A Trust Betrayed

6

Celia had tidied the chamber and brought up food and drink for Margaret as soon as she returned from Mass. Margaret saw the question in the maid’s eyes but did not enlighten her about whether Roger had come in the night. No doubt she already knew he had not-servants had their ways of kenning.

The ale was just beginning to warm Margaret’s toes when Murdoch knocked on the door and told Celia he wished to speak to her mistress alone. As Celia slipped away, Murdoch settled himself across the table from Margaret, his chair set sideways.

“Hal has asked permission to escort you to Janet Webster’s this morning. Why?”

“You said he was to go with me where I wished.”

“But why the weaver? Because of what Old Will said? He was drunk, Maggie, thinking of his dead wife.”

“I have my reasons.”

Murdoch was not looking at her, but the floor, or perhaps his worn shoes from which one of his small toes stuck out. His sock was dirty.

“You need a laundress,” Margaret noted.

“That is not news to me. Why would you speak with Janet?”

“You know why I am here, Uncle. Is there something you should tell me before someone else does it for you?”

“What do you know of your husband, lass?” Now he looked her in the eye.

His look, his tone made her lose her appetite. “It is plain from your face that whatever I know, it is not enough.”

“How often has he been at home for any time?” Murdoch pressed.

Her heart pounded. “He is a merchant. He-”

Murdoch banged his fist on the table, his breath coming in angry bursts. “A merchant. An excuse for long absences and no one the wiser to his other life.”

“What are you saying?”

“He has used you ill, that is what I am saying. He has the prize of Perth, of all Scotland, and he stays away. Fie on him.”

“Tell me what you know, Uncle.” Margaret reached for her cup, but she did not trust herself to hold it steadily. She sat on her hands. “I must hear it. I must know what I face.”

Murdoch, elbows on knees, dropped his head to his hands for a moment. Then with a great sigh he straightened. “Just afore the summons to Berwick last summer, Roger brought a woman here, asked if she could bide at the inn until she found a more permanent home. She had fled Berwick.”

Margaret felt the heat rise to her face. She took a great, long drink. “Go on,” she said.

“I tell you this only because you will eventually hear of Mistress Grey.”

“Is she here now? In Edinburgh?”

Murdoch shook his head. “She left the town after Christmas.”

“Have you seen Roger since?”

“Once. He did not speak of her.” Murdoch rose to fetch the pitcher, filled her cup.

Beautiful, she thought. Younger even than me. “Tell me about her.”

“She is his age, I would guess. Two score, I would say. Handsome of manner and dress, and speech, aye, she has a noble way of speaking. Not bonny. Dark hair. The gossips thought her a lady in disguise or a lord’s mistress. Mistress Grey she calls herself. No Christian name that she admits to.”

A lady in disguise or a lord’s mistress? “Is this how he spends our siller?” Margaret would kill Roger if ever she saw him again.

“She is not his mistress, if that’s what you’re thinking, and of course you are. Roger could not have dressed the woman in such finery, Maggie. Nor could he have paid for the food and drink she demanded.”

The costly curtains and bedding. “She stayed here, in your chamber,” Margaret said dully. “It was she who had the bed curtains made, painted the walls.”

“Aye.”

Margaret rose. “I cannot stay here another night. I must move my things.”

“Sit down, Maggie. I thought of telling you last night, when it seemed Andrew had not yet told you, hoping you would turn round and flee to safety across the Forth.”

“Did Jack know about her?”

“I don’t know, Maggie. I saw Jack Sinclair but once this winter. He asked for Roger, stayed long enough to tell me how you fared, then was gone.”

“Near the time he died?”

Murdoch shook his head. “More than a fortnight ere he was found.”

“Where did Roger stay?”

“Sometimes in the room I have now, when he was in the town. He never stayed a long, unbroken stretch. He’d be weeks away, then return for a few days. Mistress Grey never behaved as if she missed him. It was as if she knew where he was and how long he would be gone.”

It would be difficult enough to learn this of her husband, but harder yet to realize how public was her shame. No wonder Mary the brewster had been curious. “Celia can help me move my things.”

“Stay, Maggie. It is the safest room in the inn. I tell you again, Mistress Grey was not Roger’s mistress. She was above his station.”

Margaret turned away from him. “Then what were they- are they-to each other? Why does he spend more time with her than with me?”

“They worked together in some way, so I believe. Informants or messengers, or both.”

“For John Balliol or Edward Longshanks?”

“I pray they were not involved in anything of such import.” Murdoch shook his head. “I was gey happy when she left.”

Margaret sank back down on the chair. “Why did you permit her to stay?”

“I was not quick to realize she could bring me trouble.”

“You did not ask her business? Nor did you ask Roger?”

“You must learn, Maggie. These days you ask no man or woman their business. You will not get the truth, and you may reap trouble.”

“Roger told me nothing of this, Uncle, nothing.”

“He might have meant to protect you.”

“He betrays my love with every step. What am I to do?”

Murdoch moved toward her.

She shook her head. Silence was what she needed, a moment to catch her breath. All these months she had expected to comfort Roger when he returned, to bury her anger at his absence once she knew the cause. She had ached so for him. But at the moment she felt only anger and a frightening loneliness. When she felt steadier, she said in what she hoped was a stronger voice, “I still mean to find him. And to find Jack’s murderer.”

Murdoch’s expression changed from sympathetic to curious. “You seem equally upset about Roger and Jack Sinclair.”

“Jack was Roger’s cousin and factor.”

“Maggie,” Murdoch said softly, “did you-?”

“Roger is my husband, Uncle, though he does not act it. I keep my vows. As for Jack, I feel responsible. It was my brooding over Roger that committed him to come here to search.”

“I thought he’d come on Alan Fletcher’s business.”

“He grabbed the chance.”

“But Fletcher sent him.”

“He would not have left me if he had not thought it a chance to find Roger.”

Murdoch shook his head at her. “Jack is not the only person to die in this town of late, Maggie.”

“Roger?”

“I do not speak of him.”

“Who then?”

“Many. That is my point. Within days of Jack’s death, a man’s body was found on the bank of the River Tummel east of Holyrood Abbey. And a week ago a woman was raped in the close by her own home, then her husband was executed for threatening the life of the guilty English soldier. The widow has disappeared.”

“Is she dead?”

“Who knows? Listen to what I am saying, Maggie. Edinburgh is a dangerous place, especially for someone asking questions that might bring them to the notice of the English.”

“Is that why you set Hal to watch me?”

“Damn it, I set him to protect you, Maggie, don’t twist my actions. But it’s not enough. You should return to Perth.”

Margaret did not answer. Celia knocked on the door, opened it at Margaret’s invitation.

“We are finished?” Murdoch asked.

“For now. I need to think.”

Uncle and niece regarded Celia silently. She looked from one to the other, smiled uncertainly. “Forgive me if I intrude.”

“Do I have Hal as escort to Janet Webster’s?” Margaret asked.

Murdoch shook his head, but said, “Aye.” Mumbling some complaint, he departed.

Margaret considered the bedchamber while Celia took the uneaten food away. The sprigs of heather and broom painted on the walls sickened her now that she knew they had livened the room for Mistress Grey. It was not difficult to imagine that the mysterious woman knew Roger better than Margaret did. Perhaps he thought that compared with Mistress Grey his wife lacked wits.

Damn him. How many nights when she lay awake worrying about Roger had he sat in this comfortable room with Mistress Grey? Or down in the tavern? Nothing had prevented him sending more messages to Margaret. He had not chosen to. Neither had her uncle.

And as for her brother Andrew, he must have heard about Mistress Grey-the canons of Holyrood were not likely to be immune to gossip. He might have warned her long ago, saved her the shock of hearing it now, after she had slept three nights in the woman’s chamber. Margaret grabbed her cloak. She did not believe in wasting anger. She went to the stable, hoping to find Bonny unattended. But Hal was there, raking out a stall.

“You look busy,” she said. It was a long walk to Holyrood Abbey, through Netherbow and all the way down the hill, as far again as from here to the castle. She eyed Bonny.

Hal pushed back his hair, but kept his chin down, eyes averted. “You would go to the weaver now?” He mumbled his words.

“Not yet. I have business at the abbey. How difficult is it to get past the guards at Netherbow?”

The hair flowed back over his eyes. “We are free to come and go. They will ask you some questions, but they will not fuss.”

“It is a goodly walk.”

Hal nodded. “A hard climb back.”

“Might I borrow Bonny?”

“You must ask Master Murdoch.”

“I would rather not.”

The young man studied his hands for a moment. They were large hands for a lad, and encrusted with dirt. Then he actually raised his eyes to Margaret’s. “Are you plotting trouble?”

She wondered whether he sensed her agitation. “No. Visiting my brother.”

“But you don’t want Master Murdoch to ken?”

This required a small lie. “He does not agree that I might be better lodged elsewhere.”

Hal wrinkled his brow, considering.

“You must go with me, either way.”

“Aye,” he said to Margaret’s feet. “I’ll lead you on Bonny.”

Margaret slipped out of the stable, went to wait in the alley. The ass sniffed the air as she approached Margaret. Hal stopped, steadied Bonny while Margaret mounted.

The afternoon was dry, with a brisk wind and scudding clouds. The guards at the archway were busy examining a laden cart and waved them on. Behind Margaret, Edinburgh Castle rose on its rock high above the lower cluster of buildings. The spires of St. Giles were lost against the crag. Below her, houses lined the street leading to the Abbey of Holyrood, which dominated the hollow below. Beyond the abbey complex rose a steep, rocky crag known as Arthur’s Seat that was even higher than that on which sat Edinburgh Castle.

“Up here many houses were burned by King Edward’s army.” Hal nodded to several burned shells. “Down farther most of the houses were spared.”

Canongate seemed a lovely, open place after Edinburgh. The plots were larger, the houses more sprawling than stacked. “Who lives here besides canons?”

“Some folk with shops in Edinburgh. Some landowners have town houses here.”

Father Andrew sat at prayer in the cloister blowing on his hands frequently. Though the sun shone, the wind was still chilly. He did not know why he stayed-his mind was too full to pray. A servant approached, settling his gaze on Andrew as he spotted him. Perhaps Goodwife Logan had changed her mind about lodging Margaret. Andrew nodded to the servant.

“Dame Kerr has come to see you, Father Andrew. She awaits you in the parlor.”

Crossing himself and dusting off his habit, Andrew made his way to the parlor. How annoying. No doubt she came alone and he would need to find someone to escort her back.

Margaret looked agitated. He could tell by how she tucked her hands beneath her mantle, as if they could not be trusted. Her eyelids were swollen. Heaven knew what Murdoch had seen fit to tell her.

“Benedicte, Maggie. I did not think to see you here.”

“Benedicte, Andrew.”

“Did you come without escort?”

“No. A young man led me into Canongate on an ass. Like the Blessed Virgin entering Bethlehem.” She smiled, but it was a cold twist of her mouth. Already Edinburgh poisoned her.

“You are not as content at Uncle’s inn as you thought to be?”

“Why didn’t you tell me of Mistress Grey?”

St. Columba, Murdoch had told her of the woman so soon? “All merchants have mistresses, Maggie.”

“Do they?” she snapped, then her eyes widened. “So she was his mistress.”

The mysterious Mistress Grey was not someone he wished to discuss with Margaret. “Who told you about her?”

“What does it matter?”

“Uncle Murdoch?”

“He assured me she was too grand to be Roger’s mistress.”

Andrew would like to know what Murdoch thought Mistress Grey was to Sinclair if not a mistress. “I am sorry you heard of her all the same, Maggie.”

“She stayed in the room I slept in the past three nights.”

Here was safe ground. He told Margaret he had already discussed her lodging with one of the women of the parish. She was unable to accommodate Margaret, but there were others to ask.

“It is a steep climb from here to Edinburgh,” Margaret said, biting the inside of her cheek, an unbecoming habit. “And with a body found in the Tummel nearby, not a safe one, perhaps.” She nodded to herself. “All the more reason to stay in Edinburgh rather than risk walking through both Canongate and Edinburgh every day.”

“You are better off at home than in either of them, Maggie. In Perth. Once King Edward departed the men grew coarser. And you in a tavern. By all that is holy-”

“I have had no trouble, brother. Not here. It was not so at home when Edward came through with his men. Roger could tell you.” Her voice broke. She looked away. “Edward Long-shanks thinks we are beasts, and would treat us so.”

“Maggie.” Andrew reached for her.

She put on a brave face. “I’ll bide at Uncle Murdoch’s for now. Celia, however, is to return to Dunfermline. If you hear of a company in which she might travel, I pray you send me word.”

“Idle journeys are not common these days.”

“Idle maids are ever common. I need a laundress and a chambermaid. I have too much work and Celia will be useless.”

“You cannot work there.”

“I have no wish to live in filth.”

“You should have better lodgings.”

“I do not need them. I shall make the inn better lodgings.”

“Promise me you will not be seen in the tavern.”

“This is not a time for the manners of a fine lady, Andrew. I am strong and capable, and I cannot think that any man would risk Murdoch’s anger by laying hands on me. But I do need a laundress and a chambermaid.”

“Is that why you came? To tell me that? All that way?” She was impossible.

Margaret drew herself up, her sharp chin thrust out, the hazel eyes beneath the pale red brows hot with anger. “Why did I come? I hoped to find solace in my brother. Why, I cannot say. You have never comforted me. You did not even tell me what you knew of Roger.”

Perhaps Andrew had been wrong not to tell her. He could think of nothing to say that would calm her. He lamely asked, “What would Roger say about your being here?” He knew it was a mistake the moment he said it.

She caught her breath. Her fine eyes glistened. How like their mother Margaret was. Does she know my secrets?

Softly she said, “It is because of my husband that I am here.” Catching her skirts, she swept out the door. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Such a knot of feelings washed over Andrew as she departed. Their mother had predicted trouble for him, but she had not said it would touch every part of his life.

He had gone to Elcho Nunnery to see their mother on his way from St. Andrews, just before Jack’s death.

“You have betrayed your people,” she had said. “I knew this would come, but not why.”

“He is my abbot. I had no choice.”

Christiana had touched his face. “You are angry and frightened.”

“Tell me what is to come, Mother.”

Sadly, she stroked his cheek. “You will pass through fire, Andrew.” She would tell him no more.

He did not know what to do about Margaret. So proud, so fine, so reckless. He could not expect any woman to understand the complex dangers here, but he should be able to guide her. He must think how.

A servant announced that Andrew was summoned to Abbot Adam.

Andrew must put Margaret from his mind for the moment. Conversations with his abbot took all his concentration. It was difficult to hide all he felt. He prayed for calm as he walked.

“Benedicte, Father Andrew.” Abbot Adam’s smile was broad, his voice friendly. He motioned to Andrew to sit across from him at a table strewn with documents trying to curl closed. “I did not realize you had a sister in Edinburgh.”

“She traveled with me from Dunfermline.”

“In the midst of war?”

“Is it a war, My Lord Abbot?”

The abbot threw up his hands in mock confusion. Strangers sometimes thought him a gentle fool. “You have not been yourself since you returned from St. Andrews. What is troubling you, my son?”

“Today it is my sister who troubles me. She has learned her husband was unfaithful and now demands more information from me. But I am not so cruel as my uncle.”

“Murdoch Kerr. How much did he charge her for the information?” Adam attempted a joke.

Andrew could not force a smile.

The abbot shook his head. “I have offended you, though all say he is a conniver. Still, it is good you have such feeling for your uncle. I like that.” Adam settled his elbows on a small, cleared space and leaned toward Andrew. “But I remind you of your vow of silence.”

“If you think I am such a fool as to tell anyone what I know, you chose unwisely.”

“Still angry. That is what all this is about. There will come a day when you will be proud of what you have done for the king.”

Shame was all Andrew felt. And hatred, for the abbot and himself. “I am ever your obedient servant, My Lord Abbot.” And will be forever damned for that.

“We are travelers well met, Dame Kerr.” A man Margaret faintly recognized bowed to her and Hal as they passed through the abbey gateway onto Canongate. “James Comyn. I saw you with Father Andrew in the tavern the other evening.”

Margaret remembered-he had been one of the well-dressed men sitting near her brother. So he was a Comyn-they were one of the most powerful families in Scotland, and kin to John Balliol, the king Longshanks had betrayed. He was dressed in more somber clothes today.

“Good day to you, Master Comyn.”

“You were visiting your brother?”

“I was.” She was not in a mood to gossip or while away the time discussing the weather. Let him be useful if he wished to chatter. “Forgive me, you will think this a strange question, but do you know of a good laundress for my uncle’s inn?”

He had a pleasant smile and expressive brows. “An unusual conversational ploy, but I am equal to it. I fear that I do not, milady. Might you recommend a good bowyer?”

She could not help but laugh. “I am Murdoch’s niece.”

“I know.”

Quietly, suiting Margaret’s mood, Comyn walked with them to the crossroad with the Leith road, where he said, “I must bid you farewell for now.” He bowed to them and continued north.

Margaret and Hal crossed into Netherbow.

“He is a pleasant man,” she said as she dismounted in front of the stable.

“Pleasant enough, mistress, though I have seen him lose his temper.”

“Over what?”

“I should not gossip,” Hal said as he unfastened Bonny’s harness.

“Is he often at the inn?”

“Oh aye, mistress. All the time.”

“Then it would be a kindness to warn me of his temper.”

“He would not lose it with you. It is the master he argues with. And more than that I cannot say.”

Margaret did not press him. In any case, James Comyn had provided a much needed laugh. But as she faced the inn, all that she had learned today came rushing back. What a fool she was, and everyone in Edinburgh knew. She rushed to her chamber, not wanting anyone to hear the sobs that she could choke down no longer.

Andrew could not sit still. He kept remembering the time Roger Sinclair had surprised him in Edinburgh. He should have told Maggie of that at the time, but he had prayed it was still possible they might be happy.

Within a fortnight of the wedding, in late April two years ago, Roger had departed Perth, for Bruges, he had said, an important merchant to see. He had left Margaret alone in the partly furnished town house in Perth, and Jack Sinclair in charge of the business. Jack was a good factor. He could have made the trip for the newly wed man. Andrew had thought Roger just an overzealous merchant until he saw him in Edinburgh a week after he had supposedly sailed. Unfortunately, Roger had seen Andrew as well, concocted a plausible story, and hurried home to a delighted Margaret. But Andrew had lately learned that by June of that year Roger had again departed Perth, staying away until Michaelmas. Andrew saw that as indifference on Roger’s side. Margaret brought connections and a large dowry, and would decorate any gathering, being a lovely woman. Such reasons for marriage were not uncommon, but she deserved better. He must do something for her.