Page 89 of The Changeling

Mam sat in silence, her hands limp in her lap. Her fair hair hung down over her face. Then, strangely, she laughed. ‘He has always wanted me.’

I looked at her questioningly.

‘Lord Snot.’ She laughed again. ‘Bless Nan, she knew what he was.’

‘What are you going to do?’

Mam smiled and shrugged. ‘Give myself to him.’

We begged her to stay with us, but she was adamant. ‘He hates me because he’s never been able to have me, and he’s a man that must always have his way. He thinks it is me the Regent wants dead, and so he will gain the earl’s favour at the same time as having his revenge upon me. He doesna care about you lassies. You can stay hidden while they’re busy with me.’

‘But he’ll kill you!’

‘Maybe no’. If you can keep Nan’s cunning bag safe, they’ll have no proof.’

So Sorcha and I sobbed in each other’s arms as our mam went down to the meadows and stood where she could be seen. Cupping her mouth with her hands, she called, ‘My lord! You want me? Come and get me!’

The sound of galloping hooves. A scream.

It was unbearable not knowing what was happening. Sorcha put her hands over her ears and wept, but I went out and stood on the hillside, trying to see.

A raven with a crippled foot flew down and perched by my head.

‘Rue,’ he croaked.

‘You!’ I cried.

‘Aye.’ He spread his wings and bowed his head.

‘Who are you? What do you want with me?’

‘Fly high?’

I knew at once what he meant. I nodded, shook off the husk of my body, slipped into the raven’s, and soared into the sky.

IV

Bitterness and Darkness

The cloud was clearing, the rain blowing away. I could see the whole valley below me. Lord Patrick held Mam before him on his horse, galloping towards the church. A great crowd of men followed him, some on horseback, some on foot, with dogs streaming ahead in full voice.

Lord Patrick dismounted and dragged Mam down from the saddle, and towards the church. I flew down and perched on one of the yew trees as Mam was brought in through the gate, her wrists bound. Lord Patrick snapped an iron collar about her neck, so that she was chained to the church wall. He seized her hair and bent her head back so he could see her face. She looked up at him defiantly, and he struck her. Blood trickled down from her nose.

‘So, Caitlín, not so haughty now.’

‘I dinna believe I ever made you free of my name, sir,’ Mam answered. ‘You may call me Mistress NicNeven.’

Lord Patrick had a knife in his hand. He used its sharp tip to tilt up her chin. ‘This knife belongs to George Graham of Inchbrakie, as you can see by the crest on its handle. We found it on your doorstep. How did you come by it?’

‘I dinna ken,’ she answered. ‘Perhaps you brought it yourself.’

It seemed as if she had no fear.

‘Why would I do such a thing?’

‘Perhaps to have something to accuse me with. For you have long wanted to do me harm, but have never before been given the chance.’

He must have pressed in the knife tip, for blood began to trickle down her throat.