The Fire in the Flint (15 page)

‘Boy! Have you seen Dame Margaret?’ the moon-faced servant asked, though Margaret had noticed how he boldly looked from one to the other.

‘Did your previous master accept discourtesy?’ she asked.

‘Forgive me – I do not see so well in the dark.’

Hal grunted. Margaret touched his hand.

‘Nevertheless, turn round while I lift my skirts to climb down.’ To Hal she whispered, ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’

Once on the ground, she ignored Aylmer and went straight to her chamber. He followed, but stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She felt him watching her.

Roger was dozing on the bed.

‘What was of such importance?’ she demanded.

Waking, he joined her at the small table in their chamber, where she had already helped herself from a flagon of wine. He swore he had not sent for her, and filled his own cup with an impatience that sent wine splashing on his shirt.

‘We’ve no time to launder that,’ Margaret warned.

‘It doesn’t matter, Maggie. What does matter is that I did not send Aylmer to fetch you. How dare he insinuate … I knew where you were, I know of your friendship with the groom. I’ll speak with him in the morning. Christ, I should have found my own man.’

‘You could hardly have refused such a gift from your lord,’ Margaret noted.

Roger nodded absently. ‘He’s not to my liking, and I sensed it from the first.’ He leaned over and tucked a stray hair into her veil, his hand lingering on her cheek. ‘I pray you, forgive me for this
afternoon. I kept hoping that you would recall something more.’

‘Perhaps you’ve been too long away from gentle companions, ones who mean you no harm.’ Roger’s fury at Aylmer had cooled Margaret’s own anger. She touched his cheek in turn. ‘Let us leave Longshanks and the troubles outside the door tonight.’

Roger caught her hand and kissed the palm.

Recalling James’s earlier kiss, Margaret blushed, thinking how much like this kiss it had seemed. And both times it was she who had proffered her hand.

Roger pushed away from the table and rose to bolt the door. ‘The English and all the world but you and I are locked out, I swear.’ He leaned down and scooped her up in his arms. ‘I love you, Maggie Kerr. I pray you never doubt me again.’

She felt light-headed as he carried her to the bed. Tonight he was all gentleness and consideration. Margaret felt deliciously wanton, and luxuriated in the role. Much later she fell asleep satisfied.

James was puzzled. It was noon of the day Roger Sinclair meant to depart and he had not come to James about replacements for his horses. Surely Murdoch would have mentioned that James kept a well-guarded stable in the countryside. He’d expected Sinclair and his manservant to come to
him about a trade, and when James sent them away that they would resort to thieving. But they had not come. It made James uneasy to be so wrong about Sinclair’s behaviour. If the Bruce were supplying reinforcements, if Sinclair had access to horses gathered for the cause, then this was no personal journey on which he was embarking. James recalled Margaret’s concern that it was a trap.

What did Sinclair want? He was rushing Margaret to Perth. That meant he was not hoping to spy on her work for Balliol, because he would best do that here. He might know Wallace was at Kinclaven, but Margaret could not ride there alone, and she would never be such a fool as to accept Sinclair or his man as an escort. It was possible that James was quite wrong about Sinclair’s motives; the man might be dipping his hand into his lord’s purse to mend his marriage.

But that was the behaviour of a desperate man, and Sinclair did not seem desperate.

Perhaps his goal was the same as James’s – to speak to Christiana MacFarlane, the seer. If James told Margaret he suspected this, she might confront Sinclair. Such a confrontation might prove interesting, even entertaining, but James saw no potential for gain in it. In any case, as a cohort he should share his thoughts with Margaret. Though they might make her feel newly betrayed she should be warned. He sent his man with a message
for her, if he could deliver it discreetly, that his master had something important to tell her, and to come if she could, or send word where he might find her.

Margaret and Roger walked along a cow path that wound through the countryside south of the town. For a while now she had felt a constriction in her chest that made breathing difficult, slowing her. The early afternoon sun beat down on them, and the crag along which Edinburgh stretched was blocking the breezes from the firth. Margaret’s obsession was that in packing she had forgotten something of great importance, something that might make the difference between life and death on the journey. She tried to recall all that she and Celia had planned.

Roger had paused to look back at her. ‘Why such a frown?’ Sunlight picked out the grey strands in his hair as he took off his cap and used it to blot the sweat from the back of his neck. ‘Is it the heat? We’ll soon have the wind off the loch to cool us.’

‘You gave me little chance to say a proper farewell to Janet and forced me to abandon Celia on such a busy day. Shame on you, Roger Sinclair. You’ve reverted to the tyrant I believed you’d left behind.’ She turned away from him, hiding tears.

‘I did it for you, Maggie. I could see how you were dreading tonight, and so I schemed to steal
away with you so that we might enjoy the day, just the two of us, before we join the others.’

‘There was yet much to do.’

‘Celia seems able, as is Aylmer. My condemnation of his behaviour last evening has made him have more care with me. They are our servants, Maggie.’

‘I cannot help my worry.’

Margaret had gone to Janet Webster’s house, at her request, to say farewell but mostly hoping to be reassured that her uncle would be left in loving hands.

‘What a woebegone countenance I see,’ Janet had said. ‘Aren’t you happy to have Roger by your side? You came here all those many months ago searching for him, fearing he might be in a grave you’d never see.’

‘God has smiled down on me, Janet, and I am grateful. My grief is in leaving all of you. You’ve been a good friend to me. Uncle, Hal, Father Francis, Roy and Geordie …’

‘And the Comyn?’ Janet had turned away from her loom and quirked an eyebrow at Margaret.

‘Yes, I don’t deny it. But not for the reason you’re suggesting.’

Janet waggled her head and picked up the shuttle. ‘You’re young, Maggie, and you have a taste for the company of men, and they you. It is nothing to blush about.’

Margaret changed the subject. ‘Roger has asked
over and over about how Old Will’s Bess died. He’s disappointed that I have only the barest details of the accident.’

‘You’re fishing for gossip?’ Janet continued to work the shuttle across the cloth. ‘For shame, Maggie!’ A dimple in her cheek reassured Margaret that her friend was teasing.

‘I’m not proud of it, but he is so curious.’

‘Why?’

‘He says he’s looking for anything that might explain what happened the night Old Will died.’

‘He
says
. What do you think?’

‘It’s no secret that I have much to learn about my husband. But he has me wanting to hear more about what happened to Bess.’ Margaret laughed self-consciously, though it was true. She told Janet what she knew of the tragedy.

‘There’s little more to know, it being only the two of them on Arthur’s Seat. What folk suspected was more interesting. Bess was much younger than Will was, so there was talk of his pushing her in a jealous fit. Most of us could not believe he’d do that, so in love with her as he was. And she with him, if you ask me. He was a vigorous man with a heavenly voice, no matter his age. When they sang together …’ Janet shook her head. ‘It was a blessed thing to hear.’

‘So it was an accident.’

‘I say so. Unless they were not as they seemed.’ Janet used the weaving sword to pat down the weft
along the warp. ‘I often wonder about the children. They were lovely bairns. It was fortunate that kin came at once, took them in, but to lose both parents so.’ She sighed. ‘It must have changed them.’

‘The kin came at once? Before Old Will woke?’

Janet shook a teasing finger at Margaret. ‘You’ll find no guilt with them. His sister sat with him throughout his faint, and tried to arrange things so he might have the children with him. But he dived into a bowl of ale and went into rages whenever someone poured him out.’ She wiped her hands, set the shuttle in the wool. ‘Would you like to see Tess’s wean?’ She was very attached to her first grandchild. ‘They’re in the kitchen.’

It was while they’d been playing with the baby that Roger came for Margaret.

‘I’ll take good care of your uncle,’ Janet had said as she hugged Margaret. ‘And I’ll pray for you.’

At least Margaret need not worry about Uncle Murdoch. In fact Roger’s explanation of why he’d interrupted her preparations to bring her out at midday had cheered her enough that she’d begun to look about her. It
was
good to be out in the countryside in such fine weather, alone with the husband she had yearned for.

‘Here we join the loch path,’ Roger said, sounding gay and relaxed. The path forked, one following along the north and one the south side of Burgh Loch. Roger led them south.

Margaret lifted her chin and smiled. ‘A blessed
breeze.’ A welcome coolness kissed her hot forehead.

Roger glanced back. ‘Do you forgive me?’

‘I think I must.’ Margaret caught up with Roger and slipped her hand in his. ‘I cannot fault your intention.’

She led him to a warm rock on which they sat arm in arm. In time they turned to one another and kissed long and passionately, and then, agreeing that they were too exposed in a countryside full of spies, they retreated from the sun-baked rock to make love in its shadow. They whiled away the afternoon talking and lovemaking.

‘Tell me of the west country where you fought for the Bruce,’ Margaret said.

‘Much of it is very like the countryside around Perth, with good pasture as well as bogs – it is rainier than here, and a braw wind blows all the day. The coast is rocky and treacherous though the bays are inviting.’

‘What of the Bruce? Does he look like a king?’

Roger shrugged. ‘He looks a noble, with high forehead and long, narrow nose, sharp-boned of cheek and chin. He has a pleasant voice and a ready laugh.’

Margaret spoke of Dunfermline and the altar cloth she’d worked on with his mother, trying to speak of pleasant activities and not her constant worry. They lingered there until Margaret remembered the long walk back to the town.

‘I’d thought of that,’ said Roger. ‘I told Aylmer to meet us out here this even.’

Margaret felt a twinge of alarm. ‘You said nothing of this. I never would have agreed. I must help Celia.’

‘No. We’ll call attention to ourselves. It is enough that our servants must sneak past guards tonight. You must understand, Maggie.’

She could, but she didn’t like it. ‘You might have explained that back in town.’

‘You cannot mean that you haven’t enjoyed our afternoon together, eh?’ He reached over, gently stroking her cheek. ‘My bonny Maggie.’ His eyes were soft with love.

‘I’ve had much joy in you here,’ Margaret admitted. Yet she was uneasy. ‘Why did you not tell me we were not returning to town?’

‘I feared you would refuse me,’ said Roger.

She felt queasy to have been tricked and changed the subject to lighter things.

James’s servant returned with the news of Margaret and Roger’s early departure.

‘Their servants will follow tonight, like pack horses,’ he said.

‘Who told you this?’

‘Celia, Dame Margaret’s maid. She is troubled about her mistress going on ahead. She distrusts the master, I think.’

James, too, was troubled. ‘Was she given any reason for the change of plan?’

‘An opportunity for husband and wife to spend a day alone.’ The servant waggled his thick eyebrows.

‘What of the loss of horses?’

‘She’s been reassured she won’t need to carry the packs all the journey, but knows not what it means.’

James was certain now that Sinclair was manipulating Margaret. But he could only conjecture why.

Celia was uneasy. Proud of her abilities as a lady’s maid, she had little fear she would forget anything that she and her mistress would need. What she disliked was Roger’s power over Margaret, or his use of it. A husband was the master of his household, but a good one sought his wife’s willing cooperation. It did not bode well. And she dreaded breaking the news of Margaret’s early departure to Hal. She dreaded no less beginning the journey alone with Aylmer.

To distract herself, she took some time to visit Mary Brewster, knowing that Margaret had hoped to learn more about Old Will’s tragedy. If there was anyone in Edinburgh who knew Old Will, it was Mary.

The elderly woman stood defensively in her doorway, as if expecting Celia to force her aside
and enter the house. ‘I’ve had naught but trouble about Will since I found him lying in his own blood,’ Mary said. ‘I’ll speak no more of him.’

Her daughter Belle reached past Mary and closed the door firmly in Celia’s face.

Cursing her, Celia headed towards St Giles, thinking Father Francis might tell her more. But it occurred to her that there was scant point in any of this as they were about to depart Edinburgh and, conscious of her responsibility, Celia returned to the inn to complete the preparations. She expected Aylmer to complain about the three packs she had him carry down from Margaret’s bedchamber, but he had already engaged Geordie and Hal to help them as far as the horses which would await them somewhere to the south of town. At least she had been spared the task of telling Hal about the change in plans. It was small consolation.