A Cruel Courtship (15 page)

Sweet heaven, Ada had been stopped by the others, and Maus was back there wrapping Ned’s bleeding hand. Margaret was now several houses beyond.

‘Maggie,’ the soldier said with a chuckle. ‘A pretty name for a pretty lady.’ He dared to touch her shoulder. She reached out to push him away and he caught her hand, squeezing it so tightly that Margaret feared he’d break her bones.

Another soldier suddenly grabbed the man’s wrist, and Margaret, her hand released, backed away.

‘King Edward expects you to respect the women of Scotland,’ her rescuer said to her attacker.

‘Bastard,’ Margaret hissed as she withdrew, pushing back through the onlookers to join Ada and the others.

‘We should have come on foot,’ she said to Ada as she rubbed her hand. When she received no answer, she realised that her friend was staring back down the road. Several liveried men now surrounded the other two who had accosted them.

‘They wear Simon’s livery,’ said Ada. ‘Perhaps he is in charge of the peace here.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears; she must have been as frightened as Margaret had been.

‘God bless him,’ Margaret said, meaning it with all her heart. Perhaps Simon Montagu would be their salvation after all, though she was not so certain when his men encircled her little party.

‘We are to escort you to the castle,’ said Margaret’s rescuer. ‘It is customary for my lord to speak with newcomers.’

‘Might we first retire to my home to tidy ourselves?’ Ada asked.

‘No, Mistress. My orders are clear.’

‘So be it,’ Ada murmured.

The men led them up Broad Street, the way suddenly much less crowded.

James had warned them that they were likely to be questioned upon entering Stirling, but Margaret had put it from her mind. The steep climb was exhausting after so little sleep and her trance journey, not to mention the fright the disgusting soldier had given her. She wanted only to rest. As they crossed over a sluggish burn and turned into the market square she sighed over the distance yet to go – all uphill.

‘There is our house,’ Ada said.

Margaret saw Ada’s butler John standing in the doorway looking worried. Ada nodded to him.

‘I wonder whether he was escorted to the castle when he arrived,’ said Margaret.

‘You ken his ways, Maggie. John’s countenance is ever solemn, even when he’s laughing. Do not assume that his grim face means danger. It’s more likely a sour stomach.’

Ada’s chuckle teased a smile from Margaret.

‘The market square isn’t much changed since last I was here,’ said Ada, ‘but I can tell even from
down here that the castle walls have been patched and fortified.’

With Ada’s commentary distracting Margaret it was not so long after all before they entered the outer bailey of the castle. It was crowded with small, flimsy buildings and tents, wagons, carts, and men everywhere. Margaret wondered at the numbers.

They were led to a wattle and daub building. Within, a well-dressed, grey-haired man stood talking with a few soldiers. He waved them on when he saw Margaret’s party in the doorway.

‘I understand that these women arrived on fine horses,’ the man said.

Margaret’s saviour gave a curt bow. ‘They did, Sir Simon.’

So this was Ada’s long-ago lover. He had an air of command, and the soldiers deferred to him. Margaret tried to imagine him twenty years younger. He had expressive eyes and a jaw line that would have been strong in youth. At present he looked bored.

‘What is your business in Stirling?’ Sir Simon demanded of them. His expression changed as Ada stepped forward to respond. ‘It cannot be,’ he said. ‘Ada de la Haye?’

Ada gave a graceful bow. ‘Yes, Sir Simon. I have brought my niece to stay in my family’s town house on the market square.’ She met his eyes. ‘I hope that you remember me?’

‘Dame Ada,’ he bowed slightly, ‘I remember you well, and with affection. This is your niece?’ He met Margaret’s open stare with a quick smile.

‘This is my niece Maggie,’ said Ada.

‘Dame Maggie,’ said Sir Simon with a polite bob of his head. ‘What brings you to Stirling?’

‘I am recently widowed, Sir, and would escape the memories that fill my home in Perth.’

He turned back to Ada. ‘I can see that you are weary from your journey. You will dine with me here tomorrow, both of you. Until then.’ He bowed and dismissed them.

Heaven, thought Celia, could be no more welcoming than the two-storey house on the market square, its paint fresh and the butler John standing solidly beside the doorway to receive them. Wealth was more than pretty clothes, solid furnishings and good food; it was security. She had seen the relief on Dame Ada’s face and known that they had been rescued by the liveried soldiers who surrounded the frightening men who’d threatened her mistress, despite their having to report at the castle. Celia had gladly handed Sir Simon’s men the reins. She’d had enough of animals for one day, human and otherwise.

The fragrance of fresh herbs in the rushes strewn on the floor took Celia back to her days with Margaret’s goodmother, Roger’s mother. The house in Dunfermline had not been grand, but it had always been clean, with fresh, fragrant rushes in
summer. Neither in Edinburgh nor in Perth had they been able to completely replace the old straw or rushes on the floors because the English commandeered it for their animals. Here was another sign that Dame Ada’s kin were important to the powers in this town. Celia hated the English, but at the moment she was glad that they were unaware where her loyalties lay. She prayed that tomorrow her mistress and Dame Ada handled Sir Simon well. She was sorry Margaret would not be spared the occasion. Her odd behaviour on the journey made Celia wonder whether she was in any condition to carry out this mission. Had Margaret merely been dozing she would have responded to Celia’s attempts to rouse her, but nothing had reached her until with James’s help they’d lifted her from the horse and splashed her with the cold burn water. Celia knew the owl’s visitation haunted her mistress, followed so closely by the daydream in the kirk.

With the menservants seeing to their packs Celia had an opportunity to pause and admire the hall. High windows faced the street and the backlands, the shutters opened to catch the upland breeze. The ceiling was high and whitewashed, with painted flowers on the border between ceiling and walls. A table was laid with cheese and bread and large flagons of ale that made her aware of her thirst.

Gradually she also grew aware of a man standing
in the shadows watching Margaret and Ada as they discussed the sleeping arrangements. The intensity of his expression and posture alarmed her. He wore almost the same livery as did the men who had led them here. She wondered what right a soldier had to stare so at her mistress and the mistress of this house. Edging closer to Margaret, she caught her eye and nodded in his direction.

Margaret glanced in the direction while Celia poured her a cup of ale.

‘What was I to note?’ Margaret asked, taking the cup with a sigh of pleasure.

The man was gone.

‘I did not like the look of one of the men, but he has gone.’

Her mistress sipped the thick ale and nodded. ‘Rest easy. Dame Ada seems welcome here, and we with her. Have a cup of ale.’

‘I’ll do so if you’ll step out into the backlands with me for a breath of air,’ said Celia.

They settled on a bench under the eaves of the main house, facing the kitchen. Wattle panels made a mud-free path between the rear door of the hall and the kitchen doorway.

‘What happened down there, at the burn, Mistress?’

Margaret closed her eyes and bowed her head for a moment. Celia waited.

‘I started to tell you at Elcho, but Ada interrupted us. The dreams about Roger’s death,
the vision at Elcho, they are part of something that has been changing in me, my friend.’

‘It
is
the Sight, isn’t it?’

Margaret nodded, turning to look Celia in the eyes. ‘I am not mad like my ma, and I won’t be. I’ll learn how to live with this … gift.’

Celia saw how difficult it was for Margaret to speak of this. ‘You had a vision on the horse?’

‘My dreams of Roger came flooding back and filled my head so that I was not aware of where I was,’ said Margaret.

‘That sounds frightening.’

‘It was. But I won’t fail James, nor you, nor Ada.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’

‘Listen and watch so that I have two sets of eyes and ears,’ said Margaret.

Celia nodded. ‘Does Dame Ada know?’

‘I’ve told no one else, and that is as it must stay for now.’

Celia was honoured to be her mistress’s sole confidante. ‘I’ll not fail you, Mistress.’

Margaret pressed Celia’s hand.

Andrew’s dreams were of his family, and when he woke he fell to worrying about Margaret and Fergus. He had heard nothing of his brother in a long while, and when last he’d seen Margaret she was so unhappy in her marriage. Dawn had not yet coloured the small window in Andrew’s bedchamber when Obert knocked at the door.
Perhaps he’d guessed that Andrew would sleep little, but Matthew still slept soundly at the foot of his pallet, and after his bout of illness he needed rest before the journey ahead. Barefoot, Andrew went to the door and slipped out. In the dimness of the corridor Father Obert waited, bent over his stick with the stiffness that afflicted him in the morning. Without a word, he led Andrew to his own chamber and shut the door. A small lamp smoked by the bed.

‘The wick needs trimming,’ said Andrew, wanting to break the silence with something ordinary.

Father Obert grunted as he eased himself down on to a stool. ‘Time enough for that when you are on your way. I pray you, sit so that I need not crane my neck to see you.’ He patted his pallet.

Andrew settled down on it cross-legged, covering his cold feet with the edge of a blanket. He would be uncomfortable enough in the saddle today after months of enforced inactivity. ‘I shall miss you, Father Obert.’

‘You’ll have little time to notice.’

‘Do you regret putting me forward for this journey?’

‘Do you ask whether I regret I’m not the one about to travel?’ Obert chuckled at Andrew’s nod. ‘No, my friend, I am too old to ride all day, even in summer. My legs are so weak it would be necessary to strap me onto the poor beast, and the cramps I would suffer would have me howling in anguish.’
He paused, but as Andrew was about to respond that he, too, foresaw discomfort at first, Obert continued. ‘And the captains are pleased with your reputation.’

Surprised by the unexpected comment, Andrew did not respond at once, uncertain what the old priest meant, but when he understood he blushed and bowed his head. ‘You mean my work for Abbot Adam.’

‘Yes, of course. I advise you to accept this twist of fortune with a prayer of gratitude, Father Andrew. Is it not pleasing to be able to benefit from it? I know you’re ashamed of what you did, yet it is allowing you to escape this sentence that your abbot inflicted upon you.’

‘Gratitude,’ Andrew whispered.

Father Obert nodded, his eyes half-closed. ‘I have watched you, I believe you have been aware of that, and I’ve concluded that you are about God’s work.’

‘You arranged this as my escape?’

Obert responded with a wag of his head that Andrew interpreted as maybe, maybe not, which of course meant yes. He wanted to fall on his knees and thank the old priest.

‘Was the priest truly injured?’

Obert threw up his hands. ‘Heaven kens I am not that devious, Andrew. Father Guthlac had been injured and he feared he would end up a cripple if forced to ride on, so I suggested a solution, that is all.’ His expression was one of fondness.

Andrew was still very moved. ‘What convinced you that I am doing God’s work?’

‘The infirmary drain, and your concern for your servant Matthew. Though now that we have seen the cost of crawling through the detritus in that great sewer I imagine you thank God you were so considerate of the lad.’

Andrew would never had guessed that the elderly priest could possibly have noticed all that he had. He despaired of having any talent for cunning deception.

‘I pray that you follow your conscience in what you do with this opportunity,’ Obert continued. ‘I believe that God will guide you.’ The old man’s beetled brows drew together, and he dropped his head for a moment as if praying.

‘God grant you everlasting joy, Father Obert,’ said Andrew.

The old priest raised his eyes. ‘You might wish to retract that prayer once I tell you a story I would share with you. It is only fair that you know my shame as I know yours.’

Andrew could not imagine what shame the elderly priest could carry, but if it somehow motivated this unexpected act he would hear it. He wished to know whether Obert had arranged this out of trust, faith, defiance, or some other inscrutable motive. ‘I pray you, tell me.’

The old priest nodded. ‘It is a common sort of tale, an example of the fear in which we hold
ourselves prisoners, desperately holding on to a life that is only the beginning of our existence.’ Obert glanced away for a moment.

Andrew waited, his feet now warm and his muscles beginning to waken. He realised that he would miss Father Obert, for it was only the constant knowledge that he was imprisoned in Soutra that had made him intent on escape. He’d found his work here fulfilling and his companion warm, profound in his faith, amusingly acerbic in his observations of others. The other Augustinian canons at the spital, those not acting as confessors to the soldiers, went about their own work, neither troubling Andrew and Obert nor including them in their community. Lost in thoughts of the months past, Andrew was startled when Obert resumed speaking.