The abbess did not share the gentle monk's amusement. Folding her hands before her, she said, 'Now then, I do not believe you have come to enquire after my soul's well-being. Was there perhaps another purpose to your visit?'

'We have come seeking -' began Emlyn.

'Lady Niamh of Dyrness,' put in Murdo, his patience at an end. 'Is she here? Is she well?'

Abbess Angharad regarded him as if he had uttered a blasphemy. 'And who are you that you should concern yourself with her welfare?'

'I am her son,' he answered, and explained how he had followed his father on crusade, and had just returned. 'We have been told that my mother was brought here in the company of some others. I have come to take her home.'

'I can tell you that she is here, and she is well,' the abbess replied. 'It may be, however, that she has no wish to go with you. Nor will I compel her.'

Murdo stared at the woman. The resistance he felt was as solid as the grey granite hills above the firth, and he began to see why Emlyn had counselled politeness and caution.

'But she will want to see me,' insisted Murdo. 'She has been waiting for my return.'

'Perhaps,' allowed the abbess. 'But it may be otherwise. This will be determined.'

'I do not understand,' said Murdo, growing more confused and frustrated by the moment.

'It is not so difficult,' the abbess replied, offering a brief, superior smile. 'Women come here for many reasons. Oft times a woman will find that her fortune or, God knows, even her very body, has become an affliction to her. Whatever the reason, we take them in and provide a haven for them, and protect them as best we can.' She paused, pressing her mouth into a firm line. 'Do you expect me to hand over one of my charges on your command when I know nothing of you? Indeed, for all I know, it might easily be that you are the one she has come here to escape.'

'But, I am her son,' countered Murdo feebly, looking to Emlyn for help.

'There are murderous sons, just as there are lusting and covetous husbands,' the abbess replied crisply. 'And the fact that you have come here in the company of a monk of a disreputable order does not commend your cause in the least.'

'Sister abbess,' said Emlyn gently. 'Your vigilance would do good Saint Peter credit, but I stand as God's witness to the plain truth that this young man has travelled to the Holy Land and back for the sole purpose of righting a terrible wrong perpetrated by cruel circumstance upon his family. His father, the Lady Niamh's husband, was killed in the taking of Jerusalem, and -

'Jerusalem is won?' The abbess gasped. 'Are you certain?'

'As certain as the sun and stars, good abbess,' replied Emlyn smoothly. 'We were there, and saw the victory with our own eyes.'

'All praise to the Almighty,' declared the nun. 'We had not heard.'

'Forgive me,' Emlyn said. 'I thought word had reached you here, or I would have told you at once.'

'Jerusalem is reclaimed out of heathen bondage,' sighed the old abbess. 'Christ is triumphant at last.'

'It is this very thing we have come to tell Lady Niamh,' the monk continued. 'That Jerusalem is won, but at fearful cost, including the life of her husband-sad tidings for the lady, to be sure. Yet, it is our hope that we might mitigate the severity of the lady's grief by reuniting her with her surviving son.' Placing a hand on Murdo's shoulder, he said, 'All we ask is the opportunity to speak with her for a moment, and then whether she stays or goes will be her decision to make, and hers alone, as you suggest.'

The monk's mollifying tone produced the desired effect. In fact, his address worked so well that Murdo suspected the abbess had been waiting to hear those precise words before proceeding further.

'Very well,' Abbess Angharad promptly conceded, 'I will arrange for you to see Lady Niamh. You will wait here, please.'

The dutiful abbess departed, leaving them to themselves. Murdo, anxious and indignant at being made to wait some more, stalked back and forth across the floor. In an effort to distract him, Emlyn talked about the convent and its useful presence in the place, and the sisters' tireless good works on behalf of the people.

Murdo waved him to silence as Abbess Angharad pushed open the door just then. She entered the room, hands folded, pursing her lips and regarding the fat brother with rank disapproval. Turning to Murdo she said, 'Lady Niamh will see you. Follow me, and I will take you to a place where you can speak privately.'

The sister led them out across the yard to a wooden door set in one of the walls. Here she paused, and indicated that Murdo was to enter. 'I will give you a few moments to yourselves.'

Murdo thanked the abbess, and stepped through the doorway. 'You go ahead,' Emlyn said. 'I will await you here.'

Murdo found himself in a small orchard, walled on every side to protect the trees from the cruel northern winds. But this day, in the full flower of spring, the air was warm and full of the sound of bees working among the pear and apple trees. The sunlight was bright, and it took him a moment to see the figure bending low in the shadow of one of the boughs.

Dressed in the grey, shapeless robe and mantle of the nuns, her hair wrapped in the same cloth, she knelt over something on the ground, her back to him. Murdo took two awkward steps and stopped. 'My lady?' he said, his voice low, so as not to frighten her.

The figure straightened instantly, and froze.

'My lady,' he said again, 'it is Murdo. I have returned.'

The woman turned her head and Murdo's heart clenched in his chest. 'Ragna?'

The slender young woman stood slowly, and took a hesitant step towards him, a multitude of emotions playing over her features. She gave out a cry and rushed into his arms. 'Murdo!'

'Ragna…' he said, and then her mouth found his and he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her fiercely to him, as if to make up in one embrace for all the times he had yearned to hold her, but could not. Ragna kissed him again and again, raining kisses on his face and neck, her hands clutching him so that he would not escape again, tears of gladness streaming down her cheeks.

'Ragna… my heart… how I have missed you,' he said, burying his face in the hollow of her slender neck. 'I am here. I am home.'

'My love,' she whispered. 'They did not tell me you-'

'They said I was to see my mother, I did not know -'

'She is here-'

'I have come for you. We will leave this place at once. We will go-'

'Shh!' she whispered, placing her fingertips to his lips. 'Do not speak. Just hold me.'

They stood still, eyes closed, their bodies pressed tightly to one another, and Murdo felt a warmth descend upon him, and his heart quickened-as if a shard of ice which had pierced his heart had begun to melt away in the heat of Ragna's loving embrace. Murdo would have been content to stay like this for ever, but he slowly became aware of another presence in the orchard. He opened his eyes and looked over Ragna's shoulder to the place where she had been kneeling.

There, in the long, green grass, sat a chubby, round-faced infant, staring at him with wide brown eyes. At Murdo's glance the babe let out a spirited yelp, drawing Ragna's attention. Taking Murdo's hand, she led him to the child, then stooped and gathered the babe into her arms.

'Eirik,' she said softly, putting her lips to the child's round cheek. 'Your father has come home. See? This is Murdo. He is your da.'

'Da!' exclaimed the child, reaching out with a plump little hand.

Murdo, awestricken, took the tiny hand in his own and the strength of the tiny grip filled him with wonder. 'Mine?' he gasped. 'I have a child?'

'Ours,' corrected Ragna. 'Yes, my love, you have a son. His name is Eirik.'

Raising a hand to touch the child's pale yellow curls, he put his face near the babe's and whispered, 'My son…" That was all he could get out before the lump in his throat took away his voice.