The blask rood

'B-But -,' I stammered. 'But she will be well. And the child-we were going to -'

'There will be time to speak later,' she said, leading me towards the bed. 'Pluck up your courage, my son, and go to your wife.'

I stepped to the side of the bed and Rhona, her face grey-white with the pallor of death, opened her eyes and smiled weakly. I stared in disbelief. Only a short while ago that same lovely face had been glowing with love and life. How was it possible that such a change could occur so swiftly?

She lifted a finger and motioned me closer. I bent to place my ear near her lips. 'So sorry… my soul,' she said, her voice the merest breath of a whisper. 'I tried to get a son for you…'

'Shh,' I whispered, trying to soothe. 'Rest now. We will talk about it later.'

'I love you,' she said, her lips barely moving. 'Kiss me.'

I pressed my lips to hers-they were dry as husks, and cold.

'Farewell, my heart…,' she sighed.

A tremor passed through her body. I took her hand and clasped it tight. Her breath went out in a long, slow exhalation, and she lay still.

'Farewell,' I said, my throat closing on the word as the tears came. I raised her hand to my lips and held it there. Then I took her in my arms for the last tune. I bent my head and put my face next to hers, and held her close-until I felt my mother's hands on my shoulders, drawing me gently away. I allowed myself to be gathered into my mother's embrace, and we stood for a time, motionless, while she spoke words of comfort and courage to me.

Abbot Emlyn and my father arrived then. The abbot stepped into the room, and discerned instantly what had happened. His round shoulders slumped and his cheerful face dissolved in misery. Murdo rushed to the bedside as if he would command the life back into Rhona's dear body; only when he beheld the stark white skin and her empty upward gaze was he persuaded that there was nothing to be done. He turned to Ragna and me, put his arm on my shoulder.

'Duncan, my son,' he said, drawing me close. 'I am so sorry.'

We three stood there together for a time, our tears flowing freely. Abbot Emlyn stepped forwards and began the rites for the dead. Stretching his hands over the still-warm body, he began chanting-not in Latin, or Greek, but in the ancient and honorable tongue of the Celts-asking the Swift Sure Hand to enfold the soul of my best beloved, and guide her swiftly to her eternal home. Then he folded Rhona's hands over her breast, straightened her limbs, and told the serving-women to find Rhona's finest clothes.

To me, he said, 'God has called his faithful daughter to join him in paradise. Tonight we will sing a lament for the empty place she leaves behind. Tomorrow we will celebrate her life and rejoice in her receiving her justly-earned reward. Look your last upon her, dear friend, and I will return in a little while to take the body away and prepare it for burial.'

I looked at him in dismay. So soon? I thought. Why does it have to be so soon? But I said nothing, merely nodding my assent instead.

Emlyn left, and I turned once more to the bed. Already she seemed more at ease; the pinched tightness of her features had relaxed, and she appeared to be sleeping peacefully. For a fleeting instant my heart leapt up with joy. I felt like shouting, 'See! It has all been a dreadful mistake! She lives! Rhona is with us still.'

But no. Released from the pains of death, her body was taking on something of its natural calm. Stooping over her, I brushed the damp strands of hair from her face and kissed her forehead. 'Go with God, my soul,' I said, straightening. It was then that I saw the small still form beside her; wrapped in swaddling clothes, looking like little more than a lump in the bed, was the tiny body of my son. Dark-haired, his small face clenched like a fist against a world he would never know, he lay beside his mother.

I beheld the body, and felt my own dear mother beside me. 'The little one did not draw breath,' she told me. 'There was nothing to be done.'

I nodded, and rested my hand on his still chest-my hand almost covered his whole body. 'God bless you, my son. May we meet one day in Blessed Jesu's court.'

We waited with the bodies until the monks came to take them away to the monastery. I could not bring myself to accompany them, nor take part in the preparations. Instead, I went down to the sea and walked along the beach until nightfall, and Emlyn sent Brother Padraig to fetch me back to the hall. 'There is food and drink prepared,' he told me, 'and everyone is waiting.'

'No,' I replied harshly. 'Go back and tell them to eat without me.'

'Master Duncan,' he said gently, so mild and compassionate in his reproof I had not the heart to refuse him again, and so allowed myself to be led back to the hall. Upon entering, 1 glanced around quickly and Niniane was the first person I happened to see. She stepped swiftly towards me and folded me into her arms. 'Dear, dear, Duncan,' she sighed. 'I am so sorry… so very sorry.'

I allowed myself to be consoled for a moment, and then asked, 'How is it you are here?'

'I was on my way to the abbey. I arrived in time to help prepare the – her body.'

Lost in my grief, I had not been aware of the comings or goings around me. 'Is Eirik with you?'

She shook her head. 'There was some trouble in Inbhir Ness. The son of a visiting nobleman accidentally killed a local chieftain's son. The clan has sworn a blood oath and the unlucky boy has taken sanctuary at the monastery. Eirik thought it best to stay on until matters were resolved.'

Niniane regarded me sadly. 'Rhona was a good friend to me, and I will try to be as good a friend to you. I will help in any way I can.'

I thanked her kindly, and escorted her to the table where the food was being served. They had saved a place for me at the board beside my mother, who was holding little Gait in her lap. You, dear heart, unaware of the sombre proceedings, held out your hands to me, and wanted me to play with you. But I could not. I merely sat and gazed glumly at your happy little face, deaf to your childish pleadings.

All I could think was that I would gladly change places with my poor dead wife. It was my fault, after all. If I had not been so insistent on having a son, my beloved Rhona would still be alive. I would be sitting next to her; it would be her face, her bright eyes, I was gazing into now; it would be Rhona's hand reaching to take mine.

There was singing that night, but I remember almost nothing of it. Emlyn sang a lament, as I recall, and some of the women of the settlement likewise sang, and Padraig played the harp. But my mind, like my heart, was with my beloved lying cold and alone on her bier in the church, and I drew no consolation from the kindly expressions of those around me.

A more wretched man there never was than myself, that night.

When at last everyone departed for their beds, I left the hall, too; I thrashed around in my empty bed for a time, and at last, unable to rest, I rose and walked the clifftops above the dark, restless sea until morning.

Following the death service in the old wooden church, we buried Rhona in the new churchyard. She would have approved of her final resting place, I think, as there was a plum thicket growing nearby, and she was always fond of plums. I was the last to leave the yard. I knelt a long time by that mound of stones gathered from the beach, wondering how I could go on living when my light, my life, lay under that heap of earth and rock.

The next days brought no solace. I went about my various chores with dull efficiency, a man bereft of all hope and life, seeing no good thing, hearing no kindly word, taking joy in nothing around me. At night, I roamed the clifftops.

My wretched condition persisted until I could bear it no more. One night, with the moon shining full in the yard, I rose and went out. My feet found the familiar path leading down to the shore. Heartsick, weary with grief, I walked down onto the beach, and out into the sea.