The Fire In The Flint

8

After the evening meal Margaret slipped away to the stable. Bonny whinnied softly, as if wary of enemy ears, and pressed her muzzle to Margaret’s apron until she found the summer apple in the fold. Hal sat up in his sleeping loft picking at his meal, with Agrippa stretched out beside him, chin near the trencher, awaiting his turn.

Margaret hoisted her skirts and climbed up to join them. One of the things she appreciated about Hal was that he knew the value of quiet companionship, of speaking only when necessary.

‘I need to think,’ she said.

Hal nodded and resumed picking at the food.

There would be no solitude once the party set out, and to wander away from the others would be reckless. Yet the journey itself being dangerous, perhaps she would risk it now and then — if Roger let down his vigilance. He had tonight, so perhaps she should not worry.

His interrogation this afternoon had her wondering what his real purpose was in reuniting with her, and why he was in such haste to take her to Perth. He had framed question after question, leading her to repeat every which way all she remembered of the night of Old Will’s murder.

‘Why are you so keen to know every thought I had that evening?’ she’d demanded towards the end, her head aching from being dragged through her memories of that evening over and over again. Her guilt about the condition in which Old Will had departed the tavern was already a canker in her stomach, she did not need such a reminder. ‘Why does this trouble you so much?’

‘The person who killed him searched my casket, my store of personal documents.’

That she was trying his patience he left unsaid, but she heard it in his voice, saw it in his eyes. As if he could be unaware of how he was trying hers.

‘I wish I had noticed more,’ Margaret said. ‘Indeed I wish it had never happened. But I’ve told you everything I know, several times.’

‘Why did your uncle allow the old man to drink even when he had no way to pay?’

‘He didn’t always allow it, but some nights he would say Old Will had suffered enough and deserved some Christian charity.’

‘What had he suffered?’

‘I’ve told you, I’m sure of it.’

‘One more time, Maggie, I pray you.’

‘He and his wife had been atop Arthur’s Seat, watching a great ship being guided into Leith port. Though the sky had been blue while they climbed, it had begun to rain. They slipped while climbing down, she to her death, he to a long sleep, from which he woke into a life of bitter mourning.’

‘How long ago?’

‘About seven years.’

‘What did he gain by her death?’

It was the second time Roger had asked that.

‘I’ve told you, nothing. All was given to the kin who took in the children.’

Now the question haunted her.

‘Do you remember Old Will’s wife?’ she asked Hal.

He tore a piece off the trencher and set it before Agrippa. The cat rose, pressed back in a stretch, and then sniffed. Intrigued, he settled down to eat.

‘I never spoke to Dame Bess, but I saw her in the kirk, and at the market sometimes.’

‘What was the first thing you’d notice?’

‘Her smile. She lit up. Her eyes, too.’

‘Pretty, then?’

Hal shrugged, considered the plank on which he sat. ‘I liked to see her. She could sing, too, her voice carrying far. I think she must have been bonny.’

‘When she died, what was the gossip?’

‘I didn’t pay much heed. Except people said that when Will woke he discovered he’d lost everything.’

‘You mean his wife.’

‘It seemed like everything. When kin came for his children they took what was left to support them. They’d expected more and accused the townsfolk of helping themselves to his goods. They were greedy. But even so stripped of property, even to the stock in his shop, Will wouldn’t go with his children.’

‘Did anyone ever prove that property had been stolen?’

‘If they did, I never heard of it.’

Margaret was saddened that she’d never bothered to learn just how much Will had suffered. ‘All because he’d lost his wits.’

‘And made sure they’d not return, drinking like he did.’

‘That began at once?’

Hal nodded as he peered up at her through the straight lock of pale hair that fell over his eyes. ‘You were never so curious about him before.’

‘No. But Roger is.’

Hal nodded again. ‘He’s a man of questions.’

‘He’s questioned you?’

‘He went away thinking I’m simple.’ A corner of his mouth twitched.

‘He hasn’t looked into your eyes.’

‘No.’ Hal broke off another piece for Agrippa. ‘You’ll be gey glad to see your home.’

‘Yes, but so much might happen between here and home.’ At the risk of embarrassing Hal, she said, ‘I did ask Uncle to give you leave to come with me. He refused.’

Hal did not respond at once, keeping his gaze on Agrippa.

Margaret was about to apologise for bringing it up.

‘Then he must have need of me,’ Hal said quietly. He glanced up at her, his young face solemn. ‘I’ll miss you.’

‘And I you.’ Margaret touched his hand, and both smiled a little.

Her uncle had responded to the confiscation of goods with a calm that Margaret interpreted as his having manipulated the soldiers or the situation in some way. She wished she could find Janet alone before she left. Margaret would believe her if she said that her uncle would be fine. It would be good to know that.

She did not notice Aylmer standing below until Agrippa growled and moved deeper into the loft.

‘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.

As evening settled over the valley and the fading sun no longer warmed her, Margaret asked where they were to wait for the others.

‘In a house nearby.’ Roger rose, then offered her a hand to help her up. ‘We’ll find food there. I made sure of it.’

He embraced her and gave her a lingering kiss. ‘I love you, Maggie. Never doubt it.’

Margaret hated to let go of him, fearing that the moment they resumed their journey the magic of the afternoon would dissipate and only her misgivings would remain.

‘Come,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to linger so long we’ll not be able to see the path.’

He led Margaret around the loch to the south end, and off the main path on to one less travelled. They had not gone far when a noise in the brush behind them made both stop. Roger pressed down on her shoulder and she crouched. He stepped between her and the sound, shielding her, watching the brush. At last a raven hopped out of the underbrush, cocking an eye at them.

Margaret crossed herself and rose, grateful for Roger’s protective stance, and for the outcome. And yet a raven cocking an eye at them seemed a dark omen. The peace of the past hours had been shattered and she walked now in wariness, reminded that she accompanied a man who had hidden from her in Edinburgh last spring so she would not be troubled by the English.

‘How is it you were able to come to me openly now, when you couldn’t in spring?’ she asked.

‘The beard, and sufficient time and trouble between then and now. Others have become greater threats than me.’

‘Does your side consider the supporters of King John your enemies?’

‘You mean Wallace’s and Murray’s men?’ Roger took a few more steps before going on, seeming to search the trees at the edge of the wooded area they were approaching. ‘We might brawl after too much drink. The worst we might do is steal their supplies and horse.’ He put an arm round her. ‘So many questions, Maggie. When did you become so curious?’

‘I was ever so.’ She left it at that. She was hungry, tired, and discouraged to think they would journey through the night.

Still he searched the tree line.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘I don’t see the escort who was to await us.’

A rustle in the bracken reminded her of the raven, and she crouched before Roger told her to.

Quietly he said, ‘Who goes there?’

A lad rose from the scrub three strides from them, holding up a rabbit. ‘’Tis only me, sir, come to lead you. And this beast happened to join me in my hiding place.’ He was a dirty, skinny boy no more than twelve, Margaret guessed, barefoot and dressed in tatters.

‘Then lead on, Daniel.’

As they followed the boy, Margaret commented to Roger, ‘He wears rags. Do you pay your guides nothing?’

‘This is his disguise. If you had come upon him accidentally, would you not have believed he was just a starving lad hunting?’

‘I would,’ Margaret said, comforted and yet perversely uneasy about Roger’s thorough planning.

They wound their way in amongst the trees, over decaying stumps and thick, twisted roots, Roger always there with a supporting hand or arm whenever Margaret felt unsteady. Although he’d required an escort, he seemed to have far less trouble following in the lad’s footsteps than did Margaret. In the midst of the tangled wood a tiny house appeared. It seemed almost an illusion it blended so with the trees, built of logs with a roof spread with the mulch of leaves and moss. Within, a small hearth fire burned and a meal was already spread for more than two.

‘Where are the horses?’ Roger asked the lad.

‘Just beyond, in the shed,’ said Daniel.

‘And the others?’

‘Seeing to the beasts, fetching water. They had trouble and came late.’

‘What sort of trouble?’

‘An ambitious soldier thought to gain horses for the castle sheriff.’

‘What happened?’

‘He fell down a terrible steep embankment, I’m told.’

The indifference with which the boy told the tale chilled Margaret. ‘How old are you?’ she asked.

The lad shrugged. ‘Old enough to hate the English.’ He grinned, showing black teeth.

She wondered why Roger took the risk of trusting such a lad.

*

Murdoch, Aylmer, Geordie, Hal and Celia said little as they sat around a table in the tavern eating the evening meal. Murdoch had requested the guards’ permission to take their meal in the tavern, hoping that they would ascribe any suspicious activities later in the evening to drunkenness.

Celia tried to eat, knowing she needed nourishment for the journey, but her stomach was taut with fear and anxiety. Earlier, after thrice reviewing her preparations, she’d taken out her paternoster beads and said several rosaries but she seemed beyond divine help.

Hal and Geordie discussed various strategies for carrying the packs, Aylmer listening to them with an amused detachment that Celia found irritating. Who did he think he was, to be so condescending towards fellow servants? And yet she had been much like that when she’d first come to Edinburgh, determined to be a lady’s maid, trying to avoid work that would toughen the fine, smooth hands she had pampered in Dame Katherine’s employ so that she might handle the most delicate silks.

Murdoch was solemn when towards midnight they gathered in the stable. ‘I’d come along, but someone must be here to divert any unexpected attention.’ Fortunately, suspecting nothing, the guards had departed at curfew.

‘I know my master would wish me to thank you for all you’ve done,’ said Aylmer. ‘We’ll have a scout escort Hal and Geordie home once we’ve transferred the packs.’

Celia held out a hand to Murdoch, but he stepped forward and embraced her.

‘You’re a brave lass and a good friend to go with Maggie,’ he whispered. ‘God watch over you.’

She clung to him and fought tears. ‘God go with you in all your work,’ she said.

Hal and Geordie had arranged packs on Bonny and hoisted others. In a surprising last-minute gesture, Murdoch had loaned her to the travellers so that more food might be taken.

‘You’ll see your men and your beast before dawn,’ Aylmer assured him one last time.

Four men had joined Margaret and Roger for the evening meal. They were introduced as another of the Bruce’s men and a merchant who had done business in Ayr, both with their servants, all heading east and glad of more company. Unlike Aylmer, their servants seemed of humbler stations than their masters. Roger did not know the Bruce’s man, Macrath, but the merchant Alan was an old acquaintance. The latter was tall, grey of hair and slender to such a degree that he seemed ill, yet he was of good cheer and had an excellent appetite. He was also the most gregarious at the table, with tales of the challenges of trading in the present conditions. He reminded Margaret of Angus MacLaren, another embellisher of tales. Macrath was a short, muscular man with thick dark hair and a beard. He watched and listened, occasionally laughing with the others, but speaking only in monosyllables when he could not maintain his silence.

Watching and listening herself, Margaret compared Roger’s behaviour in this rough hut to the few times she’d witnessed his meetings with merchants in Perth. He’d become easier in his posture, muted in his speech; sure of himself yet wary, even in this company. Perhaps she was tired and overwrought, but he seemed even more of a stranger than the day he’d come to her in Edinburgh.