A Cruel Courtship (35 page)

‘Do you want to see any more?’ Sandy asked. ‘I’ve pulled aside the bags and see no more wounds.’

They both started as faint shouts rode the night breeze. ‘Would that he were down in the camps with the others,’ Margaret said.

‘Aye.’

‘Take a good look at the knife’s hilt, so that you can describe it to me,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll leave him in peace for now.’

Ada might wish to see him. Margaret must tell her, but the thought of going to Isabel’s house filled her with a strange weariness.

‘I must clean myself,’ she told Sandy. ‘Ask Celia to come to the kitchen.’

The servants shrank from Margaret as she stepped into the kitchen. She hadn’t realised she was cold until the warmth enveloped her.

‘I need hot water to wash in,’ she told Alec. ‘And an old cloth.’

Celia gasped when she saw her mistress.

‘I am unharmed, Celia, but you’ll have some work washing this from me.’ In the light Margaret now saw that she had blood on her sleeves and on her skirt, as well as on her hands. She could just imagine the state of her wimple.

‘I’ll fetch some clothes,’ said Celia.

‘I’ll come into the hall.’

Celia shook her head. ‘No, don’t. Ellen has returned. With Evota. I’ll bring your clothes here.’

Margaret was dismayed that they had visitors in the hall, with the servants overwrought, as well they should be. Surely even in their concern for Archie, Evota and Ellen would notice something odd. ‘How long have they been here? What do they want?’

‘They’ve not been here long,’ said Celia. ‘Evota came to see her son, but Ellen took me aside and said she must talk to you. I’d thought to fetch you from Isabel’s if you didn’t return soon.’

‘We must hurry then. At least they are there to sit with Archie.’

Celia hurried out.

When at last Margaret entered the hall, she was touched by the tender scene beside the fire. Evota sat on the pallet, Archie’s head on her lap, and as she rocked him gently she sang a wordless song, a lovely tune. Ellen glanced over and nodded a greeting, but Evota caught the movement and paused in her song, though still she rocked her son.
Margaret took a deep breath, willing herself to forget the dead man in the shed for a while, and crossed the room to the three.

‘God bless you for saving my son,’ said Evota.

‘I pray that he is soon as he was,’ said Margaret. She took a seat on a stool between the two women. The firelight shadowed Evota’s face, but Margaret could see that Ellen favoured her mother with her delicate features, although in the mother’s worn face they were puffy and embedded in wrinkles. Yet the woman must be younger than Ada.

‘Always fighting, like his da.’ Evota shook her head and traced the bandage on her son’s forehead with a finger.

‘I would speak with you, Dame Maggie,’ Ellen said. ‘Alone. Ma will sit with my brother.’

Where in this house might they talk alone, Margaret wondered. She did not dare take Ellen into the backland.

‘I know that my daughter wishes to talk to you,’ said Evota, making it clear by her tone that she didn’t approve, but had resigned herself to it.

‘Let’s retire to the corner,’ Margaret suggested.

‘It’s about your husband’s death,’ said Ellen, at last looking squarely at Margaret.

Aylmer
, Margaret thought,
she’s spoken to him
. She led the way to the corner, out of the light.

12

‘Have you heard the soldiers’ shouts from below, down by the river?’ Ellen asked.

Margaret nodded. ‘We can only pray that God is with us.’

The young woman sat with her hands clutching the bench on either side of her. Margaret felt Ellen’s anguish and wished she could just run away. How was it that after all the pent-up tension of the past week – months for the people in this town – everything was bursting apart now? All those troops massing below them. The town floated on a sea of armed men that would soon turn to blood; they would all drown in the hatred. God must have a reason for this, but Margaret could not fathom it.

She was trying to catch her breath and calm herself. She wanted a cup of wine but did not trust her legs to carry her across the room, so she judged
it best to just get this over with. ‘What is on your mind, Ellen?’

‘What I have to say, Dame Maggie–’ Ellen paused. ‘I’m telling you because he wants you to know that he didn’t kill your husband.’

‘Who?’

‘Aylmer.’

Margaret was taken aback. ‘How do you know my husband’s comrade? Have you seen Aylmer since he escaped from the castle?’

‘He came to see me last night. I wish I didn’t know him.’ Ellen’s voice caught and she bowed her head for a moment. ‘I was with Aylmer that night. Your husband was on the great rock behind the kirk and they were to take turns watching the castle. It’s dark up on the rock and the torches up at the castle make the movement up there like a play. I was with Aylmer down below the rock, in its shadow.’ She paused, biting her lip.

‘Go on, go on.’ Margaret’s heart was racing.

‘He went after Fitzsimon last night because of what happened.’

‘Aylmer did?’

Ellen nodded.

Aylmer had struck the second, mortal blow? ‘What
did
happen the night my husband died?’

‘Peter knew I’d been with Aylmer before, and he made me lead him to where your husband and Aylmer were watching that night – or he’d take Archie – he knew Archie was carrying messages.
After Aylmer fell asleep, I was sneaking away when your husband cried out. I wish I hadn’t moved.’ She took a breath. ‘He tumbled off the rock and landed right next to me. He’d come down with the most awful speed and his head – oh, Dame Maggie, I
heard
it hit the rock.’ Ellen moaned.

Margaret stifled a sob, remembering the vision.

‘When I looked up, I saw Peter standing at the edge of the rock, looking down on your husband. Aylmer grabbed me and I thought he was going to kill me, but Peter came running down with his men and I ran away. I ran and ran.’

‘Peter Fitzsimon killed my husband?’ Margaret asked, trying to grasp what Ellen was telling her. ‘Peter
pushed
Roger off the rock?’

‘Yes, I’m sure of it. He likes to tell me that I am responsible for your husband’s death because your husband saw me running away and then lost his balance, but I saw Peter up there. He gave me this ring for my reward.’ Ellen snapped the thong from her neck and pressed the ring into Margaret’s hand. ‘I don’t want this. It’s blood pay. I never thought– I’m so sorry.’ She began to sob. ‘I never meant any harm. I helped my family, sleeping with men. Peter would have taken my brother from us.’

Margaret stared at the floor, the ring heavy in her hand. ‘How did Peter get this ring?’ She repeated the question several times before Ellen calmed enough to respond.

‘He said he bought it fair, from the goldsmith. It’s Peter’s.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Margaret said. But she’d forgotten that Ellen did not know Peter was dead. ‘I’m confused, don’t mind what I say,’ she muttered, pressing the ring back into Ellen’s hand.

‘Keep it!’ the young woman wept.

Margaret did not want it, but she agreed. ‘I shall keep it for you until–’
Until what?
She found it difficult to think clearly. ‘Until I find the owner. Bless you for telling me how my husband died, Ellen. I am grateful, and I know that you are not to blame.’

The young woman looked over at her mother. ‘There is more I would tell you, but not now. Archie might hear.’ She rose. ‘We should go now. Ma wants to bring him home tomorrow.’

Considering the corpse in the shed, Margaret thought it a good idea to send the young man home to heal. ‘We’ll talk of that tomorrow,’ she said.

Evota and Ellen had not long been gone when Ada returned, and Margaret faced the moment she’d been dreading since seeing Peter in the shed.

The marketplace was very quiet but for a few small clusters of folk as Ada hurried back to her home. The few there were talking softly among themselves, wondering how the Scots could gather enough men to stand against all the troops they could see camping down below.

‘Torches and fires as far as the eye can see,’ one man said.

Ada had enjoyed the evening with Isabel. Her old friend was already coming to terms with being a widow, planning to join her daughter who was away in the north if that became possible, determined to go on with her life. Without revealing that Peter was here in Stirling, Ada had talked about having at last met one of her adult children only to find him an unpleasant young man, someone of whom she was not very proud – although he was quite handsome and skilled in the arts of war. Isabel had listened with sympathy and confided some of her own disappointments. All in all it had cheered Ada and she felt much better about her life.

But the moment she entered her house she knew something was wrong. Maus sat by the fire with Archie, but the moment she noticed her mistress in the room she put her hand to her mouth and hurried out to the kitchen.

It was nothing unusual for Maus to abandon her post. Ada had considered replacing her many times – she was the youngest daughter of a couple whom Ada had taken under her wing many years ago, the husband a man who seemed unable to thrive in any occupation and the wife a longsuffering saint who would have done better for her family by losing her temper now and then. Maus seemed to have inherited the most useless traits from each parent. Muttering a curse, Ada headed
for the kitchen after checking that Archie was resting peacefully.

Margaret and Celia sat near the fire talking quietly with John, Sandy, Alec, and cook. Ned was scrubbing something in a tub, Maus whispering some direction. The water seemed pink in the firelight. As they individually became aware of Ada’s presence, not one smiled or greeted her, but rather whispered her name.
Dame Ada. The Mistress. Ada
.

‘What has happened here? Why are you all so upset to see me?’ she demanded with a frisson of fear that perhaps she would regret asking.

Only Margaret rose and moved towards her. All the others seemed frozen where they were.

‘This is a pretty greeting,’ Ada said. As Margaret put an arm around her Ada noticed that her friend was so pale her freckles were visible in the firelight. ‘What has frightened you, Maggie?’

‘Come into the hall.’

Margaret urged her forward, but Ada walked over to the tub. ‘Those are the sleeves of the dress you wore today.’ She glanced back at Margaret’s gown. She wore her better one, for no apparent reason – except that the sleeves to the grey one were bloody. ‘What happened? Are you wearing bandages beneath your sleeves?’

‘Come into the hall with me,’ said Margaret. Her mouth was grimly fixed and her eyes anxious, but she did not appear to be in pain.

‘It’s someone else’s blood. Archie’s?’

Margaret pulled her out of the kitchen with more strength than Ada could resist.

After the kitchen the evening air felt cool and clean. ‘The air is so soft out here – let’s go into the backland,’ Ada suggested.

Margaret stopped and faced Ada, a hand on either shoulder.

Suddenly, Ada was frightened. ‘What is it, Maggie?’

‘Peter has been killed, Ada.’