The Fire in the Flint (33 page)

‘Oh. Then I’ll be about my work.’ Margaret brushed past Roger and climbed to the solar to return his letters to the casket.

Halfway back to Perth, Fergus halted. Fear of what he might face on the road was propelling him back into the trap of his family. But it occurred to him that because of his father’s activities Perth might be the most dangerous place for him at present. Or was he using that as an excuse not to see Matilda? He could not think clearly.

The afternoon grew hot as Margaret, Jonet, and Celia shifted the airing bed linens. Celia kept up a patter about spreading linens on lavender shrubs, which Dame Katherine had recalled from her mother’s youth in Suffolk in the south. That led
her to perfumed oils and unguents. Margaret relaxed with the chatter, imagining an idle life in a richly furnished home with a glorious garden that bloomed even in winter. Mungo had been sleeping in the sun, but suddenly he stood up and growled.

Aylmer approached, giving the dog a wide berth. ‘May I speak with you, Dame Margaret?’ he asked.

She dropped her arms, stepped away from the line of bedding. ‘What is it?’

He turned his head so that Celia could not see his face. ‘Might we talk alone?’

Judging his expression as one of irritation, Margaret did not fuss but led Aylmer directly to the stable. ‘Is this acceptable?’ she asked, matching his impatience.

He surprised her by pulling off his cap and giving her a little bow. ‘Forgive me for interrupting your work, but I am missing some letters from my travel chest.’

She forced herself to breathe. ‘What has that to do with me?’

‘With your servants, Dame Margaret. Have they been in my room?’

‘As you see, we are airing the linens, so yes, one of them has been in there. But neither of them is a thief.’

‘Are you so sure of them?’

Indignation came easily. ‘Jonet and Celia have
been in the service of our family for a long while. Neither would suddenly turn dishonest merely because of your tempting belongings. Nor can they read.’

He was sceptical, and with good reason. With every word Margaret felt herself sinking into a trap that would catch her the moment she let down her guard.

‘If not your servants,’ Aylmer said, looking uncomfortable, ‘perhaps – I would not have thought such a thing but – your father’s sterlings, owed to someone, my papers – might your brother have helped himself to that which isn’t his, and then fled?’

Margaret’s cry of outrage escaped her before she had time to think. Suddenly Roger was beside her. He had appeared so quickly she wondered whether he was spying on her. Or on Aylmer.

‘What is the matter?’ he demanded.

‘A misunderstanding,’ said Aylmer. With a curt bow, he left the stable.

Not meeting Roger’s eyes, Margaret said, ‘The Bruce did you no favour in Aylmer.’

‘He did not attack you?’

‘What? Oh, no, it was nothing so—’ She looked up, blushing. ‘Nothing so terrible, Roger. I find him irritating, that is all. Nothing is to his liking.’ She kissed Roger’s cheek and he walked off, looking uneasy.

Returning to her work, she nervously waited for
Roger and Aylmer to leave together and then went within, Celia with her. In a short while she had returned the documents to Aylmer’s casket. Exhausted by the day’s events, she agreed to Celia’s suggestion that she lie down in her chamber with a cool, lavender-scented cloth over her eyes. She woke much later, worrying about Fergus.

Dreams of Kilmartin Glen had filled Christiana’s sleep the previous night, and she spent the day quietly, gathering what she could recall of the dreams and piecing them together. Whether or not she reconstructed them accurately, she sensed that it was the effort that would teach her what she must glean from them. It felt a validation of her new resolve to have such guiding dreams.

Marion helped her dress in one of her finest gowns, a blue that flattered her, and a white silk veil. She was resting when a novice came with Prioress Agnes’s request for her presence in the hall of the guest house. The English had returned. As Christiana rose, Marion smoothed out her skirt and adjusted the veil, then smiled in admiration. She was better than a mirror.

The moment Christiana stepped into the guesthouse garden she was drawn to look up at Kinnoull Hill. The novice was staring at her uncertainly.

‘Let us hasten,’ said Christiana.

The young woman bowed her head and led the way down the yard.

Prioress Agnes and her kinsman Thomas greeted Christiana with pinched faces. Her hands were cold, his odour sour with fear.

‘You have nothing to worry about,’ Christiana assured them. ‘The soldiers will seek the safety of Perth.’

Prioress Agnes crossed herself. ‘We must pray God to make that so.’ She cast her eyes up and down Christiana’s attire. ‘Do you mean to dazzle the soldiers?’

‘The English respect splendour,’ Christiana said.

All three turned towards the sound of horses in the yard.

‘I hope you’re prepared,’ Thomas said.

The captain was travel-worn, dusty and stinking of horse, yet he was clean-shaven, indeed still bled from a nick, and his clothes were well-tailored. He bowed courteously and greeted her with particular respect, saying that he had heard of her great gift. But once he sat he gave his full attention to the prioress as he asked permission to leave some of his men at the priory to watch the river.

‘So it is not your men atop Kinnoull Hill?’ Christiana asked. She meant to say more, but the prioress motioned to her to wait.

Thomas explained the strategic value of the hill, how it would be better to station men there to signal those on the Perth waterfront if anyone approached from downriver.

Agnes nodded. ‘If your men are known to be here, we might be attacked. We ask you to leave us in peace.’

But the captain turned to Christiana. ‘Why do you ask if our men are on the hill, Dame Christiana?’

Her surroundings began to fade and the hill filled her vision. ‘Behind the two on watch there are a handful with weapons drawn.’

‘I have only four men up there,’ said the captain. ‘Have you seen a vision of this?’

‘I have them before me, Captain. They watch your men approach Perth.’

‘What happened to my guards?’

Christiana shook her head. ‘I see only these. Oh no.’ She caught her breath, seeing the flies. ‘Why did they not bury them?’ she moaned.

From far away Thomas’s voice said something to the captain. Christiana was sinking down, down.

The light was fading and the shadows had grown so long that Fergus slowed to be sure of his footing. He could not risk falling and being injured, for someone followed him. Ever since he had turned away from Perth in late afternoon he’d felt eyes on his back, heard sounds behind him as he walked, silenced when he paused to listen. At his easy pace anyone might overcome him, but they stayed behind him. They must want to see where he headed. He shivered with fear and did
not know what to do. His present path would return him to the hut on his father’s land at dark. He could not walk into the night. Yet perhaps that is what he should do – he would not sleep anyway, not with eyes watching the hut. He wondered what would happen if he turned back towards Perth. He hesitated, but could not turn himself around. Fear filled his bladder. It was miraculous, for he’d no water left and had not the courage to kneel at a burn and drink, imagining a sword coming down on his neck. He told himself beheading was not the method of stealth, but the image held.

Suddenly a heavy hand clutched his shoulder.

‘Fergus Kerr. On business for your da, are ye?’

Piss ran down Fergus’s leg.

Christiana returned to consciousness to find the prioress watching her with concern. Thomas stood a little away from them, a cup in hand.

‘I should like some wine,’ Christiana said. ‘Is the captain gone?’

The prioress sighed and rose to call for a servant.

Thomas turned to Christiana. ‘He has sent more men to the hill. If what you told him proves true, he will follow our advice and leave here.’ He threw his head back and drained his cup. ‘God help us when he finds his men safe and sound.’

‘He will not,’ said Christiana.

17

As Celia assisted Margaret in undressing for the night, she mentioned that Aylmer had not taken his evening meal with her and Jonet, who had moved into the kitchen. ‘I don’t like his disappearing without a word to anyone,’ Celia said. ‘He’s too scheming.’

Margaret liked it no better than Celia. ‘He might perchance be on an errand for Roger. I’ll find out.’ She pressed her temples. Mungo had resumed his barking on being closed in the stable for the night. ‘We’ll none of us sleep if we leave the dog out there.’

‘Shall I bring him in?’ Celia suggested.

‘Oh yes. He might be quiet in the hall,’ Margaret said. ‘I pray Fergus returns soon.’

After Celia withdrew from the bedchamber, Margaret knelt to pray that God would watch over
Fergus if he had departed on his own for Aberdeen.

‘Are you that worried about your brother?’ Roger asked upon finding her on her knees. He tossed his belt on the bed and sat down on a bench to remove his boots. Margaret crossed herself and rose to help him.

‘Fergus is more child than man,’ she said, ‘though he looks a man and will be treated as such by strangers.’

‘Hm.’ Roger put his boots aside and poured himself a cup of wine, turning half towards her. ‘Is he so much a child?’ he asked the air. ‘Can it be mere chance that Aylmer’s papers have disappeared at the same time as your brother?’

She did not yet know how to deal with Aylmer’s having missed the papers she had since returned. ‘Where is Aylmer this evening?’

Roger faced her. ‘At your father’s house. We thought it prudent to set a watch.’

‘For Ruthven?’

‘Or Fergus. Is it possible he has hidden the sterlings that are causing such a fuss?’

‘Roger, you’ve known Fergus for years. Can you really imagine he’d do such a thing?’

Roger seemed absorbed in running a finger around the rim of his cup. ‘A young man keen to strike out on his own might find it tempting,’ he said in a thoughtful tone. ‘And with the English in the town …’

‘They have returned?’

‘Late today.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘Can you be so sure of Fergus?’

His doubts increased Margaret’s anxiety. If Aylmer did not find the papers or the sterlings in Malcolm’s house, Roger might send someone after Fergus, someone who would not be gentle with him. She could not allow her brother to pay for her actions.

‘I know that he is innocent of removing documents from Aylmer’s room,’ Margaret said. ‘And as for the sterlings, if they exist he knows nothing of them. He came to me about Gilbert Ruthven’s first visit and was disappointed when I could tell him nothing.’

Roger had settled back on the bench. ‘How do you know he took nothing from Aylmer?’

Margaret took a deep breath. ‘Because I did it – and returned the documents, but too late.’

Roger’s gaunt cheeks remained slack for a moment, his eyes dull with confusion. ‘You?’ He set the cup aside. ‘You?’ he repeated, the word now loud and angry. He rose and grabbed Margaret’s shoulders too quickly for her to have anticipated the attack. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’ he demanded, his face so close she felt his beard on her forehead as he shook her.