A Cruel Courtship (38 page)

Margaret shook her head.

Suddenly Lilias sank down on to her chair and put her head in her hands. ‘Why has God done this? Why did He return the ring?’ Her voice was muffled, but Margaret could tell that she was weeping.

Margaret rose and searched the hall for something strong to drink, finding a little stale ale in a mug on a small table. Sitting down beside Lilias, she gently took her hands and placed the mug in it. The woman’s face was shattered with grief. She gulped the drink, then glanced up almost shyly at Margaret.

‘Perhaps God meant to melt the ice that held your heart imprisoned, Dame Lilias.’ Margaret said as she rose, placing the ring on Lilias’s lap. ‘Be at peace.’

Crossing the hall, Margaret called to Ranald to comfort his wife and departed with Celia, hurrying before the trembling overcame her and made it
impossible to walk. She fled into Ada’s house, somehow managing the steps, and collapsed on the bed.

13

Still hoping he might escape in time to provide information to the Scots, Andrew stayed with Sir Francis and the others into the early evening, listening to developments when they were still fresh, before being contorted by being passed from man to man, adding opinions to the facts. The commanders planned to send troops across the Stirling bridge at dawn; Surrey had at last agreed. Sir Francis was to lead a later crossing. So far Andrew had heard nothing of battles around either Edinburgh or Perth. He prayed that meant Fergus and Margaret were truly safe.

The men were quietly discussing the plans when someone joined the group by the fire. Holm glanced over at him and asked Sir Francis who it was.

‘Sir Simon Montagu,’ said Francis. ‘We conferred
at Soutra. He’s been biding at the castle. Let’s hear what he has to say of the situation up there.’

Andrew wanted to slip away, not eager to meet Ada de la Haye’s former lover again. The fewer Englishmen who knew him and where he’d been posted the better; especially now that his hope for escape was stirring.

But he ducked too late.

‘Father Andrew? Well, I’d not thought to meet you again so soon,’ said Sir Simon. He crouched down by Andrew, the firelight adding menacing shadows to his face.

‘He agreed to come as chaplain for my men, a sudden change in plan,’ said Sir Francis. ‘I thank God for him. He’s kept my men from despair.’

‘That’s more than the priests of Holy Rude have managed in Stirling,’ said Simon, studying Andrew’s face. ‘Murders abound in the town. The townspeople have all gone mad. Your sister is there, Father, did you know? Margaret. She’s a beautiful widow – my son Peter might be a good match for her.’

Knowing full well that Simon was trying to goad him into responding inappropriately for his post, Andrew asked merely, ‘Margaret is widowed? What happened to Roger Sinclair?’ while his mind was frantic with concern. What was she doing in Stirling of all places, and being courted by Sir Simon’s son?

‘He met an unfortunate accident while spying on Stirling Castle for the traitor Robert Bruce. Fell from a rock, hit his head, broke his neck.’

‘May he rest in peace,’ Andrew murmured, crossing himself and keeping his eyes lowered. It was not good that Simon Montagu knew of Roger’s alliance.

‘Your sister is here with an old friend of mine, Ada de la Haye. Peter is our son.’

Andrew ignored the scenarios vying for attention, needing a clear head. ‘I pray I have the opportunity to see her after the battle,’ he said.
I pray for her
, he silently added.

With that Simon seemed to become bored with the sport and withdrew.

‘I am sorry to hear of your sister’s loss,’ said Francis. ‘No matter how ill-advised her husband’s loyalties, it is sad news for you, too.’

‘I should pray for her,’ said Andrew.

‘I understand.’

Rising, Andrew made a show of yawning and excused himself. ‘If there is to be battle tomorrow, all the sinners in the camp will find their way to me tonight. I must catch sleep when I can.’

All but Sir Simon bade him a good night.

Ada had never witnessed Celia so withdrawn. She could not get a word out of her regarding Margaret’s collapse. Maus thought she’d seen them coming from the neighbour’s house, but Celia would not even verify that, going about her tasks pinched-faced and pale. It had been late morning when Margaret rushed through the hall and up to her
bed; it was now mid afternoon and Celia was a cipher, though she had assisted Ada in sewing Peter into his shroud. Only then had she spoken, and only to say, ‘This minds me of the night my mistress opened Master Jack’s shroud.’

‘Roger’s cousin?’ He’d been murdered in Edinburgh while searching for Roger and his body had been taken home to Dame Katherine in Dunfermline for burial. ‘Maggie opened his shroud?’

Celia nodded. ‘She knew something wasn’t right. That was the beginning, I think.’

‘Of what?’ Ada had asked.

Celia had shrugged and gone silent. Maddening woman. Ada knew the moment she’d seen the dark, tiny maid that she would be difficult. Small people often made up for their lack of size in the strength of their will, and she’d seen that strength in Celia’s strong brows and clear, dark eyes. But she had proven her worth, standing by Maggie in some harrowing times, so Ada kept her mouth shut and let the woman be. Perhaps Maggie was simply that worried about James’s joining the battle.

It was to be a day of aggravating servants, Ada thought, when John asked if Archie would be departing soon.

‘Is that a request?’ Ada snapped.

‘As he gains strength he’s eating more and more,’ said John. ‘We have food for a week, perhaps a fortnight if we can barter for some oats that cook
could grind into cakes. They’ll not let us off this cursed rock to seek out fresh supplies – we’ve tried. We’re trapped here. I hadn’t planned for a siege.’

‘We’ve food only for a week despite my eating every evening at the castle?’ Ada did not believe it. ‘You just want him gone.’

John denied it.

Ada knew the English had commandeered all the food for miles around, and she’d begun to feel they were as trapped as if under siege, but she wasn’t going to concede to a servant’s demands.

It was late afternoon when Margaret at last wandered into the hall looking like a wraith, her curly red hair loose like a caplet over her shoulders, her shift sleeves lacking their outer covering. Her appearance was not inappropriate when there were no guests, but it was very unlike Maggie. Celia hurried after her with sleeves in hand.

‘I’ll not wear Peter’s blood,’ said Maggie, pushing the sleeves away.

Ada shook her head when Celia appealed to her. ‘Let her be. Archie won’t mind her without decorative sleeves.’ Noticing that Margaret seemed confused by her surroundings, Ada put an arm around her and guided her to a chair a little away from the fire, out of Archie’s sight – the young man was sitting up today and quite curious about the household.

‘What happened, Maggie?’ Ada asked under her breath. ‘You are behaving – well, I almost think Christiana has taken your form.’

Margaret sank back in the chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and breathed deeply.

‘Can I bring you something?’ Ada asked.

‘A sip of brandywine, if you can spare it, and then I’ll be myself again, I promise.’ Margaret glanced down at the hair spilling across her shoulder. Pulling on a tress, she said, ‘Sweet heaven, Celia will have a fit about my unbound hair and no sleeves.’ Apparently she’d not noticed her maid shadowing her.

‘What happened this morning?’ Ada asked. ‘You looked even worse than when you spoke to Ranald.’

Taking Ada’s hand, Margaret affectionately squeezed it. ‘I’ll tell you all in exchange for some brandywine.’

Ada did not know what to make of Margaret’s behaviour.

Gradually Margaret felt coherent enough to look outward and trust that she was seeing with her own eyes. By the expression on the face of her good and loyal friend, she knew that she must at last explain her behaviour to Ada. She needed to know that the Sight had come to Margaret, and that she was struggling to learn how to use it and how to live with it. It was plain that she’d frightened both of them, for Celia had heard quite a lot at the Allans’s house.

They sat up in the solar, just the three of them, talking softly. At first it was mostly Margaret who
spoke, telling them of the beginnings before they left Perth, Dame Bethag’s advice, how frightened and lost she’d been as she rode towards Stirling.

‘I have wondered what was bothering you ever since you told me of the owl,’ said Ada. ‘Roger’s death – how horrible to dream of it. I wish you had told me.’

‘There is nothing you could have done for me, my friend, just as I’ve never been able to help Ma.’

‘Father Piers guessed that you had the Sight that day when you asked about the clothing in his parlour,’ Ada remembered. ‘I’ve been so blind.’

‘I wanted you to be,’ Margaret assured her.

She told them of her fear for Johanna, and how it had brought her to Johanna’s house, but too late.

‘Why have you seen nothing about her murderer?’ Ada asked, sounding as frustrated as Margaret felt. ‘Have you no idea who beat that poor woman?’

Margaret shook her head. ‘I know it’s difficult to understand, but the Sight seems to choose what it reveals – or God chooses.’

She told them of her growing obsession with the Allans, and the question about Huchon’s ring that she’d asked Ranald without knowing why.

‘Poor Lilias Allan. What was Peter thinking, to insist they watch? And to wear that damned ring!’ Ada growled.

‘He might not have known whose it was,’ Margaret said. ‘In truth I doubt he could have. Why
would Gordon tell him? But it is returned to the Allans now.’ She bowed her head. ‘I have prayed and prayed that the Sight is God’s gift, and not a curse.’

Celia looked up from her work. ‘I am sure it is God’s work, Mistress.’ She had been quiet until now, delicately scraping the last traces of blood from Margaret’s sleeves. ‘What you did for Lilias Allan was a blessing for her. You drew her out of the despair that threatened her soul’s salvation.’

‘Perhaps God has yet some information about Johanna to give us,’ said Ada. ‘It is not right that such a murder go unpunished.’

‘The English don’t care about her death,’ said Margaret. ‘She was unimportant.’

‘I know. But I do. My situation with Simon was not so different from hers with Rob.’

‘He hurt you deeply.’ Margaret took Ada’s hand.

‘Perhaps his punishment will be to never know Peter’s fate,’ said Ada. ‘That will give him pain, I know it will.’

‘If he returns, will you not tell him?’ Celia asked. ‘Someone will surely notice the burial.’

‘If Simon returns to Stirling we’ll have far more serious concerns,’ said Ada, ‘for that will mean our people have lost the battle.’ She shook her head. ‘As for telling Simon about Peter, I shall know what to say when he asks. I always do.’

‘I wonder about Johanna’s English lover,’ said Celia, ‘what Rob’s fate will be – or has been.’

‘I’ve wondered that, too’ said Ada. ‘I should have thought they’d make an example of him.’

‘Like poor Huchon Allan,’ said Celia. ‘Only her lover Rob did not know he was committing treason.’