The Fire in the Flint (14 page)

‘Perhaps someone in Perth will help you with your reading and writing,’ Francis said. ‘Is Roger impressed with your letters?’

‘There has been no time to boast,’ she said. ‘In truth, I may keep it a secret for the time being. We may be husband and wife, but I do not share his allegiance.’ Although her reading ability was meagre, a few words from a letter carelessly left out might prove useful. Her stomach fluttered to think of spying on Roger, but she must.

Father Francis nodded solemnly. ‘I had almost forgotten that your husband is Robert Bruce’s man.’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘It seems a long while since that morning months ago when I escorted you to the abbey to bid your brother farewell – it disheartened me. I brooded on Father Andrew’s plight for a long while. Too long. It ate into my soul that an abbot should so use one of his own. It left me hollow, despairing.’ The late-afternoon sun gave his bony, hawk-nosed face a rose glow and coloured the shadows beneath his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks a bruised purple. ‘At least Roger is fighting for our people, not for the English tyrant.’

They talked a little more as the afternoon shadows grew long. She spoke of her fears for Andrew, and Father Francis assured her that if he heard anything regarding him he would get word to her. The children had quit their game by the time Margaret bade him farewell and headed down High Street to the tavern.

As she passed beneath the archway connecting the inn’s two buildings she heard unfamiliar voices
coming from the house to the right, seemingly from Murdoch’s undercroft. Roger sat across the way, at the foot of the steps to their chamber, apparently asleep, but as soon as he heard her footstep in the yard he rose and, taking her firmly by the arm and pressing a finger to her lips, hurried her up the stairs saying nothing until he had drawn the bolt on the door.

‘The English are searching the undercroft.’ He crossed the room, closed the shutters, lit a lamp.

Murdoch’s respite had been brief.

Roger stood tensed, as if ready to spring at an intruder. It frightened Margaret.

‘Where is Uncle?’

‘He’s down there assisting the English in their search.’

‘Perhaps I should go to him.’

Taking her by the shoulder, Roger bent close. ‘We shall suffer this in silence, give them no reason to notice us.’

‘Why are they here now?’ Margaret whispered, imagining an ear pressed to the door. ‘Could they know about our departure?’

‘I pray God they don’t.’ Roger let her go, sat down beside the lamp.

Margaret put some space between them, settling on the edge of the bed.

‘Your uncle plays dangerous games,’ Roger said in a more normal voice. ‘He did not wake the
guard in time for his relief. So now there will be more guards.’

‘What are we to do?’

‘As long as the English leave by the curfew, we can still depart without bloodshed.’

Margaret gasped. ‘You would fight our way out of the town?’

‘If necessary.’

‘Perhaps if we delay they will grow weary of watching an empty tavern.’

Roger seemed a stranger, sitting back, looking at her with an expression she could not decipher. ‘We risk our own people if our plans miscarry now, Maggie.’

‘There are others leaving with us?’

‘Meeting us. To assist us on the way.’

She nodded and studied her hands, embarrassed to have thought they were going quietly, peacefully to leave town with no one the wiser. ‘How long have the English been with Uncle?’

‘Not long.’

‘Where is Celia?’ It was unusual for her not to have checked by now whether Margaret needed anything.

‘In your uncle’s kitchen. What do you know of the night the old man died in the alley?’

‘Why are you asking about that now? What is Celia doing there?’

‘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

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.