The Iron Lance by Stephen R. Lawhead

not often uppermost in my thoughts, it is true. But I did enjoy the Saint John’s feast, and I would be happy to hear Easter Mass at the cathedral—if that is what you wish.”
    Oh, that was well done. He had deftly turned the entire affair into a matter of pleasing his mother. Murdo commended himself on his shrewdness and aplomb.
    His exultation was short-lived, however, for his mother downed her needlework to stare at him—as if unable to determine whether it was indeed her son sitting beside her, or a sly impostor. “As it happens,” she said, “I have already made other plans. We are to spend Eastertide elsewhere.”
    Murdo felt his heart sink. After all his cunning and careful planning, he was not to go to the cathedral at all. In desperation he said, “Yet the cathedral is a splendid sight on Easter—what with all the gold and finery. Could we not hear the mass, at least, before chasing off somewhere else? I do so like it there.”
    Lady Niamh frowned and shook her head. “You are a wonder. I had no idea you held such strong opinions on the matter.” She paused, considering what to do. After a moment, she said,“Honestly, I wish you had spoken sooner, Murdo. Lady Ragnhild has invited us to join them, and I have accepted. I do not see how I can tell her that we will not come after all—they will have made many preparations for us.” She paused again. “But, if you are determined, we might—”
    â€œLady Ragnhild—wife of Lord Brusi…” Murdo interrupted quickly.
    â€œYes, the same—and if you tell me you cannot remember them, Murdo, I will thump you with a broom.”
    â€œI remember them right well,” Murdo replied truthfully. “But I do not recall seeing a messenger hereabouts.”
    â€œMessenger? Whatever do you mean? There was never any messenger.”
    â€œThen how—?”
    His mother regarded him with frank exasperation and clucked her tongue. “Ragnhild herself invited us at the Feast of Saint John. She knew we would be alone—as she would be herself—with the menfolk gone on pilgrimage. I told her we would be honored and delighted to observe the holy days with them.”
    Murdo, adopting a philosophical air, replied, “Well, I am never one to disappoint a body. In light of all the preparations the good lady will have made on our behalf, it would ill behove us to spurn an invitation already accepted. I fear we shall have to make the best of it.” He sighed heavily to show that, though his sentiments were firmly elsewhere, he was nevertheless capable of sacrificing his own happiness for that of others.
    â€œThe things you say, Murdo,” Niamh said, shaking her head slowly. “One would almost believe you had another purpose in mind.”
    â€œMy only wish is to please you, Mother,” Murdo replied, trying to sound hurt and dignified at the same time. “Is that wrong?”
    Lady Niamh rolled a skeptical eye at him and took up her needlework once more. Murdo turned his attention to the knife in his hand with what he considered an attitude of silent forbearance, all the time hoping against hope that his mother would overlook his ill-timed insistence on attending mass in Kirkjuvágr, now the last place he wanted to go.
    â€œThen it is settled,” Niamh mused after a time. “We shall go to Cnoc Carrach as we have planned.” She paused, thinking of the impending visit. “It will be good to spend a few days with Ragnhild again; it’s a long time since we stayed with one another.”
    Murdo, feeling he had said more than enough, wisely kept his mouth shut, as if accepting his mother’s final decree. That night he lay awake imagining what he would say to Ragna when he saw her, and wondering whether some sort of gift might be required for the occasion. He determined to give the matter serious consideration, and fell asleep dreaming of her