Ragna smoothed her hands over the gentle swell of her stomach. She had been able to hide the growing fullness for a time, but no longer. Soon the other women around her would notice what she had already told Tailtiu, her handmaid-not that she could have hidden anything from that bright-eyed magpie of a girl. She knew almost before Ragna herself was certain.

'If you tell anyone, Tailtiu,' Ragna warned her, 'I will not hesitate to cut out your tongue so you will never be able to tell another secret to anyone for the rest of your life.'

The threat did not distress the servingmaid in the least. 'What will you use? The knife you gave to our Murdo?'

'He is not our Murdo,' Ragna replied crisply. 'How did you know about the knife?'

'It is no longer in your keep-chest,' Tailtiu answered cheerfully. 'It is gone and so is Master Murdo. I cannot think he would steal it, so it must be you has given it to him. And he has given a child to you.'

'Listen to me, Tailtiu,' Ragna said, taking the girl by the shoulders, 'no one is to know of this until I choose to tell them.'

'You are afeared your mother will be angry with you?'

'I am not ashamed of what I did,' Ragna said sternly. 'But I will not have it treated as something lewd, to be whispered over by every lustful hinny in Kirkjuvagr. Do you understand?'

'I like him. He is good and kind. You do love him, too, I can tell. Will your father allow the marriage? I think he will be a fine husband.'

'Tailtiu, I mean what I say,' Ragna gave the girl a shake for emphasis. 'I will not have this brought into disgrace. Do you understand me?'

'I understand, my lady. It shall be our secret.'

'See that it remains so.’

That had been a few months ago, and beyond all expectation the chatter-happy Tailtiu had kept her mouth shut about her mistress' condition-not even so much as to whisper it between themselves. This had allowed Ragna to wait and hope, and when she was at last certain, ready herself to reveal the secret in her own time.

She would tell her mother first, and then Lady Niamh. The three of them would decide together what to do about announcing the birth. That, Ragna reckoned, would be the most difficult part. There would be no problem with baptizing the baby; when the time came, it could be done in their own chapel. The birth could be recorded there, and it would not have to be entered on the cathedral rolls until the child was two years old. By then, Murdo would be back and they would be properly married. If she stayed on Hrolfsey until Murdo returned, all would be well. No one outside their own family and vassals need learn about the child until the marriage was duly formalized and recognized by the church.

Through the long summer day, Ragna occupied herself with little chores, waiting for just the right moment to present itself. That moment came when Lady Ragnhild strolled into the herb garden outside the kitchen to cut fennel for the cooks to use in the evening meal. The lowering sun stretched the shadows long among the close-tended rows of plants as Ragna approached her mother. The warmth of the day and the honeyed light gave Ragna a pleasantly mellow feeling.

'It has been a good summer for the gardens,' her mother observed. 'The best I can remember for many years.'

'Perhaps it bodes well for a mild winter,' Ragna offered.

'Winter!' Lady Ragnhild stooped to snip a stunted, discoloured stalk from among the tall green forest before her. 'Please, summer is short enough without hastening it on its way. We have harvest to think about first, and that is upon us soon enough.'

'Our men will be home by then,' Ragna replied. She plucked a fragrant leaf from a nearby branch, raised it to her nose, then began twirling it between her fingers.

'Our men,' echoed her mother. 'It must be Murdo you are talking about. I cannot think you would speak about your father and brothers that way.'

'I miss him, Mother,' Ragna said quietly.

'Aye,' sighed Ragnhild, 'I miss your father, too. It is a hard, hard thing to stay behind.'

'It has been good having Niamh here. I am sorry about their lands, but she has been a help to us. I like her.'

'That is good,' observed Ragnhild absently, trimming the severed stalk further.

'It seems to me,' Ragna continued, 'that a bride should esteem her husband's mother as her own-and that is not always so easy, I think.'

The trimmer hesitated only an instant, and then… snip-another stalk fell. 'All this talk of brides and husbands,' Ragnhild mused. 'Am I to think a wedding is anticipated in this house?' She straightened and looked her daughter in the eye. 'Or has the marriage already taken place?'

'For a truth, it has. We were hand-fasted before he left.'

Ragnhild nodded and turned back to her work. 'Had it been anyone else, your father would have the man flogged through the streets of every town from here to Jorvik.' She paused. 'He might do that still, who knows?'

'Father would never oppose the match,' Ragna maintained, a wariness edging into her voice. 'He has never said anything against Murdo. He would never refuse us.'

'Nay,' Lady Ragnhild softened. 'How could he? Lord Ranulf is a nobleman of rank, and a longtime friend. Your father respects him, and values his friendship. Anyway, the deed is done and we must all make the best of it.' The trimmer neatly lopped the stalk into her basket. 'Bishop Adalbert should be your greatest worry. He can refuse to acknowledge the hand-fasting, you know, and your children would be born into perdition.'

'We have time yet.' Ragna bent her head. Her eyes filled with tears. 'Until the Christ Mass, at least.'

Ragnhild paused and regarded her daughter thoughtfully. She put down the basket and opened her arms. Ragna stepped into her mother's embrace and the two women stood for a time without speaking.

'Oh, Ragna, if you could have waited…' she sighed, leaving the thought unfinished.

'He will be a good husband, Mother,' Ragna said after a while; she sniffed and rubbed the tears from her cheeks. 'He has never been anything but kind to me, and I love him for it-I think I always have. We will confirm our vows in our own chapel when he returns.'

'And if he does not return?'

'Mother! I will not hear you speak so.'

'I do speak so. Daughter, they are at war. You know as well as I, that men who go away to war do not always come home again. Of all those who leave home and family, only a few will return. Men die in battle and there is nothing we can do about it. That is hard, but that is the truth.'

'Murdo did not go to fight,' Ragna pointed out. 'He went only to bring Lord Ranulf home, not to fight.'

'That is something, at least,' her mother allowed, tenderness and pity mingled in her gaze. 'Oh, Ragna, I would that it were different for you.' After a moment she said, 'We must tell Niamh, of course; she will want to know soon.'

'Tonight, I thought,' Ragna replied. 'I will not be able to keep it from her much longer in any event.'

Lady Ragnhild raised a hand to her daughter's head, and touched it gently.

'Crusade will end long before winter comes,' Ragna told her, forcing conviction to her voice. 'The men will have returned, and we will be married before the baby is born.'

'Pray that is so,' Ragnhild said, stroking her daughter's long golden hair. 'Pray your Murdo returns soon. Pray they all return soon… hale and unharmed.'

After supper that night, Ragnhild suggested that Niamh join them for a walk in the long-lingering twilight. 'These few fine days at the last of summer almost repay winter's dark and cold,' she said as they strolled the path behind the house. The sky was flushed with pink and purple, and the few low clouds were red and orange against a sky of deepening blue. The sea breeze was warm out of the south, and the evening star gleamed just above the line of the hills beyond the ripening fields.