The Prodigal Son by Anna Belfrage Page A

remonstrate with him, but instead she got to her feet and left the room. She called for her children, promising that tonight she would begin a new exiting story, the story of four children and a lion, but only if all of them behaved and hurried into bed.
    From where he sat he heard Ian and Mark argue loudly over who should sleep in the middle, and Jacob began to cry, with a muffled “Rachel!” making it clear who had been the culprit.
    Around him the house settled into the November night and he made his final rounds, locked the doors and bade his sister a goodnight before entering his bedchamber. He undressed, shivering in the clammy cold of the sheets, and lay waiting for his wife. She never came. He heard her hesitating by their door and then there was the soft creak of the stairs, a sudden banging of the door. Matthew exhaled and rolled out of bed.
    He knew where she’d be. Whenever Alex needed a few moments of solitude, she made a beeline for the hill. On occasion she’d spend hours there, staring out across the moor. Thinking, she’d say, I was just thinking. But why now, in the dark and the wet? Matthew cursed as he made his way through the woods. What was the stupid woman thinking of, to go rushing off into the night?
    At one point he considered turning round and going back to the house, but now he was both wide awake and wet, so he pushed on, promising Alex Graham she’d have a lot to make up for once he got her back home.
    He was breathing heavily by the time he made it to the top to see her silhouetted against the night, black against a lighter shade of black. He joined her and stood beside her, waiting. Alex was shivering with cold, her arms crossed over her chest. He put an arm around her and drew her towards him, wrapping his cloak round them both. She rested her head against him and from her irregular breathing he realised she was weeping.
    “Alex? Ah, no, lass, don’t cry.” He couldn’t see her properly, but managed to find her face with his hand, his thumb wiping at her eyes. “There’s no need to cry, I’m here.”
    “For now,” she sniffled. “But not for much longer.”
    “You don’t know that,” he said, feeling her stiffen against him.
    “They’ll insist that you take that oath – particularly as you haven’t exactly been discreet these last few years regarding your convictions. And if you don’t, God knows what they’ll do to you. You’re all I have, Matthew. I have no one else but you in this time, and still you’re willing to put your life at risk for some bloody high-minded principle.”
    Matthew remained silent, but she seemed to have run out of things to say, at least for now.
    “Some things are worth fighting for, lass.”
    She tore herself free and backed away. “Is that what you want me to tell your children as we walk by your displayed head? Do you think it will comfort me as I lie alone to know you died for your beliefs?”
    “It won’t come to that,” he said.
    “No? How do you know? And if they catch you with Sandy on the moss, then what? Or if they come upon you with blood on your sword after a night out helping your friends?”
    “I haven’t…”
    “Don’t lie to me!” she yelled. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t notice when you clean your sword?” She shook her head at him. “Every night you go out on that moor you’re taking a risk – a huge risk.”
    “I have to help as I can,” he said, “they’re my brethren, my friends, and…”
    “But what about our children – what about me? Am I not worth something to you as well?” Her voice cracked on the last few words.
    “How can you ask me that? Of course you are, I love you – all of you,” he said.
    “But not enough to swear the oath that will buy us all some safety, right?”
    Matthew hitched his shoulders. It was a matter between him and God, and Sandy had clarified what it was he would be doing if he swore the oath with the express purpose of breaking it…
    “Go