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 at 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.