The morning after the incident at the library...

Firmin woke with an excruciating pain in his shoulder. As he opened his eyes, his pupils rapidly alternated between contracting and relaxing as they adjusted to the sharp light coming in through the window. A blurry figure came into focus sitting beside the bed... it was Barabel.

"Sir Knight," she said, startled from his sudden awakening. "I feared the worst fan we heard the uproar in the library."

"What happened?" he asked still in a daze. "The last thing I remember was..." He grasped his shoulder as he recalled the bear sinking its dagger-like teeth into him.

"The King? What of the King?" he shouted finally coming to his senses.

"Dinna worry he didnae have a fleck on him." Barabel put her hands to her face, covering up her mouth, "But when we saw you getting carried out covered in blood... we thought you were dead!"

Firmin spied that his armour and its accompanying garments were strewn over the floor in the corner of the room, saturated in red. He glanced under the covers and noticed he was completely unclothed.

Noticing his embarrassment, she reached out to him, "Apologies Sir, we had nae time to waste, I had to close your wounds before you bled to death."

"Please, call me Firmin," he said softly. "And thank you... it seems my life is indebted to you."

A rosy tone started to climb Barabel's face like water rising in a pot as it comes to a boil. She sat up from the small wooden stool she was perched on and moved over to inspect the Knight. Carefully peeling back the cotton sheet covering him, she took a closer look at the wound on his shoulder. Her eyes were drawn downwards to the claw marks embedded in his chest; it had a pink-whiteish hue, which suggested it had been there for quite some time.

"As you can see, this is not my first brush with death my lady." The pair chuckled together as Barabel softly placed her hand on Firmin's muscular chest. It was so natural that he hadn't noticed her hand lingering there. Her touch was so warm, so comforting. For a moment, time seemed to stop as they met each other's gaze. Firmin's eyes glistened in the morning light; for the first time in years a semblance of his soul peered back into Barabel's lustrous sapphire eyes.

Their moment of comfort was short-lived as the brunette from earlier burst into the room, "Barabel... the child." Her puffy eyes and wet cheeks gave away the news before she had announced it. "Baby Mairi has passed on to the other world..." The woman's words trailed off, unable to come to terms with what had just happened. Barabel welled with emotion and burst out of the room.

Such is the way of war. It does not pardon the young or the innocent. It has no partiality for man, beast, or child. It takes, consumes, destroys. It feeds on fear, pride and greed, all things which the hearts of men are susceptible to. There are no true winners, only those who have lost less.

Barabel hurried into the baby's chamber. Numerous women had gathered around the cot, weeping over its corpse. She barged through the onlookers, staring at Mairi, who now looked pale and waxy white. All signs of life had escaped the child as she lay motionless in the cot. "She is at peace now," whispered Barabel, choking on her tears.

"We must arrange a proper burial," said one of the ladies in the small crowd.

"I heard that Lord Stephenson will be arriving at the castle any time now," said another.

*****

Firmin watched the gathering on the hill from his window. A small hole was dug beneath the great Noble Fir that stood proudly in the middle and the baby (wrapped in swaddling cloth) was placed into it.

With a grunt, he sat upright and started changing into the clothes that were left at the foot of his bed. He staggered to his feet and headed outside towards the site of the funeral. By the time he had reached the foot of the hill, the gathering had disbanded, only a few stragglers were making their way back to Carlsyle Castle.

"Barabel," he said noticing her walking beside another woman. She wrapped the shawl tighter around her head and continued to head for the castle, completely ignoring Firmin.

Perplexed, he continued to the top of the hill, where the baby laid to rest. A small stone had been placed at the foot of the tree with an inscription that read "Fois dhut." Firmin leaned on the towering tree looking out at Parson's thorn, the breath-taking mountain in the distance. He took a deep breath of the sharp evening air, causing pain to shoot from his shoulder into his chest. "What am I doing?" he questioned himself.

A single tear trickled down his leathery skin, dropping onto the disturbed soil beneath him. I have served Athelstan for fifteen years and what do I have to show for it? I have done nothing but kill and tear families apart. Should I not wish to start one of my own? Firmin had strived most of his life to become a Knight Commander, but even after achieving the highest rank of Knight at the age of thirty, he still felt hollow inside. Each atrocity he committed he rationalised as a means to obtaining fulfilment of his ultimate goal. Now he stood above a baby's grave... empty.

"Commander Firmin!" an out of breath messenger shouted whilst running up the hill towards him. "Lord Stephenson will be arriving soon at the castle. King Athelstan has requested your presence immediately."

Firmin quickly wiped the remnants of the tear from his cheek before turning around. "Thank you lad, I'll be there at once."

With Firmin's reply, the messenger turned tail and hot-footed it down the hill.

As Firmin walked back to the castle he saw the cortege of English civilians, soldiers, and carts pulled by various animals. Some of the smaller carts were pulled by horses, whereas the larger carriages were pulled by captive Scotsman in their beast forms. He spotted the Lord's carriage, pulled by two Carlsyle bulls that had been recently captured from the battle. The lash of the whip reverberated around the hillside followed by the bellow of the bulls. Firmin made haste back to his accommodation to change into more formal attire.

*****

Firmin's room was situated on the perimeter of the inner ward wall. Upon exiting he suddenly heard a scream ring out in the distance, coming from the courtyard ahead.

"Stop it... Please!" He heard the voice clearer as he got closer. Turning the corner a woman cried in despair as she clung to one of the bulls pulling the Lord's carriage.

Firmin watched Lord Stephenson as he lifted his duelling cane and cracked it across the woman's back. She screamed in agony as she slumped to the ground, still clinging to the leg of the bull. He continued to relentlessly beat her. The crowd that gathered there winced each time the cane made contact with her.

"Please stop, that is her husband!" said Barabel desperately charging through the crowd, creating some distance between the Lord and the woman.

"Move or you will be moved!" the Lord roared. He lifted his cane once more and brought it down with an almighty force towards Barabel. She stood firm but cowered her face in expectation of the blow.

"CRAAACK."

She pried open one eye finding Firmin jammed betwixt her and the Lord. She looked upwards, seeing the cane caught in Firmin's hand. A steady stream of blood ran down his forearm and trickled off the end of his elbow.

"What is all this?" said the King, emerging from one of the buildings to the right. "Aldus, Firmin, sort this mess out at once!"

The pair broke off and bowed deeply towards Athelstan.

"I will deal with the trouble maker's my Liege," said Firmin confidently, picking up the woman who had been beaten and escorting Barabel away from the scene. The woman continued to sob loudly as she hung over Firmin's shoulder.

"Know your place Knight," the Lord spat from gritted teeth as Firmin left the courtyard.

*****

The door flung open as he carried the woman to the bed he had slept on the night before, placing her down gently on her stomach.

"Quickly," said Barabel with a concerned look on her face. "We need to see fit like her back is."

Firmin grabbed Barabel's hand and yanked her close to him, "What were you thinking jumping in front of a Lord?" He gripped her wrist tighter as his anger continued to build. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

"And what was I supposed to do?" she whispered back to him. "Stand by and watch Seonag die by the Lord's hand? There has been enough death today!" She ripped her hand out of Firmin's and headed to attend to her friend's wounds.

Seonag writhed in pain as Barabel undid the lace that held her dress together. Her back was a mess of lacerations, crisscrossing in a muddled pattern over her back. "Grab me the rum," she shouted towards Firmin, pointing in the direction of where his armour lay from the night before. She rolled up a small piece of cloth and stuffed it into Seonag's mouth.

The moment Barabel poured the brown rum onto the wounds, Seonag's back arched and a muffled shriek dissipated into the bed. Her hands curled up the sheet on the mattress but slowly relaxed as the intense pain began to subside. Barabel carefully wrapped a few bandages over the worst of the injuries and run her fingers through Seonag's hair as she fell asleep on the bed.

Firmin and Barabel sank onto the adjacent bed, peacefully watching Seonag sleep. The quiet was comforting to them both, it was a clear disparity from the conflict at the inner courtyard earlier. They continued to sit in silence till Barabel looked down and saw the hand that had caught the Lord's cane.

"Firmin yer hand?"

"It is nothing my lady," he replied softly, trying not to wake Seonag.

She grasped the remaining scraps of bandage left beside her and reached out for Firmin's hand. Slowly beginning to bind his hand, her eyes wandered upwards, meeting his once more...

Barabel's eyes quickly darted to the ground as she began to speak softly. "Thank you for stepping in to stop Lord Stephenson's cane. I ken I shouldnae have, could have got us both killed..." Her shaky voice trailed off as she fiddled with a small scrap of bandage that was between her hands.

I wonder if she feels it too? Firmin felt the involuntary pull towards Barabel as their bodies grew closer; as natural as a blossoming flower that reaches out into the sky, yearning to be closer to the glowing spring sun. "I... I was merely returning the favour. Anyway, I've always wanted to put that self-righteous Lord in his place."

His heart melted in his chest as he heard her innocent giggle. "Well lets call it even then eh?" She said gleefully as she stood to her feet with a golden smile. "I'll be back tomorra to check on that wound again. Don't be pickin' any more fights ye hear me?" Her contagious laugh filled the room once more as she left; Firmin immediately felt the void created by her absence. The world seemed monotone again and the beautiful rainbow of her presence had returned to a lifeless grey. Has it always been grey? He wondered as the cold, harsh reality flooded back into his conscience.

Another day passed.

That night, the Knight Commander was summoned by the King to accompany him to Cessford Castle, the seat of Clan Kerr.