by Alisa Adams
“You’re such a good girl,” he said, reaching over to take her hand. “I don’t deserve a daughter like you.”
“Nonsense, Father!” She picked his hand up and kissed it. “It’s I who don’t deserve you. I love you.”
“I love you too.” He smiled at her sweetly and disengaged his hand from hers.
A few seconds later, as if in slow motion, Ruaridh slumped forward in the saddle and fell off his horse. His head hit the stony ground with a sickening thump. Davina slid off Daisy in a fraction of a second and bent over the limp figure of her father. His head was thrown back at an odd angle and as she put a hand in front of his mouth she realized that he was not breathing.
He was dead, and she shook her head in disbelief. This was her father. He could not be dead! Not her father! She pulled him up and shook him.
“Live, Father, wake up, wake up!” she begged, but his body was limp and his head lolled back on its broken neck. She threw back her head and howled. “No!” she screamed. She stood up and looked down at him, wondering what she should do. Eventually, she leaped onto Daisy again and spurred her into a gallop.
When they got to the castle they skidded to a stop and she dismounted then ran inside, screaming for her mother. Una came running down the stairs and Davina threw herself into her arms.
“Father’s gone,” Davina wailed, “he fell off the horse and hit his head on the ground. I could do nothing.”
Una took her by the shoulders and hugged her tightly. To Davina’s surprise, she was quite calm. “I knew something was wrong,” she said softly.
Davina was crying uncontrollably. Una stood holding her for a while longer, then gently pushed her away. “We have to go and retrieve his body,” Una said softly. There were unshed tears in her eyes, but she would not let them fall. “Did he say anything to you? Any last words?”
“He told me he loved me,” Davina replied, still sobbing.
Una nodded and smiled. “Thank God,” she whispered breathily, “his last words were so typical of him. He is - was - a very loving man. What am I going to do without him?” She paused for a moment then visibly pulled herself together, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. “I’m going to get a cart, but I am riding out to see him, to make sure they are gentle with him. Do not come with me. I need to be by myself for a few minutes.”
Davina nodded, then watched as her mother went outside and began to organize the transport of her husband’s body back to the castle. She dragged herself upstairs, threw herself on her bed and sobbed her heart out. She remembered days on the beach with him when they would pick over the sand for seashells then take them home and put them in clay bowls. They would skiff flat stones across the surface of the waves and see whose would go the farthest.
There were nights in front of a log fire when he sat her on his lap and held her tightly, singing to her and rocking her to sleep. She remembered his smell, a spicy oil that he used to rub on his face and cheeks, a faint odor of sweat and another smell that was just him—just her father. It was unbelievable that she would never see him again.
Then she had another thought. What had killed him? What had made him so sick the night before? And what had caused him to lose consciousness and break his neck? Oh, Nanny, she thought sorrowfully, I wish you were here to help me.
She sat up and wiped her eyes. She could hear the wheels of the cart and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves. She went downstairs slowly, dreading what she would see yet knowing that she had to see it. Her mother was standing by the cart praying and weeping, and the servants were gathering around it, many of them crying too. They made way for Davina so that she could stand beside Una and she put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. The body was covered in a blanket and after a few moments, Davina drew it back to reveal her father’s face. He looked calm and serene.
“Look, Mother,” she said, trying to sound comforting although her heart was breaking. “See how peaceful he looks. He is with God now in Paradise, happier than we ever will be on this earth, and we will see him again.”
Una nodded, smiling through her tears. Davina kissed his cold lips softly and Una did likewise, then Davina led them all in prayer.
“Lord God,” she began, “you have called your servant Ruaridh home to be with you. We who love him and are left behind mourn his loss, but although we are saddened by his death we know it is your will, and your purposes are beyond our understanding. Please comfort us in our time of sorrow and help us to bear it until we are reunited in Heaven. In your holy name, Amen.”
They all chorused ‘Amen’ and four of the male servants picked up the body and carried it upstairs to his bedroom, where they laid him gently on the bed. Una and Davina sat beside him for a while, each taking one of his cold hands in their warm ones.
They said nothing, just looked for a long time at his still white face. There was a little blood on the blanket under his head, but Una hardly noticed it. She would keep the bloody blanket, she decided, because there was a tiny part of her husband on it.
“He had such bright blue eyes,” Una mused, smiling and running a hand over his white-streaked hair. “When I met him, I was completely overwhelmed by his piercing gaze. He had beautiful eyes and the way he used to look at me…" She shook her head and buried her face in her hands.
Davina sighed and stood up. “Has anyone sent for the priest?” she asked. “We need to organize his funeral.”
Una nodded, let go of Ruaridh’s hand and followed Davina to the door. She gave him one loving backward glance then closed the door softly behind her.
12
The Aftermath
Father Anthony was one of the few priests in the Sutherland region that anyone actually liked. Unlike many of his colleagues, he had a happy disposition and was the perfect shoulder to cry on for grieving relatives. Both Davina and Una had a lot of respect and affection for him, and just the sight of his face helped them enormously.
“Lady Una, Mistress Davina.” He bowed to them, kissed their hands then looked into their faces with his clear gray eyes. “I am so sorry for your loss. The laird was a good soul and I am sure that he is with God as we speak.”
“Thank you, Father,” Davina replied, “his body is resting upstairs in his own bed.”
“We will pray for him,” Father Anthony said kindly, “and then, dear ladies, you must eat.”
Davina frowned. “Eat, Father?” she asked, puzzled. “Why? We cannot eat at a time like this!”
He shrugged. “My ladies,” he replied, “I have no idea how it works, but eating something like bread or porridge soothes a person in times like this. God works in strange ways, as you know.”
“We will do as you say, Father.” Davina frowned at him, although, it seemed like very strange advice.
They went into the room where Ruaridh was laying and Father Anthony looked at him for a long moment. He made a sign of the cross on Ruaridh’s forehead then took out his purple stole and draped it around his neck. Afterward, he made a sign of the cross and began to chant the Extreme Unction prayers in Latin.
Then Father Anthony did something that was completely against the rules but was one of the reasons why they loved him so much. He prayed in English. “Into your hands, O Lord, we trustfully send our brother Ruaridh, beloved father of Davina and husband of Una. In this life, you surrounded him with your fatherly love and we pray that you hold him in your tender embrace for ever and ever, Amen.”
They all stood with bowed heads for a moment, then Una led them downstairs to where some of the local women were waiting to lay out the body. They all wore black, curtsied to Una and Davina, and expressed their sympathies, then silently went upstairs to do their work.
Una and Davina went into the dining room to partake of the simplest meal Davina had ever eaten: bannocks and milk. Davina had not realized how hungry she was, so she tried not to tear great mouthfuls of the bread, but to eat slowly and moderately. She had been developing a headache, but suddenly she realized it had gone
. After they had eaten the bread, she ordered some apples and they sat, chatting comfortably about Ruaridh and all the good memories they had of him until it was time for Father Anthony to go.
“One thing,” he said, wagging a finger at them. “Do not stop talking about Ruaridh. Treasure his memory. Take it out every day and look at it. Never let a day go by without thinking about him.”
“No, Father,” Una said. “We will not. Thank you very much.”
“God bless you.” He smiled at them, mounted his horse, and was gone.
They turned and went inside again to meet the laying-out women coming down the stairs. Davina handed them a generous sum of money for their services and bade them go to the kitchen for something to eat. They left, smiling happily at her generosity. When they went upstairs again the body had been washed and wrapped in winding sheets. A window had been opened to allow Ruaridh’s soul to escape from the room.
The kitchen staff were baking bread and making stews, pies, soups, custards, and other sustaining food for the wake. The news of a death always traveled like wildfire and, for the death of a dignitary like a laird, hundreds of mourners were expected. The body would lie for two nights and during that time the mourners would come and pay their respects.
Ruaridh’s faithful old mastiff Bernard was brought in to see his master for the last time. He sniffed around the bed for a while, trying to wake Ruaridh up, then began to whine. He whined and howled all day and refused to eat. Davina felt desperately sorry for him and tried to coax him with pieces of liver, chicken, and oxtail, all of which he normally loved. However, the big dog only knew that his master had gone, and he could not understand where or why. A week later he would be found dead in his kennel, and though everyone said it was old age, Davina knew he had died of a broken heart.
As soon as Father Anthony had gone, Athol came galloping in through the gates, his face white. He asked for Davina and was shown into a small parlor just off the great hall. “Is it true?” he asked urgently. She had been sitting gazing into the fire, but she looked up when she saw him and nodded. Her face was streaked with tears.
He knelt on one knee in front of her and pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Davina. He was among the best of men. What happened?” His voice was soft and comforting. The feeling of his arms around her was like balm on an open wound. However, at that moment she would have welcomed any arms around her, anybody close to hers.
“He came home from Lyle’s party last night feeling quite ill,” she replied, “he was sick a few times and had a fever, but this morning he seemed to be much better. We went out riding - Mother made me go with him - and he told me he loved me. It was the very last thing he said. Then he swayed in his saddle and fell off his horse. I heard his neck break. It was—” She dissolved into tears, sobbing into his shoulder.
“Shh... Don’t think about it anymore,” he said huskily. He felt a little like crying himself. “Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?”
She raised her head and looked at him, smiling through her tears. “Go up and speak to Mother,” she replied, “she’s with Father’s body. She will be glad to see you.”
He stood up, but she caught his hand as he turned to go.
“Thank you, my friend,” she said, smiling. He smiled back, thinking about the harsh words they had exchanged before. She was so good, and for the first time ever, as he watched her walk away, he felt regretful that he had not made more of an effort to get to know her. She was a gentle soul, and would make a good and dutiful wife, he thought. But there was no physical attraction from his side and she seemed to have lost her desire for him if she had ever had any. But something bothered him about their little exchange and it stayed at the back of his mind for a long while.
He knocked the door, and when Una bade him enter he went in quietly. The bed was surrounded by candles and by their flickering golden light he could see that her face was also shining with tears. For a moment, he could say nothing, then he went across the room, bowed over her hand and kissed it. She smiled at him through her tears.
“Milady,” he said gently, “I am so sorry for your loss. The laird was a fine man.”
“Thank you, Athol,” she said, wiping her eyes.
“Davina told me what happened.”
“I am so glad it was quick,” Una said, walking to the window. “I couldn’t have endured the thought of him suffering.”
Athol watched her profile silhouetted against the darkening sky. She was still a beautiful woman. He had no doubt that after a respectable period of mourning men would be swarming around her like bees to a honeypot, but he knew she would refuse every offer. Ruaridh had been the love of her life.
“Why is the window open?” he asked, although he knew the answer. “It is so cold!”
* * *
“You are trying to distract me!” She laughed sadly. “One of the servants has gone to tell the bees about the death and tie black ribbons to all the castle’s beehives. They put this dish of salt here.” She indicated Ruaridh’s chest. “To keep evil spirits away. They opened the window to let his soul out and we can’t leave him alone for fear that the Devil will come and possess him or he will wake up again. I have just been told that everyone must touch him or they will be tormented by bad dreams for a week. Such superstitions!”
“They comfort people at a time like this,” Athol said mildly, but he touched Ruaridh’s leg anyway. He stood up. “Milady, I will come back tomorrow, unless you need my help with anything. You will have dozens of mourners here any moment now and you do not need me underfoot too. I will tell my parents the news and I am sure they will be here soon, or we will all be back on the morrow. I hope they all let you and Davina get some sleep tonight.” His voice was concerned.
“I am not above throwing everyone out of the door, Athol,” she replied, “I am not as weak as I look.”
He smiled, but it disappeared as soon as the door closed behind him. The Andersons had been his family’s close friends for a very, very long time, and Ruaridh had been a fit and healthy man. But there were many diseases that could strike a man down in his prime; he could name smallpox, tuberculosis, measles, diphtheria and a host of others. He found Davina sitting in the same place as before, nursing a goblet of wine. She offered him a glass and he accepted it before sitting down beside her.
“I think you should rest for a while,” he said, reaching out to hold her hand. “The wake will be starting soon.” Unexpectedly, he found himself wanting to kiss her.
“Thank you for your concern,” she replied, “but I think it’s too late.” She nodded toward the big main door, from where the sound of horses’ hooves could be heard approaching.
Fortunately, the first person to arrive was Lyle and he came hurrying through the door, a horrified, incredulous expression on his face. “I have just heard!” he cried, “Davina, are you alright?” He strode across the hallway and knelt down in front of her, grabbing her hands. His usually calm gray eyes looked into hers intensely and he looked extremely distressed.
“I have had much better days than this, Lyle,” she said and smiled sadly. “But I am still fine, and thank you for your concern.”
“I am so very, very sorry,” he said sincerely, “how is your mother coping?”
“She is upstairs and the door is open,” she replied, “she is with my father’s body. Go and see her.”
Lyle stood up then looked at Athol. “I can’t believe it,” he said incredulously, “I saw him only yesterday. Do you think it could have been something he ate at my house?”
He did not wait for an answer, but walked away and went slowly upstairs, dreading his coming encounter. He knocked softly and went inside. Una was standing by the open window, looking out at the darkening sky and watching more horses coming into the courtyard. She looked around as she heard him.
“Milady,” his voice was soft and sad, “I am so very sorry.” He looked over at the body on the bed. “Do you… Do you think it could have been something he ate a
t my house?”
Una went across the room and cupped her hands around his tortured face. “Lyle, my dear,” her voice was soft. “It could have been anything, and there is no way to tell what killed him. Be at ease—it was not your fault.”
He nodded slowly, relief plainly showing on his face. “I wish I could help in some way.” He looked out of the window. “You have many mourners on the way, milady. He was a much-loved man.”
“Yes,” she said grimly, “I’m afraid you are right, Lyle.” She stood up and squared her shoulders as the first of a long procession of people came through the main gate of the castle. It was going to be a long night.
13
The Funeral
The wake was an ordeal, but at last, it was finished. Una and Davina were exhausted, but there was one day’s rest before the funeral so that they would have a chance to sleep. Both of them, after two nights of wakefulness with only snatches of sleep here and there, fell into bed in the morning and slept till dawn the next day.
Maura had been at the wake. She had been wearing black, and its darkness brought out the dramatic color of her bright auburn hair so that she looked like an exotic flower. There were many redheads in Scotland, but few as uncommonly beautiful as Maura McKay. She knew it and was using her attractiveness to its best advantage since it was her most powerful weapon.
She looked around the room to find Davina and was pleased to see her standing on her own by the door. She looked so sad that Maura almost felt sorry for her. Almost, but not quite. Empathy was not in Maura’s nature. She went up to Davina and curtsied, a look of concern on her face.
“Mistress Anderson,” she said anxiously, “you do not look at all well. Are you feeling ill?”
“Mistress McKay,” Davina replied and attempted a smile. “I am missing him already, but I will cope. My mother and I have each other.”
