V Masters - The Castilians - A Story of the Siege of St Andrews Castle

‘Leave the lassie be,’ says Agnes.

She shakes as Agnes strips her clothes off and orders Grissel to fetch warm water from the pot bubbling over the fire, and then to get the berries picked up before she tramples them all into the floor.

Agnes washes her tenderly, exclaiming over the bruises and ripped flesh. ‘Such a state, such a state,’ she mutters over and over.

Bethia cannot get her mouth to form any words. She tries to speak: to tell of being hidden in the pit; of climbing out; of the fight with the soldier who they may have killed. None of that was so bad, for she had her brother by her side. What was terrifying was to be left alone, half buried in rubble watching the soldiers coming and going for the rest of the long day and evening.

She shivers and shivers as Agnes sends Grissel for clean raiment, then gets impatient waiting, and wrapping her in a blanket, leads her up the stairs to bed.

Mother, just arising for the day, gasps at the sight of her. ‘You foolish girl, now look what you’ve done to us.’

Bethia is too tired to respond and slides gratefully into the still-warm bed. Agnes holds the door wide and Mother passes through, shaking her head.

She thankfully closes her eyes. She does not expect to sleep but she does, a deep sleep but unfortunately of short duration. She’s awoken by doors banging and Father shouting. She doesn’t know who he’s shouting at, for only his voice is audible. It can’t be Will and she hopes it’s not John. If it’s Mother, Agnes, or Grissel then they are all robust enough to survive his ill-temper, and he won’t whip them.

The house falls quiet again and she drifts back to sleep. This time her slumber is stabbed by painful dreams. The body of the soldier comes to life and attacks, she twists away and then she’s falling towards jagged black rocks, their sharp points reaching to impale her. She awakens, her mind still thick with dreams. Her hands are throbbing and she pulls them out from under the covers; the skin is scraped red raw, nails torn. She wonders where Norman is. She will tell him why she fled into the castle as soon as she sees him. No doubt Father will want them married, if not today, then by tomorrow. She buries her head back under the covers.

It is afternoon when Agnes enters her room carrying freshened clothes. Grissel follows behind carefully balancing a basin of water and staring at Bethia, as though she’s a creature from the land of the faeries.

‘Come lassie, your Father bids you rise and get ready. There’s a man here to speak with you. I do not know who, I didna see him,’ Agnes adds when Bethia looks fearful.

She rises from her bed, submits to Agnes’s care and ignores Grissel’s questioning looks. Grissel slops the water and it soaks the front of Bethia’s shift.

‘Pay attention you scunnersome wench,’ Agnes growls and gives her a slap on the arm, which spills most of what’s left of the water.

Agnes sends Grissel away and fusses around Bethia, brushing the mud out of her hair, fastening her stays tightly and producing a pair of lace cuffs. Bethia looks at them puzzled, she’s sure they belong to Mother, and Mother is not usually so generous. She wonders what’s going on to warrant such attention to her raiment. She’s being dressed like for a holy day and she doesn’t understand why; Lammas is still some weeks away. Perhaps it is the feast day of Mary Magdalene. She smiles quietly to herself, knowing that John Knox would not approve of celebrating the saints; especially a female saint; especially a female saint who was once a whore. She’s heard Knox even derides the veneration of the Virgin.

Mother comes to complain of the time she is taking and to say the young man is with Father. They’re both waiting to speak to her. Mother smirks as she speaks and Agnes nods knowingly. Bethia feels a rising irritation. What is going on? She is hustled out of the chamber before she can ask.

Down she goes, head bent, the habit of obeying her parents too strong to resist. She enters the room behind Mother and goes to sit upon the settle without lifting her eyes. When she does finally look up she finds not Mainard, whom she secretly hoped for, but Gilbert smiling down at her from his position before the fireplace. Father standing next to him is also smiling. She wonders what she’s done to merit such a wide smile from Father.

‘This young man…,’ says Father waving his hand at Gilbert. There’s a knocking on the front door before he can speak further.

Everyone starts, and she looks to hide, fearful that Arran’s soldiers have come for her, forgetting Gilbert is one of them. For once Grissel is quick, and the door is opened before Bethia has a chance to flee. Up comes Mainard with a great swirl of cloak bringing fresh air and good health. He’s smiling and asking to speak with Father privately. Father does not look pleased to see him, which she wonders at. His family have been useful connections for Father’s business since he brought Bethia and Elspeth safely home a year ago.

Father’s eyes shift from Gilbert to Mainard to Bethia. ‘Mainard de Lange, you are welcome, however perhaps you might return later. We have some pressing family business to attend to. Grissel will show you out.’

Gilbert nods agreement as Mainard hesitates – but he’s no longer the shy youth. In the afternoon sunshine spearing through the open windows Bethia notices how confidently he holds himself.

‘I think I guess what is the family business, Master Seton’ he says. ‘I wish to speak… before you take the decision.’ He nods to Gilbert and smiles sympathetically.

Gilbert puts his hand on the pommel of his sword. The room feels crowded with both men taking up as much space as they can, like cocks thrusting ready for a fight. If it has anything to do with her, Father had best remind them she’s already promised.

She is tired, tired in the very depth of her bones. Perhaps she can slip from the room, return to her old chamber and sleep the sleep of oblivion. Mainard does owe her an explanation, but what does it matter now? Then she starts, she has forgot about Will.

‘Where is Will?’ she asks loudly, cutting across Father who has opened his mouth to speak. She looks up at Gilbert; if anyone knows he will.

Father glares at them all: Mother sitting calmly on her chair; John’s face peeping over the back; Agnes in the doorway carrying a tray of refreshments for their guests; Grissel holding the door wide for her mother; and finally at Bethia perched upon the settle – and answers before Gilbert can speak. ‘Will is gone, lost to us. I do not want to hear his name spoke in my house again.’

Bethia looks to Gilbert, but he is gazing at the floor.

‘Gilbert?’ she asks softly.

‘He is safe enough,’ Gilbert responds.

Father ushers Mainard out of the room, and the family, and Gilbert, sit in silence. Mainard returns quickly, and alone, saying she is to go to her father. She rises and walks through the door which he holds open. He bows as she passes, and then smiles at her. She doesn’t smile back.

Father is pacing up and down. He stops and looks intently at her.

‘That is a most insistent young man.’

She waits.

‘You have not one but two suitors. If I’d kent what a popular lassie you are I’d be taking bids. Shame about Walter Wardlaw, mind, he’s a bad enemy, especially as he’ll get the Provost on side.’

He moves towards her and she flinches, wondering what’s coming now. He reaches out and strokes her hair.

‘You’re a guid daughter and I know ye did your best to persuade that fool of a brother home.’

Her eyes fill with tears, as much at the unaccustomed gentle touch as at the thought of Will.