A Cruel Courtship

6

Maus’s endless chatter about fabrics, fashions, beauty preparations had Celia seething with envy, and leaving the tittering maid she headed out to the privy in the backland to think how to lift her mood. She needed some occupation that would remind her that she was far more valuable to Margaret than a mere lady’s maid. Despite the delicacy of her activity in the backland, she spied a neighbour peering at her as she emerged from the flimsy shed shaking out her skirts. The gawker was a woman, which was a relief, but the invasion of privacy put Celia in an even fouler mood than before.

‘Have you never seen a woman relieve herself before?’ she called out, angrily flouncing past the woman who had at least blushed quite vividly.

She needed occupation. Perhaps a walk would clear her mind. She had never experienced such a thing in Dunfermline or Perth, or even Edinburgh, where she’d been living in an inn where drunks were always tottering into the backlands for a piss. But as she walked she thought how the English occupation of the castle, the crowd of armed men, the battle everyone expected at the foot of the outcrop on which they lived had changed the lives of the townsfolk. No wonder they watched strangers so closely.

She discovered she had retraced her earlier steps to Evota the alewife’s house. And who should be just stepping out into the lane but the English soldier who had been there yesterday. Fortunately he had not yet caught sight of her. Withdrawing into the shadows Celia watched him walk past. He was a handsome man, no doubt about it; studying him now she was reminded of someone — there was something in his eyes, and his colouring — pale hair and dark brows and lashes.

But this was no time for idle comparisons. She wondered why he’d returned to Evota’s house. It was impossible for her to have replenished her stock of ale already. So the man had other truck with her. She supposed Evota might be selling sexual favours — or perhaps her daughter was — she had seen the suggestion of breasts in the young woman despite her small stature. Keeping close to house fronts and therefore in shadow, Celia followed the man.

Sir Simon’s comment about spies made Margaret anxious for James. Had they been noted, then followed? Was one of Ada’s servants too talkative? She was also very uneasy about Ada’s behaviour. She was clearly still in love with Sir Simon — or at least sexually aroused by him. And the feeling was mutual. Margaret feared that Ada would forget herself and say something to compromise them, or worse she would decide she was better off supporting her English lover’s king. She had never seen Ada exhibit such nervousness.

While they ate, the topic of their journey was revisited several times, Sir Simon disturbingly keen to learn more about their escorts. Ada was quite convincingly vague and disinterested, busy asking about her children. It seemed they were all well wed but for Peter.

‘And that is my surprise for you,’ said Simon.

‘He is to be wed?’ Ada asked.

Margaret silently applauded Ada’s believable confusion.

‘Wed?’ Simon frowned, then caught her drift and nodded. ‘I’ve confused you. No, he has no time to devote to courting at present, not while he is serving King Edward.’ He smiled, obviously eager for her to guess.

‘Peter is in Scotland?’ Ada held a hand to her heart.

Simon nodded. ‘I should like to introduce him to you.’

‘He is here?’ Her voice quavered.

‘He is.’ Simon looked quite satisfied with himself.

Tears and stammering expressed how overcome Ada was with the news that one of her children was so near.

But that was the last of the act to which Margaret was witness. For suddenly Sir Simon produced the soldier who had escorted them to the castle and suggested that Margaret return to the town while he and Ada enjoyed some time alone.

As she wound her way through the crowd in the castle yard Margaret tried to calm herself with memories of Ada’s strength of character. She must not lose faith in her. Ada was merely playing her role and was not a silly young woman in the first flush of love. She had been quite convincingly surprised by the news of Peter’s presence.

Once outside the castle gates Margaret looked round at the few people abroad despite the sunny afternoon. In this Stirling was much like Edinburgh, lives lived behind shuttered windows, folk hoping unseen was forgotten. In the marketplace on Broad Street she spied Celia hurrying towards Ada’s house.

‘There is my maidservant,’ she told her escort. ‘I’ll join her.’

The soldier bowed to her and took his leave, and Margaret caught Celia before she’d reached the door. Her maid was flushed and out of breath.

‘What have you been doing to be so exhausted?’ Margaret asked.

‘Following the soldier who seems to be wherever I am. He was at the alewife’s again.’

Margaret felt as if her stomach had risen to her throat and she crossed herself. ‘That does not bode well.’

‘No.’ Celia took a deep breath. ‘But I learned nothing. He went straight to the castle gate.’

‘Come. Father Piers might recognise him from your description.’ As they walked she told Celia about the host of men forming down below. ‘I fear for James.’

‘I fear for us all,’ said Celia.

As Margaret stood to one side of Castle Wynd waiting for a troop of foot soldiers to go past so that she and Celia might cross over to the kirk, she only partly listened to her companion’s complaints about Maus and the nosey neighbour; she was going over all that Sir Simon had said in search of evidence that he’d had news from someone who’d followed them on their approach to Stirling, but she could find nothing specific except for his comment about all travellers being spies, and that was something he might have said quite innocently. Her fear left little room in her head for Celia’s complaints, and she dismissed them as her maid’s way of putting the massing army out of her head. However, when she realised what Celia was confessing she was alarmed by the risk she’d taken.

‘Father Piers advised we leave Evota alone for a day. I thought I’d told you that,’ Margaret said.

‘I hadn’t intended to go there,’ Celia said in a peevish tone.

Margaret regretted her sharp response, appreciating Celia’s help. She paused to apologise. ‘I don’t question your intentions, Celia, forgive my temper. I’m worried about Ada, and I confess I haven’t been listening with care.’

Only now did she notice the chill of the late afternoon, the long shadows and how the streets had emptied. She wondered whether this late afternoon trip to the kirk was wise — they were the only women about. She resumed walking, quickening her pace.

‘Why worry about Dame Ada?’ Celia asked breathlessly as she hurried to catch up. ‘She has a lover to protect her.’

‘That is the matter,’ said Margaret. Once they reached the relative safety of the kirk yard she expected to feel calmer, but a chilling flash of her vision of Roger’s fall startled and frightened her. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for the spell to pass.

‘Mistress?’ Celia touched Margaret’s arm. ‘What is it?’

Waving off Celia’s concern — she did not trust her voice — Margaret lifted her face to the sun and took several deep breaths. ‘Just a spell of dizziness,’ she said when she finally felt herself again. ‘I hadn’t realised how frightened I’d been up at the castle.’ The kirk yard seemed peaceful once more, until she glimpsed the edge of a steep outcropping to one side of the graves, then glanced up to the castle on its height. She’d found the site of her visions of Roger’s death. Dear God, keep Roger from this place, I pray you.

‘I was frightened for you,’ said Celia.

Margaret forced a smile. Celia need not know what she’d just realised. ‘Ada is quite the player, God be thanked.’ She described the tenor of Ada and Simon’s reunion — quietly, for she felt exposed even in the kirk yard.

‘They might become lovers again,’ Celia said. ‘That is unwelcome.’ With her dark brows knit together, she looked as if she were ready to take on the worry for both of them. ‘Do you think she knew she still held him in her heart?’

‘You put it so prettily,’ said Margaret, amused despite the eerie silence. ‘I doubt she knew she still lusted after him.’ She recalled her own unexpectedly passionate reunion with Roger and felt herself blush.

Celia took no notice, already knocking on the door of the priest’s house. But they both jumped as a shriek broke the silence. It seemed to have come from a house in the market square.

‘Where is that clerk?’ Celia said with worried impatience when the door was not opened at once.

‘We are not expected,’ Margaret reminded her, though she, too, was anxious to move inside.

At last the clerk appeared, looking harried as usual, and asked them to follow him to the kirk, where Father Piers would see them in the sacristy after he’d completed some business.

‘The sacristy?’ Margaret asked. ‘Behind the high altar?’

‘The soldiers will not go there,’ explained the clerk.

‘What do you think that shriek was?’ Celia asked in a low voice as they hurried across the yard.

Margaret shook her head. ‘I think I’d rather not know.’

She wished she had returned to the kirk to announce that she’d found Archie. She had to remind herself how unlikely it had been that they would find him straightaway; had it been so simple James would not have needed her here. But she felt adrift and a little frightened. She tried to think what James would do next. For all their careful planning, they’d been unable to see to details because they hadn’t known what she’d find. With the English army gathering below, she wondered how Archie would have avoided being caught down there. To distract herself from unwelcome doubts, she asked Celia about her movement about town.

‘What did you note about Evota and the daughter — was her name Ellen?’

Celia nodded. ‘Yes, Ellen.’

‘Anything that might help us find Archie?’

‘You might find this of no consequence, but they are tiny women — I felt almost tall,’ she grimaced comically.

‘I believe that is the first time you’ve mentioned your size to me.’

Celia shrugged. ‘It’s seldom to the point, is it? But it might be this time.’

Margaret smiled a little at Celia’s earnest expression.

‘I thought Ellen a child,’ she said, ‘but when she stood to rebuke the children — well, she has a mature figure. Do we know how old Archie is?’

Margaret realised she did not. ‘Father Piers calls him a lad, but that is of little help. I wonder whether Evota kens her son’s whereabouts.’

The priest’s clerk reappeared, bobbing his head. ‘Father Piers is at leisure to talk with you now. If you will follow me.’ He led them down the north aisle and into the sacristy.

Father Piers rose from a table strewn with parchment and came forward with an expression of concern. ‘Has something happened that you return so soon?’

Margaret introduced Celia, who explained her concern about the English soldier, describing him with care.

Piers dropped his gaze and thought for a while, fingering the prayer beads hanging from his girdle. Margaret was disappointed when he looked up, shaking his head.

‘I do not think I know him.’

He moved back to his table and settled in his chair, scanning the documents with his eyes as if ready to return to them.

‘Forgive us for taking up your time,’ said Margaret, stung and ready to depart.

But the priest glanced up, shaking his head. ‘No, do stay.’

‘But you are busy.’

He glanced back at the desk. ‘So I am. But I’ve sent my clerk for the woman you wished to meet — the one who provides Archie with information.’

‘Does she live within the castle walls?’ Margaret asked.

‘No, without, on St Mary’s Wynd.’ He glanced at Celia. ‘Your maid can be privy to this?’

‘Yes, Celia is in my confidence.’ Margaret grew a little bolder. ‘This morning you did not wish to speak of the woman — was it because Dame Ada was present?’

Father Piers looked uncomfortable. ‘There is no such thing as too cautious at present. Everyone’s loyalties can be challenged. I pray you, heed what I say, Dame Maggie.’

She nodded.

‘Dame Ada’s liaison,’ he averted his eyes at the word, ‘with Sir Simon is of great concern to me.’

Now there were three of them concerned — four if she counted James, who would have been quite disturbed had he witnessed Ada’s reunion with Simon. Margaret prayed that Ada might remain strong.

‘Now please, sit down,’ said Piers. He told his clerk to serve some watered wine. ‘Forgive me, but it is scarce, and is truly almost gone.’

Margaret had been surprised to be served any in the town, though not at the castle. The English kept themselves supplied. ‘Of course,’ she said as she took a seat.

He picked up some of the documents, then dropped them and came around the table. ‘The matter is out of my hands; I don’t know why I am worrying over it.’

‘Can you speak of it?’

‘It is no secret. The Lord Steward and the Earl of Lennox met with Longshanks’s royal lieutenant — Warenne, Earl of Surrey, the pompous b-’ he covered his mouth, embarrassed. ‘Forgive me, but it has raised my choler that our nobles should try negotiating with Warenne. I fear they are now hesitant to engage the enemy, a sudden timidity on seeing the expanse of the English camps. Wallace and Murray may not have the support they are counting on.’ He raked his long fingers through his thin hair, making it stand up, an uncharacteristic gesture for the fastidious Piers.

Margaret took it as a sign of his distress.

‘I understand that our party made it through the valley with little time to spare before the English troops began massing below,’ said Margaret. ‘But I didn’t know Warenne is already here.’

‘Whatever is to happen will happen soon,’ said Piers. He looked a little relieved at her knowledge of the situation. ‘I wonder whether James knew how close they were on his heels. Perhaps messages from the castle are no longer of much importance.’ He paused, considering it. ‘But we cannot assume that.’ He smoothed his hair and turned his attention to Celia. ‘Tell me what you noticed at Evota’s home.’

He expressed what seemed sincere concern about the English soldier, which Margaret thought odd after seeming disinterested a few minutes earlier.

It was not long before Dame Johanna was announced.

Demurely dressed in a simple gown and white wimple, the woman looked more like a nun than a soldier’s mistress. Sensing her hesitate on seeing strangers, Margaret rose to greet her, introducing herself and Celia.

‘James sent me.’

Johanna visibly relaxed upon hearing that. ‘I am so grateful that you have come to Stirling.’

Margaret guessed that Johanna was a little older than herself. Her smile was the sort that could light up a room, which it was doing at the moment. She was buxom and graceful, with dark brows, blue eyes, and milky white skin with just a sprinkling of scars from some pox — it was small wonder she had the pick of the soldiers.

But the smile was short-lived as Johanna continued, ‘Have you heard? Gordon Cowie the goldsmith has been murdered in his shop. Stabbed in the heart and neck.’

‘The scream we heard,’ said Celia to Margaret.

‘God have mercy on his soul,’ said Father Piers.

Margaret crossed herself and said a silent prayer for the man’s wife, the fine Isabel. She remembered Ada pointing out the goldsmith in the castle yard. ‘Why?’

It was Piers who answered. ‘In faith, I am not surprised by this news. Gordon has angered many in the town by buying favoured treatment from the English at the castle. But when did it happen, Johanna?’

‘Not long ago. I heard of it as I came here — they are crying it out in the marketplace.’

‘In daylight?’ Celia whispered. ‘How frightening that a murder could happen in daylight.’

Piers shrugged. ‘I suspect that with the garrison on the move someone must have felt the castle would not bother with a townsman’s death.’ He seemed quite unmoved by the news. Margaret thought perhaps he approved, but as a priest he would never say so.

‘Let us talk of something else,’ said Johanna. ‘Have you found Archie, Dame Maggie?’

‘No.’

‘I’d advised Dame Maggie to wait a day before going to his home,’ Father Piers explained, ‘although Celia had cause to go there today.’

‘I did not see him,’ said Celia.

Johanna sank down on to a bench, shaking her head slowly. ‘It is so unlike him to stay away for so long, and now, with this murder, I fear for him — or us.’

‘Tell Dame Maggie what you fear, Johanna,’ said Piers.

She glanced round at the waiting faces. Margaret could see that the strain of her work for Balliol had etched lines on Johanna’s forehead that belonged to an older woman.

‘Archie has mentioned many things of late that he’s seen within the castle walls. One day he bragged that they have all our meat there and he’d managed to steal a few bites. Once I forgot myself when he mentioned the soldiers’ quarters — I try not to seem too curious — and I asked him how he managed to see them. He said he had been delivering ale for his ma, which I already knew, and I asked no more, although I can’t believe he would deliver to their quarters. Mostly it was the way he said it, as if he had something to hide. He answered too quickly, too sharply. Do you see?’

Margaret found it disturbing to look into Johanna’s eyes as if her anxiety could be contagious. ‘I understand what you mean. Do you think he has betrayed you?’

Johanna fidgeted on the stool, uncomfortable with the question. ‘I cannot tell. His mother brews for both the English and folk in the town who are loyal to our King John, but I cannot condemn her for I ken how desperate she is, a widow with all the children to feed. In faith, the English have eased her burden, providing her with the corn for the ale.’

‘How did she attract the English custom?’ asked Margaret.

‘Anyone would have advised them that Evota is the best alewife in the town,’ said Piers. ‘She has a gift for it, no mistake.’

Margaret noticed that the priest was sweating, which was surprising on such a fastidious man, on a day not so hot as of late. ‘None of this encourages me about the wisdom of your choice of messenger.’

‘Until now there was no question of his trustworthiness, Dame Maggie,’ Piers said with a defensive lift of his chin.

‘None at all,’ Johanna agreed. ‘But it was as if Archie knew he had endangered me in some way, or Rob, my lover.’ She blushed.

Margaret shivered at her words and for a moment the room seemed to darken. She realised she was not breathing; once she took a deep breath the feeling eased. Regarding Piers, she understood he was defensive about his choice of Archie, but to break out in a sweat — it seemed extreme for him. Perhaps she had read too much into his careful dress. She reminded herself that James trusted him. And when Ada had learned who Margaret was to contact in Stirling she had been surprised because she had thought he’d be one of the first clerics to antagonise the English — he was Norman and shared the French disdain for the English. Still, he looked guilty.

‘What do you ken of Archie’s sister Ellen?’ Celia asked Johanna.

‘My lover believes he has seen her at the castle, but whether it was her choice he could not tell.’ Johanna nervously picked at her skirt. ‘Rob does not trust anyone in Archie’s family.’

‘I pray you, reassure me that Rob and Archie have not met!’ Piers exclaimed.

Johanna shook her head. ‘No, or not as you fear. The lad is known by the soldiers — he does deliver ale. And he’s willing to act as a guide. In truth, that is how he can carry messages down the hill to the Scots camp without raising suspicion. Of course he is up at the castle almost daily — it’s how he speaks of it that has me worried. And that he has disappeared.’

‘Celia, tell Johanna about the soldier who seems to haunt Evota’s house,’ said Margaret.

Celia looked pleased to be called upon once more.

Johanna nodded at the description. ‘I believe I saw this man today. His eyes sought mine and there was such a look of knowing I felt weak with fear.’

‘God help us,’ Margaret whispered, crossing herself.

‘I pray Archie has not betrayed us to this man you speak of,’ said Piers. ‘I’ve thought him a good lad, if a little simple. But hearing all this, I’m uneasy.’ He squared a few of the documents on the table as if hoping a bit of tidying might calm him. ‘It is Archie’s way to commit to a job and stop at naught to finish it. If someone has coaxed him into shifting his loyalty, he might now be working for the English — with equal determination.’

Johanna had shaken her head as Piers spoke. Now she said, ‘That might be true if the English have offered him more coin, but I do not agree about his being simple. There is something about him — a cunning beyond his years.’

‘How easily they turn against Archie,’ Celia whispered to Margaret.

‘Though I, too, am uneasy, I’ll not condemn Archie until I’ve proof he’s no longer worthy of our trust,’ said Margaret. ‘Meanwhile, we need another messenger.’

Father Piers spoke up. ‘I propose that Johanna tell you what she has been saving for Archie, in case someone should sneak up the hill in desperation. I shall see to finding another messenger.’

‘Are you so certain you will find another to take the messages?’ Margaret asked.

‘If I cannot, and I deem it still necessary, I’ll go myself.’

She had been about to ask him why he had not found a messenger to replace Archie earlier, but if he was to be the replacement she understood. His absence would be noticed. But seeing the determination in Piers’s face, Margaret did not argue.

She turned to Johanna. ‘I want to hear all that you were to tell Archie. Celia will also listen so that nothing is forgotten.’

The precaution proved invaluable, for as Johanna spoke a veil seemed to form around her, as if Margaret were seeing her through a piece of the sheerest silk, of a smoky colour. A feeling of such intense doom fell on Margaret that she broke out in a cold sweat; no one else in the room seemed aware of either the veil or the fear in the air. After a while, the smoky veil moved, gathering and reshaping itself into a figure standing over Johanna with what looked like a club in their hands.

‘Dame Johanna, you are in grave danger.’ Margaret’s voice came out as a mere whisper, her throat being so constricted by fear.

Johanna crossed herself. ‘I have understood the danger from the beginning. Like you, I could not stand aside and let Longshanks take our land from us.’ She bowed her head. ‘But my lover has gone with the other soldiers down to the camps near the river today, and I’ll hear no more from the castle.’ For a moment she rested her head in her hand, then looked up with a forced smile. ‘I’ll no longer be a threat to anyone.’

Margaret could not see what good it would do to describe her vision to Johanna, for she could not provide any practical advice. In fact she wanted to escape the vision. She rose to take her leave, grateful that Celia had known to be her eyes and ears.

In the nave, Margaret asked Celia what Johanna had told her.

‘You had a vision?’

‘Yes, while Johanna was talking. She is in mortal danger.’

Celia crossed herself, her face pinched. ‘She described the hanging of Huchon Allan, the son of our neighbours to the north.’

‘For carrying weapons to the river?’

Celia nodded. ‘The soldier I’ve spoken of — the one at Dame Ada’s yesterday — he presided, and Dame Lilias, the mother, suddenly attacked him. The townsfolk are frightened, everyone suspecting everyone else of betraying Huchon. She also spoke of the poisoning of a soldier by the family he’d boarded with — they have disappeared, and it’s believed they are at the castle. Someone has been watching the castle from the outcrop in the kirk yard, though Father Piers swore that wasn’t so.’

Margaret crossed herself. ‘That is where Roger dies in my vision,’ she whispered.

They both knelt to pray.

Before leaving the kirk, Celia told Margaret the most important piece of information Johanna had provided: Rob had told her of a path up the side of Stirling rock that was no longer guarded because of a rock slide. This was something James must be told.

As Sir Francis’s company rode through Lothian, Andrew wondered at the eerie quiet. In such dry, pleasant weather there should be folk working in the fields, but he’d seen none so far. The crops must still be tended, the animals herded. He prayed that the English had not stripped the land, for then it mattered little who won the coming battle, for the people would die of famine.

As they neared Edinburgh Andrew caught sight of the saddle-shaped outcrop known as Arthur’s Seat and shivered, thinking of his abbot in the monastery on the far side. Abbot Adam would be furious to know his fallen angel was unshackled and so close at hand. As they grew closer and Edinburgh Castle became visible on the horizon, flashes of memory assailed Andrew, particularly scenes with his sister Maggie, whose strength in adversity had taken him by surprise. He prayed that she was safe with her Uncle Murdoch in Edinburgh. Better that she never be reunited with Roger Sinclair; he’d never been worthy of her.

Summer it might be, but Ada’s light cape did nothing to block the wind that buffeted her as she followed her son through the castle ward. Son. She did not feel anything for him. In fact she found him almost lacking in personality. He moved like a well-trained fighter and his face, what little she could see of it in the lantern light with her ageing eyes, lacked all expression. She found him as chilling as the wind that slipped beneath her cape and up her skirt.

That was not all that had been up her skirt this evening. Heaven, what a reunion this had been. She had never dreamed that she would share Simon’s bed again, never, in all the years since she left him. Not that she had not wished to, nor could she refuse him without endangering everyone, but she knew that what she had done was nothing he would easily forgive. And she was not at all contrite. He’d had a wife, and heaven only knew how many other women he’d dangled on his knee. Why should she not have had a lover of her choice? In faith, she knew why, so that he might know that his bastards were truly his bastards. But she had not lied to him; when she knew she was pregnant with Godric’s child she had told Simon. He had flown into a rage and insisted that she go to the midwife to be rid of it, and to swear she would never speak to, let alone touch, Godric again. In love with both the father and the child growing in her womb, she had refused, and with her lover she had fled back to Scotland, foolishly expecting this child to be born, if not conceived, in wedlock. In the end Godric had deserted her.

‘Too fast, young Peter,’ she breathed, her night vision not what it once had been. How ridiculous to be filled with her lover’s seed at such an age, and even more ludicrous to be escorted back to her house by a son she had not seen since an infant. Her life was a farce. She wondered how much Peter knew about her, whether he knew of her rebellion, his father’s unbending nature.

Once past the castle gate it was much quieter, and Ada thought she might have some conversation with her son.

‘Have you served before with Sir Simon?’

‘I am not serving with him. I am with the governor of the castle.’

‘Ah. You are merely in the same place at the same time.’

Peter nodded.

She had thought she detected a less than cordial relationship between father and son, but thought perhaps she was the thorn between them, the mother who was merely a mistress. But perhaps not.

‘I pray that the situation of your birth has not caused you suffering.’

‘Madame, I was brought up in a household of noble bastards.’

He was a charming conversationalist. She thought it might be quite easy to hate this particular bastard of hers.

‘Had you arrived earlier you would have met your cousin Maggie.’

‘I wonder — is she not my half-sister, about my age, I think, perhaps several years younger?’

So he had been told the tale of her leaving with Godric. ‘No, Maggie is not your sister.’ She wondered who had told this unfeeling young man, but did not care to ask. He was ruining what had otherwise been a quite wonderful evening. She wondered how a de la Haye offspring had gone so far astray.

Home at last, as she slipped into bed beside Maggie, Ada was suddenly overwhelmed by a memory of Peter’s half-sister, five years his junior. She had suffered so much in her brief life. But had Simon been less unbending she would have lived in far more congenial circumstances, and with her health intact. Ada should have loathed bedding with Simon after what he’d done, but pleasures had been scarce of late.

Waking early and impatient to begin the day, Celia slipped out of the curtained bed she shared with Maus and found John stirring the fire in the kitchen. He was grumbling about the short supply of ale.

‘We cannot have already drained the barrel of Evota’s ale,’ said Celia. She’d thought her portion meagre last night.

‘No. I’ve not had anyone to spare, so it’s not been fetched.’

‘I would not mind a walk.’

John gave her a searching look. ‘You would return there? What is your interest in that family?’

‘My portion of ale was so small last night. I thought perhaps you would be more generous if I did you a favour.’

John grunted. ‘You are too small to roll a barrel up the hill.’

‘Send the groom from the stable with me.’

‘So that is your plot.’

Celia blushed, realising what he thought.

With a nod, John agreed. ‘In a little while. There is little enough pleasure in our lives at present.’

It was difficult, but Celia bit her tongue and let him think what he liked. It served her purpose.

As the household began to waken, cook stirring from his pallet in the corner, Maus sleepily reaching out towards the heat of the fire, Celia grew impatient with John.

‘Someone as needy as Evota will have been up with the dawn, or earlier,’ she argued.

‘Not if she is entertaining soldiers to help with the expense of raising her children,’ said John.

It irritated Celia that she could not flatly reject that idea. But going out for some fresh air, she soon cleared her head enough to admit to herself that her impatience stemmed from her concern about Margaret’s behaviour the previous evening — as they’d left the kirk her mistress had fallen into a grim silence that Celia could not penetrate. She felt as if Margaret had slammed a door in her face. She could not remember a time, even when first in Edinburgh they had argued over every bit of work, that Margaret had so ignored her. That she knew it had to do with the Sight made it all the worse. Once back at the house Margaret had climbed the steps for bed quite early, without supper. It was very troubling to Celia.

She’d had only Maus to keep her company for the evening, who kept moaning about how the household was in terrible danger because of the mistress’s invitations to the castle. When she could no longer bear the woman’s fear, for it echoed her own, Celia left her waiting up for Dame Ada.

According to John, Dame Ada was not likely to rise until midday, so Maus would probably sleep late, too.

‘She woke me to help her stay awake after you had gone to bed,’ he explained, ‘but the fire was warm and we were both frighted from sleep when Dame Ada arrived with the sombre young man she calls her son.’

‘What does he look like? Is he as handsome as Dame Ada is fair?’ Celia was very curious about Dame Ada’s past.

‘He has the cold eye of a born soldier,’ said John. ‘He’s like his father.’

‘So you’ve met him?’

John said nothing.

‘Do you think we’re in danger because of Sir Simon and Dame Ada? The goldsmith was friendly with the English, too.’ Celia hoped the butler would laugh at her fear.

‘It does seem that what I’d considered to be our protection might be our undoing,’ said John. He nodded as the groom came in for his meal. ‘Soon as Sandy’s eaten, the two of you might fetch the ale.’

The prospect would have cheered Celia had John dismissed her fears. But it was best to be busy, so she tidied herself and pushed the groom out the door the moment he set down his morning tankard. The market square was alive with folk criss-crossing it on their way to the day’s business, or standing about trading theories about the goldsmith’s demise. It seemed that commerce had been allowed to continue here far more than in Edinburgh. Yet she’d already heard many complaints about the lack of meat and fresh vegetables, that everything went straight to the castle. Her heart went out to a man being led up towards the castle in chains. He looked innocent as the day was young, and his expression was one of utter despair. Crossing herself, Celia urged Sandy to walk faster with the handcart. Once they’d crossed over the burn and turned down Bow Street they encountered fewer folk. Sandy the groom was one of the servants hired in Stirling for their stay. Celia thought she might learn something of the town from him. She asked about the damaged homes.

‘They’re mostly where spies have been caught,’ he said with an uncomfortable expression. ‘It’s best not to talk about them.’

Particularly when pulling the noisy cart — he was practically shouting. Celia waited until he paused to rest his hands before asking her next question.

‘Is this the poorer part of the town?’

Sandy glanced around. ‘Might say so, but most of it isn’t nice like the de la Haye house. Fortune brought me to the attention of the tenants who recommended me to Dame Ada’s butler. Just a bit farther now.’

They turned into the wynd leading to Evota’s small house.

The yard was quiet this time, and Celia was about to knock on the door when a young man came round the side, a hand up the front of his tunic, scratching at his groin. He flushed with embarrassment, then nodded and hurried on down the wynd in the direction of Bow Street. Celia thought it likely to be Archie.

‘Sandy, knock on the door and collect the barrel — we already paid good coin for it. I must have a word with that boy.’

‘Man, more like,’ said Sandy. ‘And a troublesome one, I warn you.’

There was no time to ask the groom what he knew of Archie. Celia hurried down the wynd, glad that she had worn her soft-soled shoes which were much easier to run in than her boots — quieter, too. In Bow Street she was momentarily turned in the wrong direction, following a dark-haired lad who she suddenly realised was too small, and then corrected herself in time to see Archie slipping down St Mary’s Wynd. She gathered her skirts and hurried after him, glad that the streets were still quiet. But at the crossing of Broad Street she slowed, not wanting to call attention to herself from the busier market square. Unfortunately, the delay cost her the quarry, for she saw him not, though she peered down all the wynds and closes.

Breathing hard, she retraced her steps and met Sandy in the wynd that led to Evota’s. He paused.

‘Did she give you any trouble?’ Celia asked quietly.

Sandy shook his head. ‘But the other wanted to know why you hurried away.’

‘What other?’

‘A tall Englishman. Soldier.’ He kept his voice low and nervously glanced back towards the house.

Celia, heart pounding, moved towards Evota’s in the shadows and was almost caught in her spying by the man she so feared. Now he knew she was aware of him. Perhaps it meant nothing. But she was very much afraid.

Back on Bow Street, as they paused to let some people past, she asked Sandy what he had said to the soldier’s question.

‘That you were not to be hanging about me so you’d hoped to run off before they saw you,’ he said, blushing.

Celia almost hugged him, but restrained herself and merely thanked him.

‘Do you know the lad I followed?’

Sandy nodded as he looked at her with curiosity. ‘You don’t? But you followed him.’

‘We have not been introduced,’ she said, for it was unwise to let the groom know she knew of him. ‘What is his name?’

‘Archie. So that is why you called him a “boy”? He is small, but so are they all in that family.’

‘You said he is trouble?’

‘Trouble for ladies is what I meant. I never thought, but mayhap they all think him a lad and no trouble in that way, you see, and then — well, there are many short children born to the poor wenches of these parts.’ Sandy was blushing furiously by now.

‘You don’t think I would-’ She stopped herself.

‘Forgive me. I just thought to warn you.’

Celia was irked that he thought her in danger of being lured into sin by Archie. She was older than her mistress, for pity’s sake. But he meant well, and the information might prove useful in some way, though she didn’t see quite how at present.

‘We should have a care when we’re abroad,’ said Celia hoping to lure Sandy to gossip. ‘I would not wish to meet up with the goldsmith’s murderer.’

‘If as some say his wife killed him you’ve nothing to fear.’

‘His wife?’

‘Others say it was a neighbour whose son was killed by the English in a skirmish last summer, or the one whose son was hanged for a traitor. But all say it was punishment for giving so much money to the English.’

God help us, Celia silently prayed. ‘Who is looking into the matter?’

‘I doubt that anyone is. The English are too busy and the townsfolk don’t care. We must get this to the house. I’ve work to do.’

Celia couldn’t believe that no one cared — she certainly did. But she knew it was not safe for either her or her mistress to begin asking questions about the goldsmith’s death.