He had foolishly sought out Creidne, hoping the old hag would soothe his conscience. He found her out on the battlements, crouching in a scouring wind, though she did not seem to feel it. She was muttering to herself and tossing stones onto the ground.
‘Why have you come in all your pomp?’ she said.
He had dressed well for his handfasting in the Glendenning plaid of blue, but now he felt foolish for bothering. ‘I would knowwho stalks me, old woman. There is a plot afoot. I can feel it. Which laird stabs at my back?’
‘It is not clear, but I see a stranger? Black of soul, he is and vengeful. There is an air of otherness about him, no light in his soul. And I see a soft hand touch him on the shoulder, guiding him.’
‘By all that is holy, what does that mean?’
‘You should look for a black shadow moving against you. I see great danger.’ She began to rock back and forth, her eyes rolling back in her head. The hairs stood up on Jasper’s neck. ‘Death is coming - a fire of wrath consuming us all. It burns from Cumbria to the Marches.’
The woman spoke in riddles, yet there always turned out to be a kernel of truth in her strange visions.
Criedne let out a huge sigh as if expelling some foulness from her soul. ‘Should you not be attending to your new wife?’ she croaked.
‘I have not yet wed.’
‘I thought you were running headlong towards doom, like a deer to the hunter’s bow,’ she said.
‘Do not talk in riddles, woman. How could Rowenna be my doom?’
‘That is the wrong question. You should be asking, ‘Is this woman the one for me, doom or no doom?’
‘Aye, she is, if she will have me.’
‘Since when do you ask permission, Laird?’
‘I would not force the lass. I would find a different path.’
‘So you haven’t had her?’ Her eyes widened.
He had not been able to stop thinking about having Rowenna - the velvet feel of her skin, the silky slide of that glorious hair through his fingers, the clinging warmth of sinking into her, deep, hard. Creidne’s gaze pierced him as if she could burrow into his head and see his unholy thoughts, his lechery.
‘No, I have not had her,’ he snapped. ‘The lass is not yet willing.’ There, he had said it. ‘But I must consummate the handfasting, or she will not belong to me in the eyes of God and the law.’
‘She will never belong to you or anyone,’ sneered the old woman. ‘This one is stout of heart, stubborn with it. You must win her, yet you seek only to own her. You have denied the love in your heart.’
‘There is no love in my heart.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Then I pity the poor lass her wedding night. She will suffer, wed to you.’
‘Then what would you have me do?’
‘Be as gentle as your nature will allow. Hide the beast within that would claw at her and break her spirit.’
Jasper stared down at the old crone. ‘Why do I come here when all your pebbles and mutterings mean nothing – just superstitious nonsense?’
‘You come because I speak the truth when no one else will. There are many ways to fight for what you want, Jasper Glendenning, and not all involve violence.’
Leaving Criedne with a heavy heart and cursing his folly in seeking her out, Jasper rushed to the family kirk and sent for Rowenna in a fit of impatience. He stood, cooling his heels with the priest, who kept coughing and swallowing loudly.
‘Can you stop that?’ he snapped.
‘Forgive me, Laird. An irritation of the windpipe. It cannot be helped.’
‘Aye, it can. I can slit your throat. How would you like that?’
The man’s mouth fell open in horror.
