Present-day...

As a new day dawned, five riders could be seen by the night watchmen as they crossed the outer drawbridge at Carlsyle Castle. Four Knight's clad in silver steel plate, and another outfitted from his sabaton to his sallet in golden armour. Athelstan and his retinue had returned from their successful journey to Siorrachd Rosbroig, home of Clan Kerr. Fanfare echoed from the outer ward tower and into the dying darkness; alerting those inside to the Kings return and disturbing the sleep of the ominous crows that perched like gargoyles on the battlement above.

Firmin lifted his weary head, observing the murder of crows that had taken flight. His horse cantered towards the lowered drawbridge, as illuminated shadows gathered on the other side. It was the Lord and his entourage; surely displeased by the sudden awakening at such a despicable hour.

Aldus Stephenson knelt on one knee to honour the arrival of the King as he dismounted his horse. The Lord's eyes looked heavy with sleep and his robes disheveled as he spoke at the feet of his ruler. "My King, I hope your journey to Cessford has proved fruitful," he said, holding a clasped hand to his chest.

"Indeed Aldus. Ready the entourage, I will be departing for Gloucester Palace immediately." Athelstan gestured to the Lord to stand up. "I will return in two weeks with reinforcements. Have half of your men ready for war... we will be marching to Kinloch."

"Yes my Liege," said Aldus bowing his head slightly.

The King looked over his shoulder to his guards, "Firmin, stay here at Carlsyle and ensure the preparations are in order for my return."

Aldus shot Firmin an unwelcome look as they left to fulfil Athelstan's requests.

Firmin had only one thing on his mind since he had left Carlsyle Castle. He wearily trod towards his bed-chamber; his armour hadn't been removed in over a day, weighing heavily on his injured shoulder. Usually, this would have been at the forefront of his mind, but the warmth of Barabel's embrace still consumed his thoughts.

His room was empty when he arrived, say, for the two small beds in each of the corners, the dresser, and the stool Barabel had used to sit on previously. He removed each piece of armour laboriously, thumping it down on one of the beds. I'll have to get that fixed, he thought to himself, looking at the vicious holes in the pauldron where the bear had taken hold. I wish I had taken a squire with me... If they weren't all so bloody hopeless. He flopped down on the bed, asleep, before his head had hit the pillow.

*****

"Huh?" Firmin shot into motion as a loud noise snatched him from his slumber. The veil of dreams was suddenly lifted, leaving a hazy grog that hung heavily over his head and stung his eyes. He heard a light knocking on the outside of his door.

Without waiting for a reply, the door opened slightly. "It's just me," whispered a familiar, gentle voice.
As though the harbinger of spring herself, the pleasant scent of rose petals filled Firmin's lungs and washed away his overbearing fatigue. The crisp morning breeze danced through Barabel's golden hair and flowing white uniform as she timidly entered the room.

I must be dreaming? Am I being visited by an angel?

"Good morning Firmin," Barabel said with an infectious smile, tying her hair back behind her head. "I hope ye slept... oh." She caught a glimpse of Firmin's exhausted features. "Well eh... how to put this politely... ye look like shite!"

He grunted as a smile broke through his usual scorn. "Good morning to you too my Lady! But yes, I returned with the King in the early hours of this morning."

"For the love of Aengus, I never realised!" Her face flared to a tone of crimson embarrassment. "I'll leave ye in peace. Please, call for me when ye have rested." She quickly turned for the door, but didn't get far...

"Wait." Firmin held an outstretched hand in her direction. "Didn't you say yesterday you needed to see me?"

"Yes I uhh, I came to change the dressings on yer shoulder and to make sure it's healing up alright."
He shifted off the end of the bed as he looked towards Barabel. "Don't worry. Please, take a look."

Barabel looked down at her shuffling feet as she crossed the room to where Firmin perched. She stood over him, carefully peeling back the layers of cloth wrapped around his shoulder. "The honey yer men gave me has helped a lot. Looks like you'll make it out in one piece after all hehe!" Firmin grimaced as she placed new bandages over the open sores.

"I eh, I best be off then," said Barabel, twirling the ends of her hair.

Come on man. Say something!

"Barabel... I..."

"I really enjoyed yapping together last night." She blurted out.

The warmth in his chest swelled upwards, causing an uncontainable smile to consume the entirety of his face. "Barabel. I have fought fearsome men... And even more ferocoius monsters. But when you are close to me, my heart beats harder than ever before."

"Do I scare ye?" She said with a bewildered look on her face.

"No, no! The exact opposite." Words had suddenly become difficult to pronounce. Sentences impossible to formulate. I am a Knight for goodness sake. Say it. "I have never met someone so kind and beautiful as you. Your hair flows like golden honey, and your smile melts the hearts of all who see it." Firmin was completely flushed, but continued. "You stepped in to save your friend... even though you knew it could likely get you killed. And, despite being your enemy, you saved my life... and continue to look after me."

Barabel stiffly lowered herself onto the bed beside Firmin; both sitting as straight as newly crafted swords in their scabbards. After a moment of silence, she reached for Firmin, attempting to wrap her petite arms around his powerful chest. Failing to do so, she nestled into his side. Firmin placed a gentle hand on her head, running his fingers through her hair.

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Yes. This is what happiness feels like.

*****

Each day, Firmin treasured the short time he got to spend with Barabel in privacy. Readying the army took up most of his time. Relentless, tedious work. Inspecting armour, inspecting weapons, performing combat drills, and, worst of all, spouting the King's rhetoric. But each night, he slept well, knowing that his wound would need dressing in the morning.

It had been a week since the King had left for Gloucester Palace. Firmin was in the courtyard as usual, supervising the afternoon sparring. Barabel walked through the courtyard, carrying a basket full of clothes. Spotting Firmin, her joy overflowed, manifesting in a tender smile and a "Good afternoon Firmin!"

Lord Stephenson's Knights shot looks of disbelief towards one another. "What? You will speak when you are spoken to, cretin!" Spouted the Lieutenant furiously. He grabbed Barabel by the hand, whipping her off her feet. "You will be punished for talking to the Commander like this." Firmin sprung to action, snatching Barabel's hand from the Lieutenant.

"Enough. She is the maid that has been tending my wounds. This is my responsibility to deal with." Said Firmin, stretching the full might of his authority. The Knight spat at Barabel's feet in disgust.
Whispers echoed in the courtyard, as Firmin stormed off with Barabel in tow.

Once out of sight, Barabel ripped her hand out of Firmin's grip. He pinned her up against the wall, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly. Without saying a word, he embraced her, squeezing her tightly; gradually feeling her irregular breathing slow.

"I can't stay here another minute! I can't do it," she said, choking back a storm of tears.

"I know, but we must be careful. You know it is written in law that we could both be killed if they discover our feelings for each other..."

Barabel nodded, hair covering her sodden face. "It was a mistake... I'm sorry."

"I truly want to spend every moment with you Barabel, but we must keep this a secret. We must."

*****

Another morning. Another knock on the door. Firmin's head raised with joyful expectation.
"I have been asked to bring ye some food," said a voice that was different than the one he had hoped for.

"Come in!" He said, deflatated.

Seonag entered, carrying a wooden tray with a bowl of soup, some bread, and a small jug of mead. She placed it at the end of the bed, bowing as she turned to leave.

Just as she was about to leave, Firmin saw the fresh scars poke through her dress.

"How are your injuries doing my Lady?"

She froze on the spot upon hearing Firmin's question; her hand began to shake as it gripped the door handle. "The Lord's men they... they took Barabel... I haven't seen her since yesterday." Her head sank in anguish as she faintly whispered, "It's all my fault."

Firmin moved to comfort Seonag, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders. His other hand involuntarily clenched with rage as he choked back his hatred for the newly appointed Lord of Carlsyle.

"It will be okay, it will be okay," he repeated over and over, as though trying to convince himself also.
After the events of the previous week, it was very unlikely that he was in good standing with Aldus. All he could do now was pray to God for her safety.

"How is your husband?" asked Firmin, trying to distract Seonag from the situation. "I heard Barabel mention it in the courtyard."

"When Seumas never returned and you lot rode into the castle, I feared the worst." Seonag sniffed and wiped her face with the corner of her sleeve. "But seeing that silly old bull again... well I just couldnae help myself." She pointed her eyes to the side whilst lifting her shoulder.

"Glad tae see you're not all bad folk though," she said, resting a hand on his forearm. "I'm nae daft, I ken what that meant when you stepped in to stop the Lord hitting Barabel... just like I did for my Seumas."

"Look after Barabel for me would you?" said Firmin softly. "When the King returns I must follow him into battle again. Whether we win or lose I doubt I will see the inside of these walls again."
Seonag squeezed Firmin's arm slightly and nodded reassuringly. As she left the words "I promise," silently escaped her lips.

*****

A week passed in an instant. Firmin tried to busy himself readying the Knights and the soldiers for the upcoming attack. However, he yearned for Barabel's presence, wondering if he would ever see her again. Vigilant eyes watched his every move inside the walls of the castle. The Lord had every right to be suspicious of Firmin; no Knight, not even the Knight Commander, should stand in the way of a Lord's justice.

The sound of fanfare rang over the hills and echoed around the walls of the castle. Athelstan had returned with a force four thousand strong. Another one thousand of Stephenson's men readied themselves as they awaited the King's command, already battle-hardened from their victory over Clan Carlsyle.

A day's ride north, the Wolves of Kerr had also completed their preparations. The Clan Chief grew impatient as he awaited Athelstan's arrival. He eagerly anticipated the coming of his gold, but most of all, Kerr longed for the opportunity to avenge his father. The wolves of Rosbroig had been starved of flesh for a week--they may have been sustained by bread and potatoes--but the Chieftains and their soldiers' insurmountable craving could only be satisfied by one thing: fresh blood. A great feast awaited them at Dunalistair Castle.

Firmin left Carlsyle Castle with the King and five thousand men at their command. A murderous fire still burned within Athelstan; it was time for him to prevent the fulfilment of his prophecy.