Burnt Offerings by Danielle Devlin

Author:Danielle Devlin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Birlinn

* * *

I was being shaken gently awake. My head felt full of sawdust as it lolled between my knees. A wave of nausea rolled through me, through both of us, but the movement was unmistakeable. I’m here, Mother. I’m here.

Greased torches flickered against the breeze as it moved through the barely lit corridor, chilling my burnt skin as it swirled between my body and the granite at the bottom of the stairwell. The breath from my lungs hitched with every inhale against the pain in my ribs. They felt as though they’d crumble to ash beneath my scorched skin.

Thomas held my hand in his, tracing the lines of my fingers, whispering softly. When he caught the movement of my head, he pressed a flask against my lips; the bitter smell of the liquor made my stomach heave, but I drank it greedily.

‘I’m sorry, Besse,’ Thomas whispered, fastening the lid on the flask.

My head swam. I shoved his hands away, nausea replaced by repulsion. I told him I was pregnant. I began to inwardly seethe. He may as well have hit me himself.

‘How could y––’ I vomited mid-sentence.

‘I didnae want tae hurt ye.’ He touched my shoulder, making me flinch. ‘I woulna—’

‘No?’ I said forcefully, shaking it off. ‘But you did.’

He took a step back. ‘When you fainted, I begged him tae let me take you back to yer cell. I said he’d get no more from you in such a state.’

‘I didnae ken you needed a map tae find yer way?’ I heaved again, but there was nothing left. ‘Where are we?’

‘The other stairwell. I thought I’d better see you right first. Didnae fancy taking you back to Agnes as you were. I still remember havin’ my heid clouted by her; that woman has hands like broad shovels.’ His hand shot to his head at the memory.

It was so easy to remember. To slip back to how we were all those years ago. His eyes settled on my stomach.

‘Are you . . . Is it alright?’

‘Aye, no thanks tae you.’

‘There was nought more I could do.’ His voice cracked, pleading.

You could have stopped him.

I cradled my right hand and tentatively moved my fingers. Blood oozed from the open wound around my little finger, which hung limply from the socket. I tore at my filthy underskirt, pulling a length of material and wrapping it shakily around my hand.

‘I dinnae think I’ll be knitting any socks fir a wee while.’ I could feel the sting of old tears on my cheeks, my voice about to crack.

‘Never mind socks, someone needs tae be mendin’ yer dress,’ he said, assessing the back, which gaped open. He tried his best to tuck it in, being mindful of my painful burns.

‘A man that can mend a dress. Yer wife must be proud.’

Thomas knitted his brows together. ‘Ach, no wife, but a man who cannae darn his own socks ends up wi’ very wet feet.’ He stepped back and took in my appearance. ‘I’m sorry, Besse, but I’ll have tae take you back before anyone starts askin’ questions.

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