The sound of the creek dwindled behind him, and it was some moments before Padric realized he had set off toward the village. His jaw was sore from clenching. He tried to relax it before he ground his teeth to dust. He was vaguely aware of the maul riding in his injured fist and made his way along through familiar habit. His vision was clouded with the image of Eirwen’s tear streaked and pleading face, the body of her new and unknown lover wrecked upon the ground. He had never seen the man, but he knew Eirwen and her tastes. He would be fair of head, broad of shoulder and deep of chest, with a soft, simple face and not an ounce of cleverness behind his eyes. He would be the opposite of everything Padric was.

A growl of frustration echoed behind Padric’s clenched teeth and his pace quickened. He did not know for certain where she was, but his anger told him he could sniff her out wherever she dallied. And if he found them together, so much the easier. There would be no choice then.

He reached the upper outskirts of the village, where his father’s house lay. Instinctively, he gave it a wide berth, knowing that giving his mother even the briefest glance of him would alert her to his intention. Mothers knew that kind of thing. He would try Eirwen’s rooms first, hoping to find her there, otherwise he would have to go up to the fort and search the cider house. The thought of that familiar task only increased the burning behind his eyeballs.

By the bones, that girl could drink! And dance. Those were her true loves. Public displays of frivolity that only increased her appeal with the men of the village and the fort. That and the fact that she was slim, with a round bosom and backside, with long, red tresses, creamy skin and a flashing smile. But Padric knew the truth was in her eyes. Frigid and distant and overly large, so like a fish, and when they knew fear, they turned to puddles of panic. The shapely woman fled and the lost child was left behind. He had seen it many times. Despite all appearances she was not a lusty wench. Padric often thought she had inherited the madness of her mother, for fear was her driving factor in all things. She gave her body readily enough and that could be forgiven had she found true joy in it, but she did not. It was simply that she feared to be alone. Two months and she had replaced him!