Over meat, the formality of their reception fell away, inspiring in Murdo the hope that he would not be suffocated by the strictures of polite custom. When talk turned to the absent lords, his mother said, 'I am most eager to hear how you have fared since your menfolk left. It cannot be easy for two women alone.'

'No,' allowed Ragnhild, 'but I am growing used to the extra demands. The vassals undertake the difficult chores, of course, and we have many loyal servants. It is not easy, no, but we are making our way.'

'It is the same with us,' Niamh said, and went on to explain how they had worked themselves half to death during harvest time. Murdo listened happily to his mother's account, luxuriating in her luminous appraisal of his many labours and successes.

After that, talk passed to other things and the evening proceeded pleasantly. When they finally rose from the board, the candles had burned down, and the fire was a heap of embers on the hearth. Taking a taper from the nearest sconce, Ragna led them up the spiral steps to their rooms and bade them a pleasant and restful sleep, before disappearing into her own room. Only then did Murdo realize he had said none of the things to Ragna that he had wanted to say.

He bade his mother a good night and went into his room. The candles in their sconces were lit, and a fire burned brightly on the hearth. The servants had placed a candletree beside his bed, and Murdo sat on the stool before the hearth and pulled off his boots, vowing not to let another day go by before he found a way to get Ragna to himself alone. But the next day the household was upside down in preparation for the impending celebration, and the day after that was Passion Day, a fast day, and the beginning of the Eastertide observances; everyone spent, as it seemed to Murdo, the entire day in the little chapel the monks maintained on the island. If not for the ride to and from the chapel, Murdo would likely not have had a single opportunity to see Ragna at all. The next day was also a fast day, so there were no meals to be taken and, as Murdo himself was now fully occupied with helping prepare for the feast, he had to content himself with the few glimpses he got of her as they went about their respective chores.

Thus, it was not until Easter day that he found the opportunity to speak to Ragna at length again-and then the house was awash with the boisterous tide of kinsmen and friends which had swept over Cnoc Carrach, and it was impossible for Murdo to see her alone. Some of Ragna's female cousins had come to partake of the festivities, so he had to content himself with sitting across the board from them and exchanging mild pleasantries of only the most general and insipid kind.

After the first of several meals had been served, however, many of the younger people, having taken the edge off their hunger, went out in search of diversion. Some had begun a game of skilty in the yard, and Murdo wandered out to see how they fared. He had played skilty from the time he was a child, and now considered himself above its modest pleasures. Still, as the rest of the young people were making such a fuss about it, he decided to join in, and even caught two of the fleeing hares before he saw Ragna watching him from the doorway of the cookhouse behind the kitchen. She motioned him to her before disappearing inside.

Murdo played but a moment or two longer, and then allowed himself to be caught and removed himself from the ring of participants. Then, with the stealth of a hunter, he stalked across the yard to the cookhouse and slipped unseen through the door.

The interior of the hut was warm and smelled of bread. Ragna was standing at a large table, shaping a great mound of butter with a small wooden paddle. She glanced up as he came to the board, and smiled. 'Good Easter to you, Murdo,' she purred lightly, drawing the paddle across the pale yellow mound. He thrilled to the sound of her voice.

'Good Easter, Ragna,' he said, promptly forgetting all the things he had planned to say to her when they were alone again.

'Are you enjoying the feast?' she asked, after a moment.

'Aye,' he replied. 'It is a fine feast-passing fine.' He looked at her for a moment, dressed in a new rose-coloured mantle, her golden hair brushed until it gleamed, plaited with threads of silver into a thick braid which hung over one slender shoulder. She was a very vision, he thought, of beauty and womanly perfection.

He took a step towards her and she met him. They stood looking at one another for a long moment, neither speaking, and then Ragna placed the butter paddle on the table, and Murdo, his hand nearby, moved his fingers to meet hers. It was only a fleeting brush, but Murdo felt as if his fingertips had been singed in the flame that was kindled in that touch.

Ragna gave a little gasp of surprise, but her eyes never left his face. Her wide-eyed stare drank in his features and his heart beat fast to see the love and desire glowing there. He knew he should speak, but could think of nothing to say. 'I, ah-I mean, Ragna, I -' he began, badly.

She raised a slim finger to his lips. 'Shh,' she whispered, 'say nothing… my love…' The last words were spoken with the lightest exhalation of breath, so faint as to be inaudible, yet Murdo heard them as if she had shouted from the hilltop.

Transfixed by the moment, they stood without moving, the heat from their bodies burning across the small distance between them. Murdo wanted nothing more than to fold her into his arms and carry her away with him-to a place where they could be together always and for ever. She drew her face nearer; her lips readied for a kiss…

The door to the cookhouse opened just then, and one of the kitchen maids entered, saw them standing together and said, 'Ufda! Oh, it is you, Mistress Ragna, I was -'

'Here now,' said Ragna, bending quickly to the butter dish, 'it is heavy though. Mind you do not drop it.' So saying, she lifted the small mountain of butter and placed the dish in Murdo's hands. 'Hurry! They are waiting for it in the kitchen.'

Murdo took the dish and carried it to the door, moving past the maid, who turned and held the door open for him. The last thing he heard as he stepped outside was Ragna telling her maid, 'Run ahead of him and see the kitchen door is opened so he does not put the dish aside. The blame is yours if it gets so much as one fleck of dust on it. Go now!'

That was the only time Murdo spoke to Ragna alone for the remainder of their stay. A few days later, he and his mother joined Peder and Hin at the wharf where their boat was waiting for the return voyage home. Lady Ragnhild, her daughter, and a few servants accompanied their departing guests down to the cove to bid them fare well and see them away. There were two other boats in the cove, waiting to make sail, and Peder, anxious to cast off, called Murdo into the boat the moment his feet touched the planking.

The two women embraced one another and made their farewells. Ragnhild, smiling happily, said, 'Truly, it was good to have you here, Nia. I would invite you to join us for midsummer, but our husbands will no doubt have returned by then.'

'No doubt,' agreed Niamh. 'Even so, we can persuade them to observe the festivities together. And this time, you must come to us and allow us to return the hospitality we have so enjoyed.'

Murdo, preparing to cast off, heard this and looked up to see what Lady Ragnhild's response would be. Say yes, he thought, his heart quickening at the thought that in just a few months he would see Ragna again.

'Very well,' agreed Ragnhild, 'it is decided.' She and Niamh embraced one another warmly, whereupon Niamh took her place in the boat and Peder gave the nod to Hin and Murdo to cast off. The boat slid away from the wharf and Peder, working the tiller oar, turned the vessel with practiced ease.