Synne goes up with her dearest friend

“I think there will be people anywhere we go,” Synne giggled nervously. Murchad seemed to be seeking a secluded spot on the walls, and she mistrusted his motives.

“Aye,” he sighed. “I was only trying to find a high spot so we could look to the west.”

“What’s to the west?”

“The sea, if it’s bright enough. So Malcolm says.”

“Oh, that’s true,” she said, suddenly interested. “You can see it on a clear day. I know a spot.”

It was a rather secluded spot, it was true, but if he only wanted to look for the sea then she didn’t mind.

“This dress and these shoes are made for dancing, but apparently not for climbing,” she laughed as she clambered up the ladder.

“I’m right behind you.”

“I’m afraid I shall drop a slipper.”

“I shall catch it in my mouth.”

“Oh, good! No one’s up here,” she said once they stood on the tower. But when she saw another solitary couple embracing on the tower opposite this, she was reminded that this wasn’t necessarily something to celebrate.

“Can you see it?” she chirped.

Murchad stared out into the west, but his face was strangely sober.

“It’s too dark, I suppose,” he said, “though the sea is brighter than the land at such a time.”

“We can come tomorrow morning and look.”

“Aye.”

He stared out into the darkness long enough that Synne began to wonder whether he had simply forgotten she was there. When he became thoughtful, he could sometimes lose awareness of his surroundings, though this rarely happened in her presence. It usually manifested itself to her in such signs as a wet head because he didn’t notice the rain, or a late arrival because he “simply kept on walking.”

“Murchad?”

“Aye?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Ach, Synne,” he sighed. “I was thinking that if it were bright, and if the air were perfectly clear, we could almost see Ireland from here.”

“That’s true.”

“And then I was thinking that there’s something I need to tell you, and I don’t like to say it.”

“What is it?”

“I must go away for a time.”

She was silent for a moment, but he said nothing more and only looked out towards the sea again.

“To go home?” she asked.

“My father wants me to go to Ireland next spring with my brother Diarmait. For the year.”

“For the year?”

“To go in the spring to make it ready. And to come back in the spring of the following year to be married. A year.”

“A year,” she repeated. There were less than two years to run before her marriage. That meant that less than half of the time remaining would be spent in his company.

Her hand went out in a fumbling search for his arm, but his arms slipped past it and wrapped themselves around her waist. Suddenly she did not mind. She would not have to keep him at a distance for two years, as she had thought, but for much less time. The spring? Six months, perhaps?

“He’s right, of course,” he said. “I shouldn’t want to take you into an unknown. We know the house is still there because my mother’s cousin still lives in it, but perhaps he will have to be asked a few times to leave. And we don’t know what else remains. And if there is any danger, of course I should like to go alone.”

“I hope there isn’t any!”

“So do I,” he smiled.

“But who will watch over you? You must take your thoughtless head-​​drying towel!” she gasped. “And your thoughtless neck-​​warming scarf! And your thoughtless head-​​resting pillow!”

He laughed.

“And I shall need my tear-​​drying towel after all, you see?”

“Ach, Synne!”

“But I shall miss you. I never thought we would be separated so long.”

“I don’t know whether to be sorry or flattered.”

It was very awkward to stand with her arms at her sides while he had his around her waist, and so finally she laid them over his shoulders. It was more comfortable than she had imagined. She was tempted to relax her body and let his arms and hers hold her up.

“How long have you known?” she asked him.

“Only since the last letter. A few weeks.”

“Is that why you’ve been so thoughtful lately?”

“Have I been?” he asked.

“I thought you have been looking at me strangely these past days.”

“Perhaps I am missing you in advance.”

“Oh!” she yelped. That was what she was feeling. She was missing him already. Somehow she could already feel the emptiness that would be left when he would have gone. And yet he was still there. She stared at him in confusion.

He only took a step closer and kissed her.

That was what she had been wanting, though she could not have admitted it on her own. Now her fright of him seemed absurd. He was her dearest friend.

Two years had seemed an eternity when they had meant keeping him at a distance. Six months were nothing at all when it came to holding him close.