Candace Robb: A Cruel Courtship

‘Mary came to change the flowers on the altar and found us here. She brought water for you.’ Bethag smiled. ‘Your colour has returned.’

‘How long have I been here?’

Bethag laughed as she stood up and took a few uneven paces, rubbing her right thigh. ‘Long enough for my right leg to lose all feeling, but at my age that does not take so long as it did in my youth.’

It took all Margaret’s strength to struggle up on to her feet. She felt shaky, as she often did after falling asleep during the day, but also as if all the light in her life had been smothered.

Dame Bethag saw her anguish. ‘Do not be afraid. God spoke through me to you.’

Owls and mystics — Margaret wondered why God would speak to her through others. ‘Why do you think God used you?’ Margaret asked. ‘What did you see while you sang?’

‘The Blessed Mother’s light of grace.’

‘So, too, did I — at first. But afterwards-’ Margaret hesitated, glancing at the servant Mary. ‘Might we talk privately?’

Dame Bethag nodded to the servant, who shyly rose and departed. The nun withdrew to a bench to one side of the altar. Margaret joined her, still feeling almost as if she were walking in her sleep so tentative did her movements feel to her.

Bethag smoothed Margaret’s forehead and then took up one of her hands. ‘You are so cold. Tell me what troubles you. As God is my witness I shall not betray your confidences to the other sisters.’

Margaret was loath to call to mind her terrible vision; but she needed guidance, and with the hope that Dame Bethag might be able to help her she described her experience, as well as the recurring dream.

As Margaret spoke, Dame Bethag dropped her head and listened with eyes half-closed. Margaret felt the nun’s hand grow as cold as her own.

‘Oh my dear,’ Bethag said at last, raising a tearful face to Margaret. ‘This is indeed a frightening vision. But the Lord must have cause to show this to you. Give thanks to Him and let it be — in prayer it will come clear to you why you have seen your husband’s death. It may not speak to his actual death at all. It might not even have been Roger Sinclair whom you saw.’

Margaret shook her head. ‘No, I am certain it was my husband.’

‘If he suffers such an end, it is God’s wish.’

That made it no more palatable for Margaret. ‘Have you ever had such a vision of what might come to pass?’

Bethag sighed. ‘I have been graced with no such power, young Margaret. My visions are but expressions of the ecstasy I experience when I touch the divine.’

‘How do I know that this vision is not the devil’s work?’

‘You also saw the Virgin Mary’s grace,’ Bethag said, as if that were all the argument necessary.

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.