A Cruel Courtship (9 page)

She looked so serene and spoke with such confidence that Margaret was tempted to believe her; but Bethag made it all seem too simple. Life was far more complicated.

‘I believe you are gifted with both the Sight and divine grace,’ said Bethag. ‘These are gifts you must honour with prayer and contemplation.’

‘I have work to do out in the world.’

Bethag was nodding.

‘How do I honour these gifts out in the world, in the midst of the fighting in our land?’
Tell me that
, Margaret thought, but left it a question, not a challenge.

‘Do not be frightened. You walk in the light of
the Lord. He will show you. You must keep your mind open to His guidance. Come.’ Bethag rose and held out her hand. ‘I’ll walk with you to the guest house.’

Bethag helped Margaret rise, and then gently brushed her fingertips across Margaret’s forehead and down one side of her face.

‘You lack all joy, young Margaret. Surely God’s gifts, the most precious one being that of life, are to be treasured and rejoiced in.’ Her expression was one of gentle inquiry as she searched Margaret’s eyes.

Margaret thought of all her worries, but was struck by how self-pitying she would sound if she recited them. She could not imagine Bethag complaining about her lot in life – but then she seemed to enjoy a quiet peace here.

‘I forget to laugh,’ Margaret said, though she had not realised it until she spoke the words. She was embarrassed to have blurted out such a silly worry. ‘You must think me a child, fretting about whether or not I laugh.’

‘No, Margaret,’ said Bethag. ‘I see that you have left your childhood far behind.’

They had moved down the aisle and Margaret now stepped forward to hold open the door for Bethag. As she passed, the nun gave her such a beatific smile that Margaret found herself responding – tentatively, but she did manage a smile. It was such a small gesture, but it shifted
something within her. Perhaps God
was
speaking to her through Bethag. Margaret crossed herself as she let go the door and joined her companion.

They walked slowly through the convent yard. As they approached the guest house the long shadows of early evening already stretched across the garden.

Margaret asked, ‘What did you mean, that I’ve left my childhood far behind?’

Bethag nodded at the question. ‘You carry yourself with a gravity unusual in a young woman. At your age I had been here for almost half my life and my cares were shared by a community of women. With your parents away, and your husband, too, you are responsible for your own well-being. I think I was fortunate in being called to God and to this place where I am not alone.’ She gave Margaret an apologetic smile. ‘I’ve never before considered how selfish we sisters might seem to you, how cockered.’

Margaret wondered whether the nun could read her thoughts. ‘Without your prayers we would be lost. I imagine all those who are cloistered resenting the rest of us for requiring so much prayer.’

They laughed companionably.

At the guest-hall door Dame Bethag paused and, catching Margaret’s smile, mirrored it in her beautiful face. ‘A smile is one of God’s little miracles, young Margaret. It is good to remember
that.’ She pressed her hands together and bowed. ‘Now I must return to my cell. God go with you.’

‘And with you, Dame Bethag.’ Margaret wanted to wish her more than that, but she could not think what the woman did not have. She mulled this over as she stepped into the hall, unaware of Ada’s presence until she was swept up in her affectionate embrace.

‘You have been long away, Maggie,’ Ada said as she stood back to hold her at arm’s length and study her face. ‘I see a hint of a smile. Oh, that is so good to see. Your meeting with Christiana must have pleased you.’

As a cloud sweeping past the sun the memory of her mother’s condition swept over Margaret, chilling her. ‘No, it was not Ma who made me smile.’ Her throat tightened. ‘It was Dame Bethag. She was so kind to me.’ Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered how little cause she had to smile, a thought that irritated her, seeming so self-pitying.

‘What have I done?’ Ada steered Margaret towards a chair. ‘I’ve turned your smiles to tears. I pray you, let me make amends. Rest here, and I’ll bring you a cup of wine.’ Her silks rustled as she fussed about Margaret.

For her part, Margaret felt there could be no better person than Ada for her to be with right now, a practical woman whom she could not imagine suffering visions. Margaret was just sipping at the
wine when her father arrived. He was not so welcome.

‘Ah, Maggie, I am glad to find you here. What are your plans now? Are you headed straight for Stirling?’

Margaret had said nothing to him of her destination. She glanced with suspicion towards Ada, who had remained in the hall with Malcolm while Margaret was with Christiana. Had she spoken to Malcolm?

Ada shook her head and shrugged.

Then it must have been Christiana who had divulged her destination to Malcolm. It was Margaret’s own fault for having mentioned it to her mother.

‘Give your daughter some peace,’ Ada said. ‘Go rest, Malcolm. You look weary.’

Her father’s indignant expression and Ada’s imperious stance with hands on hips almost made Margaret laugh. But she quickly sobered when Malcolm poured himself a cup of wine and sat down beside her. She knew by his affectionate smile that he wanted something from her.

‘Why would you go to Stirling?’ he asked. ‘You have a fine home in Perth.’

She hoped this was all he was after, to feel informed. ‘My home in Perth holds too many memories of my failed marriage, Da.’

Malcolm placed his other hand over hers and looked her in the eyes. ‘Ah. Well I ken such pain, Maggie. Would you at least heed some advice?’

She hesitated, wary of promising her father anything. ‘What would that be?’

‘Stay here, don’t return to Perth. James will come here when he doesn’t find you at home.’

She tried to withdraw her hand, but her father held it fast. ‘I said nothing of James,’ she said.

‘There was no need, lass. I know you and he have an agreement, and I’m sure it’s James who has you scurrying off to Stirling. Bide here until he comes for you, that’s all I ask.’

‘I’d never planned otherwise, Da,’ she said. ‘I left word for him to meet me here.’

Celia, Margaret’s maid, had been sitting in a quiet corner of the hall listening to the conversation, except for carrying the tray with the wine and cups over after her mistress arrived. She felt comforted that Margaret still intended to wait here for James Comyn. Her companion, Maus, Ada’s maid, had quietly stated her hope that Margaret would decide not to wait for James to escort them, but would carry on to Stirling. She was eager to reach her mistress’s comfortable town house. Celia disapproved of Maus, a young woman who thought only of finery. She was also jealous of her – she had been training to be a lady’s maid like Maus when her former mistress, Margaret’s goodmother, had sent her off with Margaret. Celia loved Margaret now, and was proud of her role in assisting her mistress in her work for James, but she envied
Maus her soft hands that did not snag the silk of her mistress’s gowns. At the same time Celia enjoyed having Maus’s companionship and could see that her mistress was easier with Ada close at hand. Perhaps the time in Stirling would be pleasant, something Celia had not expected, as long as her mistress did not take too many risks in teasing out the reason the person carrying messages for James from Stirling had disappeared.

She wished Master Malcolm would leave and she might ask Margaret about the little smile on her face when she’d arrived just now.

But the old man was nothing if not a talker, and he’d now begun on Margaret’s Great-Aunt Euphemia and the cursed mantle her mother was making for the woman. Celia had never met the kinswoman of whom he spoke, but she could see that her mistress found the conversation distressing for she hugged herself as if feeling threatened.

‘Are you cold, Mistress?’ Celia inquired, and was rewarded by Margaret’s expression of gratitude as she rose and, making her excuses, withdrew to their chamber.

‘What was so distressing about a mantle for a kinswoman?’ Celia asked when they were alone, settled on the bed.

Margaret’s face was in shadow, but her hands plucked nervously at her skirt. ‘Euphemia MacFarlane is a great seer. My mother was sent by her
parents to live with Euphemia to learn about the Sight.’

‘She does not bide in Perth?’

‘No. She lives far to the west.’ Margaret hugged herself. ‘Ma’s weaving a border for the mantle, a border of owls. They are special to Great-Aunt Euphemia.’

Celia was puzzled. ‘You laughed at my fear the other night.’

‘I know.’

Celia realised her mistress was shivering and she fetched her favourite plaid.

Margaret pulled it around her shoulders and up around her neck despite the warmth of the evening.

‘Ma said she has had no visions since the one of Kinnoull Hill. But while in the chapel – Celia, I
felt
Roger fall to his death. I thought
I
was falling, but then I saw him lying dead at the foot of the rock.’ Margaret crossed herself. ‘I was so frightened.’

‘Heaven have mercy on us.’ Celia crossed herself. She had much feared that Margaret was developing the Sight, for she was changing in subtle ways, becoming secretive, praying far more than was her wont. ‘But you were smiling when you returned to the hall.’

‘Dame Bethag had eased my mind.’ Margaret took a deep breath and let it out as a groan. ‘She is right, I carry such a weight. I must put my trust in God and believe that He will guide me. I have waited for the time to tell you, Celia – I–’

A knock on the door brought both of them to their feet.

‘Tell no one,’ Margaret whispered.

‘I swear,’ said Celia, hurt that her mistress felt the need to command her silence and frustrated by the interruption.

Ada entered the room, breaking the tension with a good-natured chuckle. ‘Your father is a difficult man to escape, Maggie. You are blessed with a perceptive handmaid.’ Ada gave Celia a warm smile. ‘I could see that all his talk of Euphemia and her owls distressed you. Oh that man!’

Celia was relieved to hear her mistress laugh.

‘Ada, you do my heart good. And you are right about Celia.’ Margaret shed the plaid. ‘Will Da join us for the evening meal?’

Ada shook her head. ‘He is apparently in the habit of eating with the prioress’s kinsmen and the chaplain. Thanks be to God.’

Andrew no longer cursed David for escaping through the drain. He was grateful that God had spared him and Matthew, for the guards sent through it afterwards were now very ill. He believed Sir Francis and Sir Marmaduke had sent them through to impress upon Longshanks’s royal lieutenant John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, and his treasurer the hated Hugh Cressingham, the seriousness with which they took desertion. It had seemed that David’s disappearance had been
forgotten – a week had passed since he’d gone missing – when the administrators paused at Soutra for a night on their way to Stirling with their horse and foot soldiers. It was only then that the search had been ordered.

‘No one is likely to try the drain again,’ said Father Obert after Mass. ‘My flesh crawls to recall the suffering of those two when we took communion to them in the infirmary.’

‘I pray for them,’ said Andrew. The men’s faces and hands had been covered with suppurating sores and they were feverish and weak. Had his loyal servant Matthew not been ill with a rheumy cough, he and Andrew would have been the first through the diseased drain. He had been frustrated when he’d realised how ill Matthew was, and how impossible stealth would be with the young man’s wet cough. But as it turned out, Andrew thanked God for sparing him and Matthew. ‘I doubt David went far before illness felled him.’

‘I expected much rejoicing from the commanders about that,’ said Obert. ‘But they have proven themselves Christians first. One has given money towards Masses for David’s soul.’

‘I’ve wondered about his escape. The hue and cry over it was so delayed. And now Masses for his soul? Is it possible that David deceived us? Might he have been a spy and the commanders staged his “escape” to warn others off, then sent the two guards through?’ To warn himself off, in fact.
Andrew now suspected he’d been noticed lingering around the drain – he’d spent some time gauging its width and memorising all that surrounded the entrance since he’d planned to escape by night.

‘I think the commanders are far too busy with battle plans to stage such a ruse. They need only to have posted guards on the entrances to the drain – as they have now.’ Taking up his walking stick, Obert made his way to the door. ‘I should have thought you would understand how a Welshman might open his eyes to the treatment of the Scots and feel ashamed of his doing unto others …’ Breathing strength into his back, Obert straightened a little and hobbled from the sacristy.

Andrew believed that the old priest knew he planned to escape.

Margaret sought out Dame Bethag the following day. As she’d lain awake long into the night she’d wondered whether the nun was right, that Margaret’s visions were holy visions and not the suffering of an accursed state. She hoped that although Bethag had been sheltered most of her life she might still have some helpful insights into visions and how one lived with them. Margaret was frightened; she needed guidance.