The Fire in the Flint (28 page)

Back in camp James had learned that the boatman he had noticed near Elcho yesterday had also been focused on the English. Wallace had set him to track Malcolm Kerr and prevent any contact between Margaret’s father and the approaching troop. James still did not know why Wallace was so concerned about Malcolm’s activities, though he was beginning to see how alike the Kerr brothers were. Slippery opportunists.

When an elderly stranger entered the yard from the kirk, James curled into character and hobbled back into the cool darkness within. Standing far enough from the door that no light might fall on him at its opening, James resumed his watch. As his eyes adjusted he discovered Margaret kneeling quite near him. She nodded to him and crossed herself, as she might behave with a friar.

James gestured for her to join him. ‘We must talk here. There is someone in the yard,’ he whispered.

‘I saw him. We need not concern ourselves with him. He has been deaf for years,’ said Margaret. She led the way into the yard.

The elderly man sat on a far bench, his head lifted to receive the sun’s warmth.

Margaret settled on the bench she had shared with James a few days ago.

He noted a freshness in her face that had been lacking, yet she plucked at a sleeve as if worried. ‘What is wrong?’

‘Fergus means to ride to his uncle in Aberdeen,’ she began.

He listened to her concern with sympathy both for her and for Fergus, a young man itching to fight. ‘He’s for King John?’

Margaret smiled as she nodded. ‘My brothers are of good heart.’

‘You’re right to worry about his travelling alone.’ He would not give her false assurances. But he thought of a way to help. ‘There’s a good chance a messenger is headed north-east, though perhaps not at once. Would he wait?’

‘I’ll do my best to convince him that it is worthwhile,’ Margaret said, but she frowned and chewed at the inside of her lip.

It was a little gesture, but it served as a reminder to James of Margaret’s relative youth. He would do well to remember that.

‘I have horses just outwith the town,’ he said. ‘Would you care to ride out with me? It is a day for the country.’

Her face brightened and she seemed about to agree, but then she shook her head. ‘I dare not risk
it, not in the daylight. Nor should you be seen too much with me.’

‘I had not intended for us to walk together in the town. As for daylight, I proposed it because I did not think it would be easy for you to slip away from Roger at night.’

Margaret blushed. So that is how things went with the couple. James was furious. He was wasting precious time preparing her to spy if she was with child.

‘Why are you so keen for me to ride out with you?’ she asked, looking closely at him.

His temper must be showing. And suddenly he feared that it was not anger but jealousy that heated him. ‘There are people I think it important for you to meet.’

‘What people?’

‘You will learn their names when I introduce you.’ He must be on his guard with her. He must not let his heart distract him, fickle thing that it suddenly was.

She sought his eyes. ‘Do I no longer have your trust?’

He grew too careless in her company. ‘I did not mean to imply that,’ he lied. ‘To speak a man’s name is to expose him to the treasonous air. You know that the English are returning to the town?’

Margaret nodded.

‘How does your family intend to dispose of John Smyth’s corpse before they arrive?’

She nervously played with her sleeve as she had earlier. ‘I wondered whether you knew of it.’

‘I also know that your father is about. We have eyes and ears—’

‘I thought I was to be your spy in Perth.’ Her eyes accused him.

‘That you are, and I hand over the task with thanks. Which is why I am asking about the body.’

He saw that she was torn in her loyalty and he was about to impart some information that would increase her doubts about Roger, but she surprised him by quickly resolving her hesitation.

‘Roger and Aylmer have buried it,’ she said.

James nodded. ‘That was wise.’

‘Why? I fear the whole town knows already.’

‘If they don’t yet, they soon will. But if they see no body, no funeral, they cannot be certain. Sinclair can do little else. He cannot undo the murder.’

‘The silence is frightening,’ said Margaret.

‘It is.’ He paused, and when she said no more he continued on to the news about her husband. ‘I have enquired about the Brankston family.’

Margaret turned her face away from him and clutched the side of her skirt with one hand as if to keep herself still. ‘And?’

‘It is true that a family by that name was so abused.’

‘God help them,’ she said.

‘But they have no connection with Edwina of Carlisle.’

He heard Margaret catch her breath and started to reach out to her, but caught himself.

‘How do you know this?’ she asked softly.

‘George Brankston came to our attention when he viciously murdered an English messenger.’

‘You would have punished him for avenging his wife and his daughter?’ The eyes she turned on James were so filled with pain he looked away.

‘No. We worried that he might treat our messengers likewise. But knowing his story …’ He trailed off, realising it sounded petty.

‘In such times, who is the law?’ Margaret asked softly.

‘The most powerful, or the most ruthless,’ said James. ‘But we’ll do our best to protect you.’

‘That is more than most can hope for.’ She was quiet a while. ‘From whom did you hear about my father’s return?’

‘One of our messengers. He’d been in Perth on other business. What is your father’s present standing with your mother?’

‘She wants nothing to do with him.’

‘He has pressed her?’

‘Why do you ask?’

She had proven herself. He must trust her. He told her of Malcolm’s cautious journey to Elcho, the disguise.

‘He goes about in disguise as you do?’ she asked
with a surprised laugh. ‘Oh dear. He must have hoped to convince Ma to return with him to Bruges. She has already refused him once.’

‘So he regrets the dissolution of their marriage?’

‘So it seems.’ She had turned away from him again and he could neither see her expression nor detect her feelings from her soft response.

‘Do you think she has said anything to him of her visions regarding you?’

Margaret pressed a hand to her eyes.

‘It might be important,’ he added.

She shifted away from him a little. ‘Her visions are what drove them apart. I don’t believe Mother would talk to him about them.’ Rubbing her elbows as if cold, she complained, ‘I came here to ask a favour and suffer an interrogation.’

James did not respond, silently cursing Malcolm and Christiana for complicating Margaret’s situation, indeed perhaps compromising it, and forcing him to pry. Perhaps he should have been subtler, but there was little time with the English near and Wallace liable to give the order to move on at any moment.

The elderly man who shared the yard with them had fallen asleep, his chin on his chest, and was snoring so loudly that a prowling cat gave him wide berth. That would be the ideal spy, a cat.

Margaret must have followed James’s gaze.

‘His snoring will attract attention,’ she said uneasily. ‘I should leave. You will let me know
tomorrow if Fergus might join another traveller?’

‘Why not come with me to the camp this afternoon? You might have news for him by evening.’

‘I’ll not risk it now, with Fergus so anxious that something might happen to prevent his leaving. And with the English close – how close, James?’

‘A day’s ride, perhaps a little more.’

She crossed herself.

He had one more question that could not wait. ‘Why has your father returned from Bruges at this particular moment?’

‘What? Oh. With Edward Longshanks in the Low Countries he thought it safe to return to collect more of his property.’ She paused. ‘I wonder how he will know when it’s safe to cross back to the continent. The timing must be perfect if he is to avoid meeting Longshanks’s navy on the way, or still in port.’

‘In the end Longshanks took few ships with him. But you pose a good question.’

‘Why do you think Da’s here, James?’

He shook his head. ‘I find your father as difficult to know as his brother. You are thinking he might be a spy?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I pray he isn’t.’ Her eyes followed someone on Kirkgate. ‘Go now, please. See about Aberdeen for my brother.’ She bowed her head for his blessing.

She might not be in disguise, but she remembered her part. Her quietly devout demeanour as she returned to the kirk impressed him. In a little while, he, too, returned to the kirk. Before departing he knelt and said a prayer for Margaret. She had much to fear from the English because of her husband’s and her father’s activities. He selfishly added a prayer that she was not with child.

15

When Margaret returned to the house the afternoon stretched endlessly before her and she regretted not having gone with James. Risky it might have been, and wise to refuse, but at least she would have been certain that something was being done to assist Fergus.

Pacing back and forth in her bedchamber, she could work up neither the enthusiasm nor the concentration to choose fabric and plan other furnishings. Instead she fell to brooding about her earlier conversation with Roger.

All in all, it had been an uncomfortable interrogation, and as a result she’d been beset with memories of the old drunkard’s death and its consequences as she’d walked to the kirk and back. But what still troubled her most was Roger’s having arrived in Edinburgh on the heels of the tragedy.

She dropped to her knees by the casket Roger had stored in her uncle’s undercroft and another with which he’d arrived in Edinburgh. She ran her hands over them, wondering what they might divulge. There was but one thing to do – search through them. She stepped out to the landing to check that the house was quiet, and considered setting something easily knocked over outside the door so that she might be warned of anyone’s approach. But she discarded the idea on realising that either Jonet or Celia would clear it away, and it might simply call more attention to the door.

From their hiding place, she took the lock-picking tools that her uncle had given her long ago and settled down in front of Roger’s caskets. She felt a twinge of guilt, followed by a far stronger frisson of fear. Despair might be her reward. She might find proof of an affair, a murder, or some other disturbing secret.

May God grant me the strength to go forward with what I must do
, she prayed
. I would know my husband’s heart. I would know why he cannot tell me the truth about Edwina
.

Working slowly and as quietly as possible, she opened the casket that had sat for months in her uncle’s undercroft. A fine pair of gloves lay on top, and a linen shirt that she had made for Roger shortly after their wedding. Beneath the items was a layer of rolled documents, some of the seals broken, some whole. After memorising their order she set them aside. Beneath them was a leather
wallet almost the length and width of the casket. Coins jingled as she lifted the wallet, but the soft leather was taut around something. Removing the cord binding the wallet, she found more documents. Suddenly keenly aware that her activity might have masked noise from the landing, she paused and listened, but heard only sounds from the river.