The Fire In The Flint (Margaret Kerr Mysteries 2)

by Candace Robb

  ‘She kindly offered to take Murdoch’s place preparing a meal. I’m curious why the English are so bothered by the old man’s death.’

  ‘I have wondered that too, but I can’t think why they are.’

  Noises from the yard brought them both to their feet.

  ‘I believe it’s Bonny and the wagon,’ Margaret said. ‘They wouldn’t take Murdoch’s donkey, would they?’

  ‘They might do whatever they please,’ Roger said. ‘Slip out on to the landing, see whether it’s as you say.’

  Pulling back the bolt, she stole out, through the suddenly menacing entryway. She began to crouch down to look over the railing, but if someone were to look up she would attract far more attention in such a posture than merely leaning out, innocently curious about what was happening. There were several armed men in the yard, surrounding a wagon. Roger’s horse was harnessed in front, and Aylmer’s was tethered behind. Several men appeared in the undercroft doorway, carrying barrels. They had obviously found items that they considered suspicious or too good for a Scot. Margaret hurried back to the room, fearful what Roger would do and yet knowing how precious the horses were.

  ‘They have your horses, not Bonny. You must do something.’

  Roger stretched out his legs. ‘They would like that. We’ll do nothing, or rather play cowards.’ He smiled at her disbelief. ‘Games, Maggie. We must know which ones to avoid.’

  ‘We’ll find no horses to replace them. Nor donkeys.’

  ‘That is what they believe.’

  ‘Where do you think to find some?’

  He rose and came to her, pulled her into his arms. ‘All is going according to plan, Maggie. You must believe me. Now tell me all you know about the night Old Will was murdered.’

  8

  A MAN OF QUESTIONS

  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 pou
red 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.