Free A Cruel Courtship by Candace Robb Page A

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.
    She found the nun sitting in the cloister, eyes closed, head tilted up towards the warm sun. Not wishing to disturb her peaceful moment, Margaret sat down a little way from her and looked at theflowers, the bees going about their business, the birds drinking from a bowl-like depression in the sun-warmed stones. The wind sighed in the grass and moaned now and then through the stonework. This and the humming of the bees created a soothing cocoon of sound interrupted at irregular intervals by birdsong. How peaceful it was here. One could forget that armed guards were needed to protect this community. Certainly the birds, the bees, the flowers, the stones had no knowledge of the troubles out beyond the walls of Elcho. The river still ran past, the rain still fell, sun and moon and stars still defined the day and night, the season turned slowly towards autumn. One might be tempted to dismiss Longshanks’s betrayal, for it had changed little here. Except for the guards. And Margaret’s presence here, as well as her father’s.
    ‘Young Margaret! God has drawn you to a healing spot, has He not?’ Dame Bethag’s smile seemed to emanate from the beauty of the cloister.
    ‘I did not wish to disturb you.’
    ‘And you did not.’ The nun resettled beside Margaret, her face turned towards her as she smoothed out her skirts.
    Realising Bethag was studying her, Margaret asked her whether what she had experienced the previous day had been a holy vision or the Sight.
    Bethag responded without hesitation, ‘Does it matter what you call it?’
    Margaret did not reply at once, expecting thenun to continue, but Bethag had turned her attention to the garden, apparently content with her answer.
    ‘How could it not matter?’ Margaret said. ‘Your visions bring you joy, they are blessings. My mother’s visions have caused so much pain and they’ve destroyed her soul.’
    Bethag shook her head. ‘Your mother’s soul is not destroyed, Margaret. She does not understand, that is all. I understand that you want to know what to call what you’ve experienced, and I say what we call a thing does not change it.’
    ‘But what if it is a foretelling?’ Margaret asked. ‘Does that not mean I have a responsibility to do something with the knowledge? I must know whether my husband is truly in