off
completely.
~ ~ ~
In and out, out and in.
The bone needle moved surely through the woolen fabric, hemming the edges.
Past forty years of age, the woman known as Cook but whose given name was
Meghyn could sew any garment put into her hands with unconscious deftness. She
could not remember a time when she did not know how to create from fabric, and
now she was glad for the occupation. It took her mind off her beloved
foster-son.
In all fairness, Meghyn
could not believe that the artless Aine meant to ensnare Deoradhan. A girl
could not help being so pretty any more than a boy could avoid his attraction
to such sweet visual nectar. The good Lord had created the fascination between
lads and lasses at the beginning of the world, and He had said ‘twas good. Who
was Meghyn to argue over that with the Lord, much as she hated losing her boy
to another?
But Meghyn’s real
anxiety grew from another root entirely. If Deoradhan’s fondness for Aine had
grown as she suspected, would he marry the girl? Would he bind himself to her
permanently, seeking to satisfy his restlessness with one who was restless
herself?
O Living God, You
know all things, even the end from the beginning. Free my dear boy from his
past. May he have a hope and a future grounded in You alone.
“Cook?”
Meghyn popped her eyes
open. The brown-haired lass from the West Lea stood before her, sewing in
hand. A kind-hearted, hard-working girl this one seemed, though time would
tell if Meghyn judged rightly.
“May I sit with you?”
She patted the empty
spot beside her on the bench. “I’d be glad for the company, Bethan. My
thoughts are a bit gloomy right now, which cannot please the Lord. You may be
a ray of sunshine sent by Him to clear the clouds from my soul, aye?”
Bethan smiled in
response and seated herself. Meghyn saw that she was patching a tunic from the
mending pile that always remained full, regardless of how much work the kitchen
servants put into it. “You went off to the meeting Bricius holds outside the
walls this morning, aye?”
Bethan’s eyes rose to
Meghyn’s face in surprise. “Aye, I did. Deirdre invited me. I hope ‘twas no
inconvenience—”
Meghyn interrupted
quickly to halt the girl’s concern. “Nay, nay. Jesus is my Lord as well,
Bethan. I was glad to see that you met with the others for worship. ‘Tis a
good witness to the others not to forsake the assembling of themselves,
regardless of who occupies the country.” She patted Bethan’s hand in
sincerity. “I would have been among you this morning, but my ankles swelled.”
Bethan examined the
woman’s propped-up feet. Meghyn heard her suck her breath in quickly when she
saw the purpled flesh, bulging with excess fluid. “Cook…” her voice trailed
off, concerned.
Meghyn put a hand to the
girl’s mouth, smiling. “Hush, ‘tis nothing serious. I’ve been doing a bit too
much, ‘tis all. I propped them up and have sewing enough to last me all
afternoon. A body could not ask for more leisure than that.”
Bethan seemed somewhat
satisfied and settled in, picking up her own needlework. “What are you working
on?” she asked.
Meghyn could not keep
her lips from turning up. “’Tis a cloak for my Deoradhan. He’ll need it this
winter as he dashes across all of Logress, bringing messages here and there,”
she said, using the general name for the Pendragon’s acknowledged territory.
Bethan returned the
smile. “Your nephew is a busy lad, isn’t he?”
“Aye, and a brave one.
I brought him up, so I should know.”
“You did?”
Meghyn nodded.
“Calum told me Deoradhan
went to Gaul for his education, though,” Bethan stated, looking confused.
They trod on sticky
territory, Meghyn knew, but she gave Bethan an honest answer nonetheless.
“Indeed, he did go to Gaul for an education among the learned men there, but he
spent the first decade of his life with
completely.
~ ~ ~
In and out, out and in.
The bone needle moved surely through the woolen fabric, hemming the edges.
Past forty years of age, the woman known as Cook but whose given name was
Meghyn could sew any garment put into her hands with unconscious deftness. She
could not remember a time when she did not know how to create from fabric, and
now she was glad for the occupation. It took her mind off her beloved
foster-son.
In all fairness, Meghyn
could not believe that the artless Aine meant to ensnare Deoradhan. A girl
could not help being so pretty any more than a boy could avoid his attraction
to such sweet visual nectar. The good Lord had created the fascination between
lads and lasses at the beginning of the world, and He had said ‘twas good. Who
was Meghyn to argue over that with the Lord, much as she hated losing her boy
to another?
But Meghyn’s real
anxiety grew from another root entirely. If Deoradhan’s fondness for Aine had
grown as she suspected, would he marry the girl? Would he bind himself to her
permanently, seeking to satisfy his restlessness with one who was restless
herself?
O Living God, You
know all things, even the end from the beginning. Free my dear boy from his
past. May he have a hope and a future grounded in You alone.
“Cook?”
Meghyn popped her eyes
open. The brown-haired lass from the West Lea stood before her, sewing in
hand. A kind-hearted, hard-working girl this one seemed, though time would
tell if Meghyn judged rightly.
“May I sit with you?”
She patted the empty
spot beside her on the bench. “I’d be glad for the company, Bethan. My
thoughts are a bit gloomy right now, which cannot please the Lord. You may be
a ray of sunshine sent by Him to clear the clouds from my soul, aye?”
Bethan smiled in
response and seated herself. Meghyn saw that she was patching a tunic from the
mending pile that always remained full, regardless of how much work the kitchen
servants put into it. “You went off to the meeting Bricius holds outside the
walls this morning, aye?”
Bethan’s eyes rose to
Meghyn’s face in surprise. “Aye, I did. Deirdre invited me. I hope ‘twas no
inconvenience—”
Meghyn interrupted
quickly to halt the girl’s concern. “Nay, nay. Jesus is my Lord as well,
Bethan. I was glad to see that you met with the others for worship. ‘Tis a
good witness to the others not to forsake the assembling of themselves,
regardless of who occupies the country.” She patted Bethan’s hand in
sincerity. “I would have been among you this morning, but my ankles swelled.”
Bethan examined the
woman’s propped-up feet. Meghyn heard her suck her breath in quickly when she
saw the purpled flesh, bulging with excess fluid. “Cook…” her voice trailed
off, concerned.
Meghyn put a hand to the
girl’s mouth, smiling. “Hush, ‘tis nothing serious. I’ve been doing a bit too
much, ‘tis all. I propped them up and have sewing enough to last me all
afternoon. A body could not ask for more leisure than that.”
Bethan seemed somewhat
satisfied and settled in, picking up her own needlework. “What are you working
on?” she asked.
Meghyn could not keep
her lips from turning up. “’Tis a cloak for my Deoradhan. He’ll need it this
winter as he dashes across all of Logress, bringing messages here and there,”
she said, using the general name for the Pendragon’s acknowledged territory.
Bethan returned the
smile. “Your nephew is a busy lad, isn’t he?”
“Aye, and a brave one.
I brought him up, so I should know.”
“You did?”
Meghyn nodded.
“Calum told me Deoradhan
went to Gaul for his education, though,” Bethan stated, looking confused.
They trod on sticky
territory, Meghyn knew, but she gave Bethan an honest answer nonetheless.
“Indeed, he did go to Gaul for an education among the learned men there, but he
spent the first decade of his life with
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