A Cruel Courtship Read Online Free PDF Page A

wisdom to use it for the good . As she stepped around the carved screen that shielded her mother’s bed she found Christiana lying with eyes closed, though it was mid afternoon. Stepping back, Margaret whispered to Marion, ‘My father thought she might be awake, but I see–’
    ‘Do you speak only to my maid, daughter?’ Christiana called out in a voice that was scratchy, as if little used.
    ‘I thought you were asleep.’
    Marion shook her head in sympathy. ‘She drinks little water. Her throat is ever dry,’ she whispered.
    Returning to her mother, Margaret knelt and kissed Christiana’s parchment cheek. Despite the mounds of bedclothes her skin was dry and cold. A month ago she had still been lovely, indeed had seemed more vigorous than in recent years. Now her eyes were shadowed, her hair greyer.
    ‘How is Ada?’ Christiana asked.
    Margaret wondered whether her mother had been told about her arrival or whether she had foreseen her visit. She did not ask. ‘Ada is well, Ma. And you? Are you eating? Resting?’
    Christiana stopped the questions with a coldfinger to Margaret’s lips. ‘I am as you see me, as the Lord hath made me.’ She fumbled about. Marion hastened over to hand her the basket of tablet weaving. ‘Can you untangle this, Maggie? It’s snarled and needs your patient hands.’
    Glad for the distraction from her mother’s condition, Margaret took the basket and sat down on a high-backed chair that Marion had placed close to the bed. The work was far more skilled than anything Margaret could recall her mother doing. The pattern puzzled her for a moment, but after some study she recognised the outstretched wings and the large, round heads. ‘Owls,’ she whispered with a shiver of dread.
    ‘The work helped me stop thinking about the men who died,’ said Christiana. ‘But one night the head on which I worked became a man’s and I saw that he was tumbling from Kinnoull Hill – one of the men I betrayed.’ She gave a sob and turned away from Margaret. ‘I could not bear to hold it.’
    The Sight was a curse. Her mother had received no joy from it, her marriage had been ruined by it, her children had suffered. A cold panic numbed Margaret’s fingers. Dear Lord, not me .
    ‘Marion,’ Christiana called out, ‘I would sit up in my chair now.’
    Margaret glanced up from her work and involuntarily winced as she witnessed how Christiana clutched Marion’s arm and struggled torise from the rumpled bed. Beneath the wool tippet her mother’s thin gown hung loosely. Her hands were claw-like in their fleshlessness.
    ‘How long have you been fasting?’ Margaret’s voice cracked with emotion.
    ‘You know when my penance began,’ Christiana said. ‘You tire me with such questions.’
    Marion held firmly to her too-slender mistress, helping her shuffle to the cushioned chair near the bed. Christiana held Marion’s hand as she turned and sank down, and then the maid quickly tucked a lap rug about her. All was done with practised efficiency. Such quick deterioration bespoke a severe fast. As Marion straightened she gave Margaret an apologetic look and shook her head. Margaret did not blame the maid. Her mother would be far worse if she were not in Marion’s loving hands.
    Christiana studied Margaret with fevered eyes. ‘Did Malcolm send for you?’ Her voice was surprisingly stronger now that she was sitting up.
    ‘No, Da did not summon me. I came here to see how Roger was healing before I go on to Ada’s house in Stirling, but I’ve learned he left a few days past.’
    Closing her eyes, Christiana slowly nodded, and tears began to fall. Bowing her head, she crossed herself.
    Margaret’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Ma, what is it?’
    ‘I fear for him,’ Christiana whispered.
    ‘What have you seen?’
    Christiana shook her head. ‘I did not need the Sight to ken his condition. He has not recovered enough to travel. He limps so, he will be unbalanced in the fight.’
    ‘What fight?’