attempt such an escape. Now the drain would be guarded. In the same breath he both cursed David and prayed for his safe journey.
3
M YSTICAL G IFTS
The afternoon sun was softened by a humid haze rising up from the river. Margaret stepped from her mother’s chamber and stood leaning out over the rail that bordered the gallery hoping for a brisk wind to cleanse her of fear and sorrow. She was disappointed to find the air still and warm.
There was so much she wanted to ask about the Sight, but her mother, so frail in body and spirit, was not the one to ask. Though her mother felt cursed by the Sight she seemed never to have questioned it or tried to understand it despite her aunt’s urging. Margaret regretted not having known her Great-Aunt Euphemia, although she had never wished to learn about the Sight until now.
Margaret did not blame her mother for her incurious way; her heart overflowed with sorrow for her mother’s suffering, and she understood her fear.
She bowed her head to pray for her mother’s malaise to pass, but her father chose that moment to join her. Margaret tried to hide her tearful eyes but of course he caught her gesture.
He raked his age-spotted hands through what was left of his hair. ‘I’m not much of a praying man, Maggie, but I’ve been on my knees ever since coming to this godforsaken place and to what end, I ask myself, for the Lord has turned deaf ears on me. I cannot think why He’s so cursed our family. I’ve done nothing to deserve such suffering, I’m sure of it. I’ve offered myself, asked Him to take me and give my Christiana back her wits and her health. And even that He’s not accepted. What am I to do? Sacrifice one of my children, as Abraham was told to do?’
‘I will speak with Dame Eleanor the infirmarian about Ma,’ Margaret offered. ‘She might find a way to convince Ma to take a physic for strength.’
‘Did your mother say anything to give you hope that she wishes to get well?’
‘She said she has suffered no visions since the one for which she performs penance,’ Margaret said. ‘She seemed grateful for that.’ It was not a lie, for her mother claimed it to be so.
Malcolm crossed himself, his expression lightening. ‘That is promising.’ He hugged her. ‘You’ve given me hope, Maggie.’ He glanced at the door to Christiana’s room. ‘I’ll go to see her now.’
Margaret did not want to detain him long, for sheyearned to be alone to think – but she felt compelled to ask one question. ‘Ma is weaving a border of owls, Da. What do they signify to her?’
‘Owls?’ He repeated absently, and then he rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. ‘That border. Why must she work on such a darksome thing, I ask you? She’s weaving it for Euphemia, her aunt.’
‘Great-Aunt Euphemia is still alive? But she must be so old. Is it possible?’
Malcolm nodded. ‘Like the prophets of the Old Testament she lives and lives. Owls signify the power of the woman and the moon, she says. Blasphemy, I say. But Christiana hopes to honour her aunt with a mantle bordered with those unholy birds of the night. Perhaps she believes Euphemia has caused the Sight to leave her?’ He threw up his hands in frustration. ‘I do not understand Christiana’s reasoning.’
Margaret did not know what to make of her mother suddenly wishing to gift Euphemia with a mantle. ‘But Euphemia bides far away, doesn’t she?’
‘Aye, in Kilmartin now, cursed place at the edge of the land. Loch Long is where she belongs, among her kin.’
She remembered her mother’s descriptions of a great glen far to the west filled with monuments to the ancestors. ‘How is Ma to present her with it?’
Malcolm’s momentary buoyancy was gone and he slumped in defeat. ‘Your mother does not fret over practical matters, lass.’
When Christiana had first shown signs of having Second Sight her mother sent her to her sister Euphemia for training; although she was not the only living
3
M YSTICAL G IFTS
The afternoon sun was softened by a humid haze rising up from the river. Margaret stepped from her mother’s chamber and stood leaning out over the rail that bordered the gallery hoping for a brisk wind to cleanse her of fear and sorrow. She was disappointed to find the air still and warm.
There was so much she wanted to ask about the Sight, but her mother, so frail in body and spirit, was not the one to ask. Though her mother felt cursed by the Sight she seemed never to have questioned it or tried to understand it despite her aunt’s urging. Margaret regretted not having known her Great-Aunt Euphemia, although she had never wished to learn about the Sight until now.
Margaret did not blame her mother for her incurious way; her heart overflowed with sorrow for her mother’s suffering, and she understood her fear.
She bowed her head to pray for her mother’s malaise to pass, but her father chose that moment to join her. Margaret tried to hide her tearful eyes but of course he caught her gesture.
He raked his age-spotted hands through what was left of his hair. ‘I’m not much of a praying man, Maggie, but I’ve been on my knees ever since coming to this godforsaken place and to what end, I ask myself, for the Lord has turned deaf ears on me. I cannot think why He’s so cursed our family. I’ve done nothing to deserve such suffering, I’m sure of it. I’ve offered myself, asked Him to take me and give my Christiana back her wits and her health. And even that He’s not accepted. What am I to do? Sacrifice one of my children, as Abraham was told to do?’
‘I will speak with Dame Eleanor the infirmarian about Ma,’ Margaret offered. ‘She might find a way to convince Ma to take a physic for strength.’
‘Did your mother say anything to give you hope that she wishes to get well?’
‘She said she has suffered no visions since the one for which she performs penance,’ Margaret said. ‘She seemed grateful for that.’ It was not a lie, for her mother claimed it to be so.
Malcolm crossed himself, his expression lightening. ‘That is promising.’ He hugged her. ‘You’ve given me hope, Maggie.’ He glanced at the door to Christiana’s room. ‘I’ll go to see her now.’
Margaret did not want to detain him long, for sheyearned to be alone to think – but she felt compelled to ask one question. ‘Ma is weaving a border of owls, Da. What do they signify to her?’
‘Owls?’ He repeated absently, and then he rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. ‘That border. Why must she work on such a darksome thing, I ask you? She’s weaving it for Euphemia, her aunt.’
‘Great-Aunt Euphemia is still alive? But she must be so old. Is it possible?’
Malcolm nodded. ‘Like the prophets of the Old Testament she lives and lives. Owls signify the power of the woman and the moon, she says. Blasphemy, I say. But Christiana hopes to honour her aunt with a mantle bordered with those unholy birds of the night. Perhaps she believes Euphemia has caused the Sight to leave her?’ He threw up his hands in frustration. ‘I do not understand Christiana’s reasoning.’
Margaret did not know what to make of her mother suddenly wishing to gift Euphemia with a mantle. ‘But Euphemia bides far away, doesn’t she?’
‘Aye, in Kilmartin now, cursed place at the edge of the land. Loch Long is where she belongs, among her kin.’
She remembered her mother’s descriptions of a great glen far to the west filled with monuments to the ancestors. ‘How is Ma to present her with it?’
Malcolm’s momentary buoyancy was gone and he slumped in defeat. ‘Your mother does not fret over practical matters, lass.’
When Christiana had first shown signs of having Second Sight her mother sent her to her sister Euphemia for training; although she was not the only living
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