near so tall. Then, there is a clear shout and the tune breaks into a wild whirl and the men grab their partners' hands to swing them laughing about the floor in great circles that threaten to collide one with the other in their recklessness.

When the dance ends, I am laughing with them and I turn to my lord. I wish to share my delight, but he stares straight ahead, his eyes fixed and distant. The dancing brings him no joy. It is then I notice the sweat that has sprung out upon his brow, his labored breath, and the eyes that waver in their gaze.

I lean to him. "My lord," I whisper beneath the sounds of music, dancing feet and laughter, "what do you wish?"

He blinks asmuch longer waiting in only the thin covering of her shift. It feels most of an hour since I was dismissed from the company, the men lingering to toast their married chieftain and, on this night, wish him much bliss.

And an heir, do not forget, an heir.

The voices of his Rangers have long since faded about the hearth. My hair unbound and skin bare but for a thin layer of finely adorned linen, I am as a field of warm earth beneath the spring sun. But where is the plow-master for the planting of his seed? If he delays much longer, he might find his bride has fallen asleep before joining her in his bed.

A thin pool of light pours into the solar from below and feet scuff