by Candace Robb
She waited, feeling horrible for causing him to recall his sorrow.
‘My son was hanged by the English,’ he said, catching his breath at the end as if biting off a sob.
‘God grant him peace,’ Margaret whispered, crossing herself.
‘They made an example of him, hanging him in front of the townspeople. He’d been caught with a cache of weapons in his pack, down in the pows.’
‘How horrible for you to see that.’
‘My wife knew she could not bear to watch, but they forced us out to the market square to stand at the head of the crowd. I’d meant to be there all along; I believed that my son would know I was there, and find some comfort in that.’ Ranald’s voice broke again and he shakily dabbed his forehead with his bandaged hand. ‘My wife has not recovered.’
‘I’m sure he died bravely, and in God’s grace. His brothers and sisters must be proud of him.’
‘He was our only child,’ said Ranald. ‘He was soon to be wed, and Lilias, my wife, looked forward to having a daughter, and grandchildren.’ He opened his hands on his lap, as if letting go a dream. ‘All lost now.’ His palm was wrapped, the bandage bloody. His digging must have opened a wound.
‘I hope his betrothed is a comfort to you in your grief,’ she said.
‘Her? A comfort? Do you know what she–’ He stopped himself. ‘Her parents sent her away. To kin up north.’
With the sharpness of his anger, she realised she’d touched on the source of his deep bitterness.
‘You hadn’t heard about my son’s execution?’ Ranald asked.
‘I think people are too frightened to gossip. Death surrounds us.’ Something in his mood shifted as she spoke. She tried not to think, but to let words come as they would. ‘You must also mourn your neighbour Gordon Cowie.’
‘Gordon?’ Ranald seemed startled, but then hurriedly murmured, ‘God grant him rest.’
‘Were you burying your son’s clothes just now?’ Her heart pounded at the boldness of the question.
‘What? Oh,’ he flushed and nodded. ‘My son’s. Yes.’
‘What of his ring?’ she asked, though she had not meant to.
He turned and grabbed her by the wrist, his face livid. ‘What do you know of that? Who are you? Has she talked to you?’
It felt as if he might break the bones in her wrist, he held her so tightly with the bandaged hand. But Margaret could not stop the flow of words. ‘What happened to your son’s ring?’
‘God, help me. Dear God, help me,’ Ranald moaned, and letting go her wrist he hurried away, disappearing into his house.
Margaret could not breathe for a moment; she thought her pounding heart would break through her ribs. She cursed herself for mentioning the ring. If this was what she must suffer with the Sight she wanted none of it. She fled into the house.
‘What is it, Maggie?’ Ada said, stepping in front of her and grabbing her by the shoulders. ‘You look terrified. Was that Ranald you were talking to? Did he say something to frighten you?’
Finding her voice, Margaret said, ‘We spoke of his son’s hanging.’
‘Poor man,’ Ada murmured. ‘No wonder you are upset.’
Margaret was grateful that Ada queried her no further, but allowed her to escape up to the solar where Celia was soon beside her, helping her remove her wimple and shoes.
‘You are shivering, Mistress,’ Celia murmured as she helped Margaret into bed and pulled the covers up over her.
By the expression on her maid’s face Margaret knew she looked as strange as she felt. Her mind was agitated and she thought that the last thing she wanted was to lie down, and yet her body felt drained of life. How she was going to quiet her mind while lying with the covers pulled up over her head she did not know. Sleep was impossible, yet motion was equally impossible.
Dear God, teach me how to contain these thoughts, this knowing. I can do no good if I go mad.
11
WOUNDS
Ada had just taken a soothing tisane to Margaret, having hoped to talk to her some more about their neighbour. She had been alarmed by Margaret’s state after speaking with him. That his son was hanged as a spy was horrible, but Margaret had already heard of the execution. Ada sensed that something else had deeply unsettled her. She was disappointed to find Margaret asleep.
Celia was sitting beside the bed. ‘After tossing so that I worried she’d never rest, she’s finally calmed,’ said the faithful maid.
Although glad that Margaret was resting, Ada was frustrated to be left in the dark about what had so disturbed her – yet not so much that she considered waking her. Leaving the cup with Celia, Ada had reached the head of the solar steps when she heard voices outside the hall door, and then a knock. John hurried to open the door, saying as he did so, ‘Sir Simon.’ He bowed his head with respect.
Simon gave the butler a curt nod and stepped past him into the hall. He was dressed as a soldier today and looked like one, straight-backed and grim. A stranger followed him in; he wore an unfamiliar livery, and was clearly a commoner.
Anxious to know why Simon was breaking his rule about being seen outside the castle precinct with her, Ada hurriedly descended to greet them.
‘Good day to you, Dame Ada,’ said Simon with an uncharacteristic formality. He glanced towards the fire, noticing Archie on the pallet. ‘An injured servant?’ Simon asked, walking over to see him more clearly. ‘This young man is often at the castle. Is he a member of your household?’
‘No, Simon. We found him lying in the wynd this morning,’ said Ada, grateful that Peter had not accompanied him. ‘As you can see, he was in no condition to be moved far.’
Simon grunted, ‘Drunken brawling,’ and moved away from the fire. ‘Has Peter been here – last night or this morning?’ he asked.
Ada’s heart raced. ‘No. He has not graced me with his company. Did he say he was coming to see me?’
‘No. No matter.’ Nodding to his companion, who waited by the door, Simon motioned for him to join them.
‘Can I offer you something? A cup of wine?’ Ada asked.
‘I’ll not be here so long as that. I want a word with your niece.’
‘With Maggie?’
Simon gave a curt nod.
‘Who is this man with you?’ Ada did not like the stranger’s slightly amused expression.
‘He’s a soldier in King Edward’s army,’ said Simon.
‘I guessed that. Why is he here with you? Why have you brought him here?’
The stranger glanced away, as if realising he’d offended her.
‘Fetch your niece,’ said Simon.
‘She’s been taken ill. She’s lying down and should not be disturbed.’
‘I won’t keep her long.’
‘But–’
‘Shall we go up to her?’ he asked, eyeing the steps.
‘No. I’ll ask her to join us.’
As she climbed to the solar Ada wondered what mischief Simon was about. The stranger irritated her, but Simon’s formality frightened her. It was a bad sign that he was distancing himself from her.
In the solar she found Margaret sitting up, her loosened hair tucked into a neat cap, sipping the tisane as Celia helped her into her shoes.
‘I heard,’ Margaret said. She was pale and her hand trembled as she lifted the cup to her lips. ‘What can he want?’
‘I don’t know. There’s a soldier with him in a livery I haven’t seen before. Can you walk?’
Margaret set down the cup and rose. ‘We’d better find out what he wants.’ She shook her head as Celia moved to assist. ‘Stay here. I’ll go with Ada.’
Ada could not help but admire how her young friend lifted her chin and walked over to the steps though she still lacked colour and energy. Margaret paused at the steps and motioned for Ada to go first.
‘In case I stumble,’ she said.
Dear girl, Ada thought, and said a prayer as she descended that this was some foolish whim on Simon’s part.
&n
bsp; When Margaret had joined them, Simon glanced over at his companion. ‘Do you know this woman?’
The man nodded. ‘Dame Margaret Kerr,’ he said in a Welsh accent, ‘we meet again.’
Ada’s heart skipped a beat at the use of Margaret’s name, and she heard her companion gasp. She took Margaret’s arm to steady her and angrily demanded, ‘Simon, who is this man?’
But Simon was looking at his companion. ‘Kerr. So this is the woman you met in Perth, David?’
‘It is, my Lord.’
Simon turned back to Margaret. ‘Do you recognise this man?’
To Ada’s despair Margaret nodded. ‘He brought me news of my brother. He claimed to have escaped from the English camp at Soutra. Your sores have healed well,’ she said to the stranger.
‘I am grateful to James Comyn for his care,’ said the obnoxious David.
One of his hands was wrapped in a stained bandage. ‘I see you are not completely healed,’ said Ada. She wanted to say more, call him a liar, but that would be hypocritical in the situation, for she’d done her share of lying and did not want to chance angering God.
‘Wait without, David,’ said Simon.
The Welshman withdrew at once.
While Simon stood regarding Ada, she remained silent, unable to think of anything she might say to improve the situation.
‘Of course you knew Dame Margaret was a spy for James Comyn, Ada. You are too smart to be fooled by her.’ His voice was cool though she had no doubt of the anger he suppressed.
‘You know me well, Simon. Who was that Welshman?’
‘A spy,’ Margaret said. ‘James was right not to trust him.’
‘What I don’t understand, Dame Margaret,’ said Simon, ‘is how it came to be that you serve the Comyns while your husband was in service with the Bruces. The families are enemies. But I’m certain you know that.’
‘She knows her own mind,’ said Ada.
‘It’s almost amusing. Peter and I thought you were the spy, Ada, until the Welshman arrived and opened our eyes to your niece’s activities. She isn’t your niece at all, is she?’
‘It matters little now.’ Ada did not know whether Margaret was safer as her kin or as a friend. ‘What do you mean to do now, Simon?’
‘I should have killed you when you chose Godric.’ He said it as if he was at last coming to some decision.
Ada had no doubt he knew she’d lost her daughter shortly after birth and that Godric had left her to fend for herself. ‘You almost did. And in the end I lost everything I loved. Everything.’
‘You need not have suffered. It was your choice.’
Bastard. ‘Can you be so cold? Surely what we’ve shared in the past week has meant something to you.’ As soon as she spoke she wished she could take it back, annoyed with herself for sounding as if she were pleading with him.
‘I thought I was keeping you from spying,’ said Simon.
She could not believe his arrogance. ‘Liar.’
‘Dame Margaret Kerr.’ Ada felt Margaret stand straighter as Simon studied her. ‘I believe I know where my son has gone. He’s searching for your late husband’s friend.’
‘What friend?’ Margaret asked.
‘I am sure you know of whom I speak. Did you know that Aylmer is English? My men wanted to kill him at once, but I’d hoped to learn more about his kinsman, Robert Bruce. Curious man, Bruce, one season fighting for King Edward and amusing himself at the English court, the next season turning against his sovereign.’
‘I don’t trust him,’ said Margaret.
Ada wished she’d keep her tongue. Simon needn’t know any more about her.
‘I certainly think you’re right in not trusting the Bruce.’
‘I meant Aylmer,’ said Margaret.
‘Ah? Neither do I. Unfortunately, with most of our soldiers headed to the battlefield Aylmer managed to escape the castle. At least we think so. And I have a feeling Peter is tracking him.’
‘May they have joy of one another,’ said Margaret.
‘As I said, she is not well,’ said Ada. ‘Is that why you asked whether he’d been here – because she might have spoken with this Aylmer?’
‘I had no idea he was at the castle,’ said Margaret.
Simon regarded Margaret as if deciding whether or not to believe her. ‘Well, then,’ he said at last, ‘I shall trouble you ladies no longer.’ He bowed to Margaret, then to Ada. ‘This is, I believe, farewell, Ada.’
‘What will happen to us?’ she demanded.
‘I don’t know.’ He said it as if he’d not given it any thought. ‘At present I am needed in negotiations with the Scots. I have some hope that your nobles are about to turn on Wallace and Murray and their rabble. Then – I don’t know.’ He bobbed his head again and headed towards the door.
‘Remember me to our children,’ Ada said, hoping that would make him turn, that she might read something in his eyes.
But he did not pause.
‘Bastard,’ she hissed as the door closed behind him. ‘Lying bastard.’ Her face burned with anger and shame and she wanted to both cry and scream. ‘Forgive me, Maggie,’ she said, pushing past her, heading out to the backlands. Once outside she gulped the air. Hugging herself to try to stop the trembling, she stepped out into the sunshine and stood with head bowed, letting the sun’s warmth soak into her. She cursed herself for coming to Stirling. In Perth she had at last found peace with herself and a contentment in her life, participating again in the lives of her family by taking in various members when their lives overwhelmed them. But coming here had opened wide all the wounds she had worked so hard to heal. Damn Simon, damn him for dallying with her and then shoving her aside. He might at least have kept up the pretence of affection. All the power was in his hands, he had nothing to fear from her.
Margaret touched her on the shoulder, then held out a cup of brandywine. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
Ada shook her head, and then drank the wine down in one gulp. As it warmed her she noticed that Margaret looked more herself.
‘Have you seen aught of Aylmer?’
Margaret shook her head. ‘I’d imagined him long gone. I am going to the kirk to tell James all that has happened.’
Ada felt she should protest, being responsible for Margaret’s welfare while her young, impetuous friend was a guest in her house. ‘He does not want you going about.’
‘It is over, Ada. Whatever Simon means to do is already decided. Nothing I do will change that. I might as well go about my business.’
‘But why risk yourself?’ Ada was not ready to give up all hope of reaching Simon.
‘James might be able to advise us. I’ve had John pack food and drink for him.’
For a moment, Margaret looked so like her mother that Ada caught her breath. Perhaps it was the wimple and the signs of exhaustion on her face, but she had never so reminded Ada of Christiana before. Yet she saw a stillness in Margaret that she’d never seen in Christiana. Thinking of what Margaret had gone through with her mother’s Sight and the havoc it had caused her home life, as well as all she had suffered with her ill-suited husband, and now her widowhood, Ada felt horrible for causing yet more strife in her young life.
‘I should have turned around when James told me Simon and Peter were here,’ Ada said.
‘Should you?’ asked Margaret. ‘I don’t know that I agree.’
‘What did Ranald Allan say that frightened you so?’
Margaret glanced over in the direction of Ranald’s house. ‘Isn’t the tale of his son’s being hanged for a spy enough?’
‘And now Simon knows you came here as a spy.’
Margaret closed her eyes and nodded.
Ada still sensed there was more, but she was too drained to press her. ‘You are right, James may have some advice for us. Heaven knows we need some. Reason tells me Simon will do nothing now that he considers us exposed and thus powerless. He would gain nothing. But Peter–’
‘Simon was cruel to you,�
�� Margaret said, touching Ada’s shoulder. ‘I am sorry.’
Ada shrugged. ‘Go along. I’ll take care of myself. Be careful.’
She watched Margaret cross the yard to the back door. Beautiful, intelligent, courageous, and at nineteen already a widow. She wondered what would become of her dear young friend.
A strange hush had descended upon the town. Margaret sensed even more than she had the night of Johanna’s death the collectively held breath of the townsfolk as the armies massed below. She noticed Celia’s hesitation when they stepped out into the quiet market square.
‘We are not the only ones who have stayed within, out of harm’s way,’ said Margaret. ‘But today the harm came calling. It doesn’t matter whether we stay within.’
‘Where do you think Aylmer has gone?’ Celia asked.
Margaret wished she knew. Not that she had forgotten how she loathed him, but if he’d witnessed how Roger had fallen she wanted to hear it.
‘I would imagine he’s trying to escape Stirling and the battlefield below,’ she said in belated answer to Celia.
They both halted as a cry broke the silence.
Margaret laughed with relief when it resolved into a cat fight. ‘It’s so quiet they must think it’s night,’ she said.
But Celia was not about to be sidetracked with levity. ‘What did happen in the garden?’ she asked.
‘I spoke to Ranald Allan, our neighbour. I’d heard him and his wife arguing about a ring last night – one that had been long in the family. I mentioned it today – I’d watched him bury some clothes and – it was the Sight working through me – I asked whether he had also buried his son’s ring. He became furious. He was so angry’
‘What does it mean?’
Margaret shook her head. ‘I wish I knew. Huchon was betrothed. Ranald spoke as if she’d abandoned them.’
They crossed over towards the kirk and sought out Father Piers.
‘He is already in the kirk,’ said the clerk.
They crossed the yard again, to the north door, where the guard searched the basket for weapons before allowing them past.
‘They hope James comes out, but unarmed,’ Margaret muttered, trying to distract herself from the fear the nave’s enormity had caused her the night James had sought sanctuary. But the sun had broken through the clouds and the light of early afternoon softened the great expanse. Across the nave, in the south aisle, Father Piers stood over someone who knelt on the stones with head bowed. Margaret and Celia nodded to the priest and then sought out the chapel in which James was biding.