleep, or we shall be exhausted tomorrow morning.”

“It will be worse at the end of the day.” He stood and helped her to rise. “I believe I shall go out and check on my horse. And yours. So I shall bid you good night.”

“Yes! Good night!”

He smiled at her, and she could not help but take a step back, away from him. She was afraid he would want to kiss her again, but he only bowed to kiss her hand, as he always did. Then they stared at one another awkwardly, for he was only shy Murchad again, and she was not even her own laughing self.

“Good night!” she whispered, and then she walked towards the stairs as quickly as she could, and he for the opposite stairs, and by the time she thought to look at him again, he was gone.

She went inside and fell into the first chair she found.

He had kissed her! Sigefrith said they would be married in June of 1083. They would be eighteen and seventeen. That was more than two years away! Two years! How could she ever hold him at a distance for two years? He had so frightened her with his half-​​closed eyes!