by Candace Robb
Father Obert shifted slightly in his chair, his face unreadable to Andrew. ‘As I said earlier, I’ll feel the lack of Andrew, for he has been of great help to me. But your men deserve a chaplain, and I am far too old to undertake such a duty. There is no question, Father Andrew is the one to help you.’
‘I am in favour but for one significant fact about Father Andrew,’ said Master Thomas, ‘that he is a Scot.’ He frowned down at Andrew.
Andrew held his breath, expecting Thomas to reveal that he’d been banished to Soutra.
Sir Francis was balanced on the edge of his seat, ready to argue. ‘Many of the men fighting for King Edward are Scots. Father Andrew is caring for the souls of the English forces – therefore he is a wise Scot who sees that strong rule is only possible under King Edward.’
As Thomas remained silent, Andrew forced himself to say calmly, ‘You will find many wise men among us, and I am grateful for the chance to prove as much to you.’ He glanced up at Master Thomas and could clearly see by his expression that he was not happy with the arrangement.
‘I should feel better had I the time to send a messenger to Abbot Adam to request your release,’ said Thomas.
‘But we cannot delay,’ said Francis.
Thomas shrugged. ‘It is in God’s hands. So be it.’ He rose. ‘I’ll leave you to your planning. God go with you, Father Andrew, and thank you for all you have done here.’ He bowed formally.
Andrew felt it a pointedly final farewell, as if Thomas was certain they would never meet again.
Father Obert said, ‘Such a farewell, Master Thomas. I look forward to Father Andrew’s return when Sir Francis marches south.’
‘If God so chooses,’ said Master Thomas.
‘I have been pleased to carry on my work at Soutra,’ said Andrew. ‘I’ll keep all of you in my prayers.’
‘God bless you, Thomas,’ said Sir Francis. ‘I’ll not forget this favour.’ When Thomas was gone, Sir Francis turned to Andrew, who was weak with relief. ‘I do not pretend to know your heart in this matter of the Scots throne,’ he said, ‘but I have seen you with my men and know you for a holy man. I am much comforted, as will they be, that you have agreed to ride with us.’
Andrew silently applauded Francis on his courteous manipulation of his heart. He had just made it more difficult for Andrew to simply walk away.
‘You spoke of a manservant,’ Francis said. ‘He shall accompany you. Now we must discuss what else you will need.’
Father Obert sat back with a small smile on his wizened face.
5
IS IT LOVE?
Standing at the foot of the road leading up the gently sloping, wooded side of the crag that was crowned by Stirling Castle, Margaret watched as James and his men departed, the old cart squeaking and thudding, one of the men singing a bawdy song. As soon as the party had come down out of the hills towards Stirling Bridge and Margaret had caught sight of the cliffs below Stirling she had been haunted by the dream of Roger’s fall. It possessed her so completely that she rode as if in another world.
But now she was fully here, standing on the road, midges swirling about her, the air close, the sun too warm, and there had been no sign of Roger as they rode – she had thought she was about to encounter what she’d seen only in her dreams and visions.
In her trance state she’d allowed her horse to wander to a burn to drink. She had not regained consciousness until James, with Celia assisting, had lifted her from the saddle and, holding her, splashed water on her face.
‘What is it, Maggie?’ James had asked, his face close to hers, his expression troubled and even frightened.
Realising that she had no recollection of being brought down from the saddle and no idea where she was, Margaret experienced a fear icier than the burn waters. She shook her head, not knowing how to explain. Nothing like this had ever happened to her.
‘Did you fall asleep?’ he asked. ‘Are you unwell?’
‘I did not sleep well last night – faith, what sleep I had was troubled with dreams.’ She sat up to dry her face on a cloth Celia proffered her. Glancing around Margaret saw that all in the company were trying to look elsewhere and give her privacy. What must they think of her? ‘James, what if I fail you?’
He shook his head. ‘You won’t. Is that what kept you awake last night?’
‘Yes. How do you know that I’ll succeed? I don’t know that.’
‘You are strong, Maggie. And Father Piers will guide you.’
She was terribly aware of the castle crowning the rock above them. ‘Someone will note that I’m asking questions.’
‘You won’t be the only one.’
‘I’m frightened.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Of course you are. I’d worry were you not.’ He helped her rise.
‘You are not making sense, James. You are not listening to me.’
‘I am, believe me. It is the nature of danger to make us fearful.’
‘What if no one believes I am Ada’s niece?’
‘Why would they even question it?’
Ada had joined them. ‘We look enough alike, Maggie. Simon did not ken all my family, so why would he know of you? We shall be under his protection.’
Perhaps Margaret was making too much of daydreaming on a long ride in the late summer heat. Looking around at the dusty company she noticed how wilted they all looked. ‘Of course. The heat and my lack of sleep have confused me. I feel foolish. Forgive me, I pray you. I’ll not forget myself again.’
Ada nodded, satisfied, and withdrew to where the rest had settled behind a screen of brush.
‘Remember, Maggie, when you’ve completed your mission, or if you have need to flee Stirling, make your way to Elcho as quickly as you can, and I’ll find you there.’ James kissed her on the forehead. ‘I love you, Maggie. I would have you near me always. I lay awake nights cursing Roger Sinclair.’
Margaret could not think how to respond. He’d never spoken of love to her before. ‘Love?’ she whispered, searching his eyes, wanting to know whether this was an act meant to bolster her courage or ensure her commitment. His gaze did not waver. ‘This is not the time, Jamie.’
He stroked her cheek. ‘I agree. Escorting you to spy on the English is a cruel sort of courting. But the heart does not choose the time, and I wanted you to know my heart in the event …’
She knew the end of that thought. ‘I am honoured by your love, Jamie.’ She kissed his cheek.
‘And you? Do you think you might love me?’
‘When I said it was not the time, I meant for me, Jamie. I’m so filled with remorse over Roger and I feel so guilty about my feelings for you – I can’t tell whether or not it’s love, but it’s sinful, of that I can assure you.’ She brushed his lips with hers.
He held her there when she began to move away, and what had been the ghost of a kiss became a long, passionate one that left Margaret breathless and wanting desperately to lie with him, feel his nakedness, his desire.
‘What have I done, Maggie?’ James whispered. ‘I must leave you now and I’ve made it all the more difficult.’
‘We both have.’
But was it love? Margaret turned away and hid her confusion by calling for Celia to assist her with her wimple. God forgive her, she was still a married woman and her feelings for James were doubly sinful. Perhaps that was why she was obsessed with Roger’s danger – to appease her conscience. Yet there was a part of her that had felt unmoved by the kiss. Her conscience held her back – that was possible.
Now, as she stood on the Stirling road, she watched James and his men fade from sight and prayed he’d been right to trust that she would be successful in re-establishing communication from the castle. She wanted to live up to his expectations of her. She desperately wanted to see him again.
‘Come, Maggie. I am weary and ready for an ale and my bed.’ Ada, already mounted with Maus behind her, spoke as if this were the last leg of an ordinary journey. She seemed unconcerned as strangers
moved past, casting them curious looks. Alec and Ned, the menservants, impatiently held the reins.
Margaret mounted, then reached down to assist Celia.
‘You look no happier than I feel,’ Celia said once she had settled.
‘Is it so plain?’
‘To me, Mistress, and to your aunt, I should think.’
They had practised referring to Ada as Margaret’s aunt for days now, and it was beginning to sound convincing. But in her heart Margaret feared she would slip in front of someone. She must bury that fear – James had said that the trick was to convince herself that she was not playing but living the new role.
She wished James were with them, but though he’d passed as a farmer with the soldiers they’d met on the road he reiterated that he would not risk entering the town in daylight, for there were too many in Stirling who knew him. A disguise would be seen through in time, particularly by someone expecting him to appear. If you see me there, it will be at night and will signal danger.
Up through the woods they slowly rode, branching off from the high road to follow another that ran lower along a burn.
‘The other way leads to the castle,’ Ada explained. ‘My family’s town house is on the market square, across the burn on lower ground.’
‘At the market,’ Celia said. ‘It must be grand.’
‘Not grand,’ Ada said, ‘but pleasant.’
As the number of people sharing the road increased, the women dismounted, Maus and Celia leading the animals while Alec and Ned walked ahead and behind. Ada commented on the number of armed men, and the condition of many of the houses at the edge of town, still in the wooded areas. It was plain that trees had recently been cut for bonfires, the remains of which scarred the landscape, and many of the houses, too, were charred. It took Margaret back to her arrival in Edinburgh in the spring, the houses along the Grassmarket scarred by fire and wreckage everywhere. Here the damage was not so extensive, but nonetheless it served as a reminder of the violence of the occupation. The dishevelled but strutting trio who approached them now were another, more visceral reminder – foot soldiers on their own far from home and looking for trouble.
‘Fine mounts,’ one of them said, his accent that of Flanders. ‘You won’t be needing them in the town.’
‘Whence came you here with them?’ asked another.
‘From my home in Perth,’ said Ada.
Alec and Ned had drawn in towards Ada; as the first speaker reached for one of the horses Ned lunged for him, then drew back his arm with a shout of pain, holding his bleeding hand to his chest.
‘You’ve wounded my servant,’ Ada said with a sharpness that Margaret admired though she wondered at its wisdom.
She thought it best to keep moving. As she walked on, Margaret prayed that all the men wanted was the horses. She was frightened, and her fear intensified when the third soldier joined her, too close for comfort, matching her stride and staring so boldly that her face burned and she felt sick to her stomach. A greasy cap did little to hide the hideous scar where his right ear had been, and his clothes smelled of urine.
‘Dame Maggie!’ Celia called out from behind.
Sweet heaven, Ada had been stopped by the others, and Maus was back there wrapping Ned’s bleeding hand. Margaret was now several houses beyond.
‘Maggie,’ the soldier said with a chuckle. ‘A pretty name for a pretty lady.’ He dared to touch her shoulder. She reached out to push him away and he caught her hand, squeezing it so tightly that Margaret feared he’d break her bones.
Another soldier suddenly grabbed the man’s wrist, and Margaret, her hand released, backed away.
‘King Edward expects you to respect the women of Scotland,’ her rescuer said to her attacker.
‘Bastard,’ Margaret hissed as she withdrew, pushing back through the onlookers to join Ada and the others.
‘We should have come on foot,’ she said to Ada as she rubbed her hand. When she received no answer, she realised that her friend was staring back down the road. Several liveried men now surrounded the other two who had accosted them.
‘They wear Simon’s livery,’ said Ada. ‘Perhaps he is in charge of the peace here.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears; she must have been as frightened as Margaret had been.
‘God bless him,’ Margaret said, meaning it with all her heart. Perhaps Simon Montagu would be their salvation after all, though she was not so certain when his men encircled her little party.
‘We are to escort you to the castle,’ said Margaret’s rescuer. ‘It is customary for my lord to speak with newcomers.’
‘Might we first retire to my home to tidy ourselves?’ Ada asked.
‘No, Mistress. My orders are clear.’
‘So be it,’ Ada murmured.
The men led them up Broad Street, the way suddenly much less crowded.
James had warned them that they were likely to be questioned upon entering Stirling, but Margaret had put it from her mind. The steep climb was exhausting after so little sleep and her trance journey, not to mention the fright the disgusting soldier had given her. She wanted only to rest. As they crossed over a sluggish burn and turned into the market square she sighed over the distance yet to go – all uphill.
‘There is our house,’ Ada said.
Margaret saw Ada’s butler John standing in the doorway looking worried. Ada nodded to him.
‘I wonder whether he was escorted to the castle when he arrived,’ said Margaret.
‘You ken his ways, Maggie. John’s countenance is ever solemn, even when he’s laughing. Do not assume that his grim face means danger. It’s more likely a sour stomach.’
Ada’s chuckle teased a smile from Margaret.
‘The market square isn’t much changed since last I was here,’ said Ada, ‘but I can tell even from down here that the castle walls have been patched and fortified.’
With Ada’s commentary distracting Margaret it was not so long after all before they entered the outer bailey of the castle. It was crowded with small, flimsy buildings and tents, wagons, carts, and men everywhere. Margaret wondered at the numbers.
They were led to a wattle and daub building. Within, a well-dressed, grey-haired man stood talking with a few soldiers. He waved them on when he saw Margaret’s party in the doorway.
‘I understand that these women arrived on fine horses,’ the man said.
Margaret’s saviour gave a curt bow. ‘They did, Sir Simon.’
So this was Ada’s long-ago lover. He had an air of command, and the soldiers deferred to him. Margaret tried to imagine him twenty years younger. He had expressive eyes and a jaw line that would have been strong in youth. At present he looked bored.
‘What is your business in Stirling?’ Sir Simon demanded of them. His expression changed as Ada stepped forward to respond. ‘It cannot be,’ he said. ‘Ada de la Haye?’
Ada gave a graceful bow. ‘Yes, Sir Simon. I have brought my niece to stay in my family’s town house on the market square.’ She met his eyes. ‘I hope that you remember me?’
‘Dame Ada,’ he bowed slightly, ‘I remember you well, and with affection. This is your niece?’ He met Margaret’s open stare with a quick smile.
‘This is my niece Maggie,’ said Ada.
‘Dame Maggie,’ said Sir Simon with a polite bob of his head. ‘What brings you to Stirling?’
‘I am recently widowed, Sir, and would escape the memories that fill my home in Perth.’
He turned back to Ada. ‘I can see that you are weary from your journey. You will dine with me here tomorrow, both of you. Until then.’ He bowed and dismissed them.
Heaven, thought Celia, could be no more welcoming than the two-storey house on the market square, its paint fresh and the butler John standing solidly beside the doorway to receive them. Wealth was more than pretty clothes, solid furnishings and good food; it was security. She had seen the relief on Dame Ada’s face and known that they had been rescued by the liveried soldiers who surrounded the frighten
ing men who’d threatened her mistress, despite their having to report at the castle. Celia had gladly handed Sir Simon’s men the reins. She’d had enough of animals for one day, human and otherwise.
The fragrance of fresh herbs in the rushes strewn on the floor took Celia back to her days with Margaret’s goodmother, Roger’s mother. The house in Dunfermline had not been grand, but it had always been clean, with fresh, fragrant rushes in summer. Neither in Edinburgh nor in Perth had they been able to completely replace the old straw or rushes on the floors because the English commandeered it for their animals. Here was another sign that Dame Ada’s kin were important to the powers in this town. Celia hated the English, but at the moment she was glad that they were unaware where her loyalties lay. She prayed that tomorrow her mistress and Dame Ada handled Sir Simon well. She was sorry Margaret would not be spared the occasion. Her odd behaviour on the journey made Celia wonder whether she was in any condition to carry out this mission. Had Margaret merely been dozing she would have responded to Celia’s attempts to rouse her, but nothing had reached her until with James’s help they’d lifted her from the horse and splashed her with the cold burn water. Celia knew the owl’s visitation haunted her mistress, followed so closely by the daydream in the kirk.
With the menservants seeing to their packs Celia had an opportunity to pause and admire the hall. High windows faced the street and the backlands, the shutters opened to catch the upland breeze. The ceiling was high and whitewashed, with painted flowers on the border between ceiling and walls. A table was laid with cheese and bread and large flagons of ale that made her aware of her thirst.
Gradually she also grew aware of a man standing in the shadows watching Margaret and Ada as they discussed the sleeping arrangements. The intensity of his expression and posture alarmed her. He wore almost the same livery as did the men who had led them here. She wondered what right a soldier had to stare so at her mistress and the mistress of this house. Edging closer to Margaret, she caught her eye and nodded in his direction.
Margaret glanced in the direction while Celia poured her a cup of ale.