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another. I know that such things are the will of God and God’s reasons are beyond our understanding. So I am sinful and rebellious—I have been told that many times—but I still think it cruel and unfair that sorrows be heaped all of a sudden on the head of one who is unaccustomed to their weight. Sorrows, like any other burden, should come small at first and then larger, until one has gained the strength to bear them.
    For me they did not come that way. From the day of my birth, I was petted and pampered, for my brothers might contest against each other but all of them scorned to fight a girl. As an infant and a young child, I was a toy, a beloved plaything, to all the men in my family. Not one came back from his fostering for a visit without bringing to me a new toy or, later, a new ribbon or lace or other ornament. To speak the truth, although I was tall and sturdily made, they all, my father also, watched over me so closely that I sometimes felt I would be smothered under their care. It seemed I could not turn around lest one cry out, “Be careful, you will grow dizzy and fall,” nor walk a straight path lest another take my hand to be sure I would not trip and scrape my knee.
    Among them, they would have made me unable to draw breath without help and spoiled my temper completely, except that even with seven coming and going, my brothers were rarely at home. Papa too was often away, and when he was not he was busy. Thus, my care and upbringing were in my mother’s hands, and Mama would have nothing to do with weakness and willfulness. She saw that my father and brothers would soon ruin me, and as soon as I could walk and talk, she set about teaching me not only all the womanly skills she had but that I was a real person, no weaker and no stupider than my brothers. If Mama bade me carry a message for her and I said I was tired, she sent me five times over the route. If I wept without reason, she whipped me soundly to give me a reason. If I pouted and said a lesson was too hard, she set me two that were harder.
    I learned quickly that I was strong enough and clever enough to do anything. And since I had learned that lesson from Mama when I was very young, my menfolk’s cosseting raised a demon of mischief in me. To say it plainly, I led them all round by their noses, and by setting one against the other and working on their fears for me, I induced them to teach me all kinds of unsuitable things. Papa was the one easiest to wheedle with tears; he taught me to ride a fat, placid pony because I wept and pleaded, but it did not take me long to transfer that knowledge to a swift, rangy mare called Vinaigre for her habit of biting. But she did not bite me, for I brought her sweets, and by the time Papa learned what I had done, I managed her so well he was proud rather than angry.
    Duncan, my eldest brother, taught me to shoot a bow. Malcolm, my second brother, taught me to handle a hawk. Donald, the third, was a great one for women, willing or not; he taught me to use a knife and other ways to defend myself against men. Andrew, who was pledged to the Church, taught me to read and write. Angus let me ride hunting with him—but he was only four years my elder and not as sure that I was as fragile as his older brothers believed. The two youngest, Magnus and Fergus, taught me nothing new, but I honed my skills against theirs and they knew I would not break.
    So my life was full of joy, holy and unholy, until my thirteenth year. I was born in the spring, on May Day, and that day had always been a high festival for my family. If they could, my brothers came from wherever they were to join the celebration, and so five of them did in the year 1129. Five came and four, two with their wives and their children, died.
    I was too sick myself to understand the calamity that had befallen us. When I learned of it, I wept for days and began to sicken again. I remember my father sitting beside me and trying to