A Cruel Courtship (25 page)

Ada controlled herself and merely wished him a good evening. Once he was out of sight she and Simon silently stared at one another for a long while, her standing, him sitting, like a pair of cats challenging one another to be the first to look away.

She was thinking a great deal, and had no doubt that Simon was, too. It worried her that she did not know what he was thinking. Both he and Peter acted as if they trusted her less than on the previous evening, despite her having had no opportunity since arriving in Stirling to do anything behind their backs. Yet why then were they confiding in her?

And now Maggie had been to Johanna’s house. Ill fortune indeed to have gone there, especially on the night of James Comyn’s capture. Ada wondered whether his capture and Johanna’s death were connected. She felt sick at heart for Maggie, that she’d been forced to look at the body.

‘Our son is a cold, unfeeling creature,’ she said, easing back down.

‘As a small boy he suffered night terrors,’ said Simon. ‘His foster parents were at a loss what to do.’

She thought his mind was wandering again.

‘But on his own Peter decided that he wished to train in the arts of war,’ continued Simon, proving her wrong, ‘a rigorous, unrelenting training through which he honed his skills until he felt–’

‘Invincible,’ Ada said, finishing for him.

‘I was going to say “confident”.’

‘Safe,’ Ada added. ‘He no longer had cause to fear anything.’

‘Any
one,’
Simon corrected. ‘He’s helpless against a storm at sea, as are we all. But you make a good point.’

‘If the dead woman was a spy, God must have been watching over Maggie that she did not come to harm,’ said Ada.

‘Hm.’ Simon rose to pour them both more wine. ‘Most unwelcome news. I had looked forward to another happy evening in your company.’ He gazed down at her with a half smile, his eyes affectionate.

‘It is still early, my Lord,’ she said, taking his hand and kissing his palm. How dry and rough it was.

He lifted the hand to her face, tracing her features. ‘I sorely need distraction this night, Ada. I want you to stay.’

She would much prefer to go home and see how
Maggie fared, but she did not dare disappoint Simon when the evening had put her friends’ mission in jeopardy. So be it. She prided herself on being a consummate player. He would have no cause to suspect her of wishing to be elsewhere this night.

As she began to flirt with Simon, Ada experienced a familiar sense of having left her body and taken up a position across the room from which she might clearly observe their play. It often happened when she was purposefully manipulating her companion. She believed God caused this, to frighten her from her duplicity, and she blasphemously ignored Him, thinking that in time He would see it was for the best. Although, since He was omniscient and all powerful, all was in the moment to Him and He knew the outcome before she came up with the plan. Perhaps this was how He tested the strength of her convictions.

After a while she allowed her smile to fade into a fretful expression and averted her eyes as she leaned forward to take up the goblet of wine.

‘What is it?’ Simon asked. ‘Have I offended you in some way?’

She could see by the movement of his eyes that he was reviewing his recent comments. ‘No, not you, Simon.’

‘Then what?’ He caught her hand, cradling it in his, and gently uncurled her fingers to kiss the centre of her palm, as she had his.

A delicious warmth spread upward. He took hold of her arm and pulled her towards him. She did not resist, but came to rest in his lap, vulnerable and willing. He kissed her ears, her neck, the rise of her breasts. One hand slipped up her skirts.

‘What is bothering you, my love?’ he whispered into her hair.

She groaned. ‘You, my love,’ she chuckled. ‘Our dour son would be horrified.’ She shivered as his fingers found her wetness. ‘Oh sweet Simon,’ she moaned, holding tight round his shoulders as he rose and carried her to the bed. God help her but she found this such sweet, fulfilling work. She enjoyed how he slowly undressed her, his eyes sleepy with desire, his member rising beneath his shift.

‘How are you still so slender, so beautiful, mother of my children?’ he wondered.

Passion played with his vision, she thought, but she enjoyed the deliciously wicked excitement of being stripped naked. One was never too old for that.

She must guard her tongue, though; Peter’s news had been fraught with traps for her.

Their lovemaking was not so wild as in their youth, but hot enough that their bodies were slippery and must be covered from the draughts as they lay together smiling.

‘Have you forgotten your worries now, my Ada?’

She heard the grin in his words and hated to disappoint him, but timing was all.

‘Oh, sweet, why have you reminded me?’ She sighed and snuggled closer to him.

He propped himself up on one elbow, idly caressing one of her breasts. ‘Tell me. Do you want for anything?’

‘I hesitate to mention it here, in our bower–’ She turned on her side, ran a hand from his temple to his jaw, then down his neck, and under the covers down the centre of his chest, to his stomach, his flaccid member, which felt as if it trembled at her touch.

‘Ada,’ Simon caught her hand, laughed. ‘We’ll solve nothing with such idle hands.’

She felt mischievous and gave the throaty chuckle he loved. ‘You are right. The sooner I make my moan, the sooner I might devour you again.’

‘Wanton woman.’ He pressed her hand, released it, and pushed himself upright, leaning back against the pillows.

Ada sat up as well, pulling the blanket up to her neck for warmth. ‘Will you do anything to bring this Johanna’s murderer to justice?’

Simon pulled up the covers a little, too, she thought to hide the scars she’d just noticed on one shoulder. ‘It was a terrible act, to be sure, but Peter may be right, a soldier has weapons.’ He shook his head.

‘Would he carry them to see his mistress?’

‘In this town? I should hope he would.’

‘So nothing is to be done? Have you not taken
over the governing of this town? Is it not your responsibility to see that the people are safe?’

He shifted and she saw that she had broken the spell. ‘Why trouble yourself about it?’ he asked.

‘It sounds as if Johanna and I had much in common, being the mistresses of soldiers. I would hope that my murder would be avenged.’

His eyes softened a little. ‘Do not speak such things, Ada. She was quite another matter.’

‘Her murderer must be brought to justice. Will you question her lover?’

‘I might suggest it. Particularly if Peter is right that he’s a traitor.’

She risked pushing a little further. ‘Might I talk to him? He might talk more readily to a woman.’

Simon made an impatient sound deep in his throat. ‘Things are tense in the garrison. The man may already be in the valley. In faith, we have no time for such things.’

‘I do, Simon. A war is no excuse for slack justice. Do you want a dishonourable soldier fighting under you?’

‘You choose a poor argument. Edward has granted us an army of felons and miscreants. The English soldiers blame the Welsh for their own misdeeds, the Welsh desert ingloriously. It is a shambles. Only our number overwhelms Murray and Wallace.’

‘And some honourable and excellent commanders,’ she whispered.

He grunted, then surprised her with a bemused smile. ‘You have a knight’s courage. I’ll consider your request that we look into it.’

‘Thank you, Simon.’

‘I promise only to consider it.’

It was enough for now. Ada was tired, and she sensed Simon’s weariness. But she must keep up the lovemaking a little longer so that he did not suspect how important Johanna was to her.

Shivering in the breeze despite her plaid, Margaret was sorry the strong ale no longer dulled her senses. The guard’s torch snapped and sputtered loudly in the quiet night.

‘Let us pass,’ demanded Father Piers in a strong voice.

‘Who are these women?’

‘Maidservants come to fix a place for the man to sleep,’ said Piers, holding up the blankets he carried.

Margaret appreciated the priest’s sensible approach.

Apparently the guard believed Piers, although he made a few snide comments about fussing over a man as good as dead.

Ignoring him, Piers fitted the key into the kirk door and stood aside to let Margaret and Celia hurry within.

The cavernous nave engulfed Margaret, the darkness huge beyond the meagre light from a
small lamp beside the door. When Father Piers closed the door and locked it, the sound echoed and expanded through the vastness. Margaret felt dizzy, as if her spirit were spreading wide and high to fill the inhuman space. She moved into the light for reassurance.

‘Maggie, is it you?’ James’s voice came from behind her.

She turned around slowly, not trusting her balance. James caught her up in his arms, kissing her with a passion that she did not return at once, unable to push away the memory of Johanna’s battered head so quickly. But the warmth of his embrace and the tenderness of his kisses drew her back to the present, to the world of the living, and in a few moments she responded with passion equal to his.

Father Piers’s voice reminded them that their companions could see all despite the darkness of the nave, and they stepped back from one another, reluctantly withdrawing their hands.

‘I had not realised how it was between you,’ said the priest.

‘I do not think we did either,’ said James, sounding a little breathless.

Margaret marvelled at how easily James could play to the situation, pretending that he had not professed his love for her just a few days earlier. She had not known how she would feel when she saw him again, but his presence had made the nave a far
less frightening expanse despite his need to seek sanctuary there. Tenderly grateful, she wanted to see to the scratches on his face and the wound that was staining his tunic at the shoulder, as if by tending his wounds she might save both of them from danger.

‘We have much to talk about,’ said Father Piers. ‘Let us withdraw to the chapel we are preparing for you, James.’

The priest motioned to Celia and Margaret to follow him, but James caught Margaret’s arm.

‘What I must tell you will be easier without the others,’ he said, and in his voice she heard weariness and pain.

Although the shadows obscured his expression, Margaret could feel his eyes fixed on hers. She glanced back at their companions.

Piers bowed his head slightly. ‘As you will,’ he said, and picked up the bedding that Margaret had set aside. ‘Come, Celia. We will await them in the chapel.’

As they withdrew, the echo of their footsteps reminded Margaret of the vast stone structure around her and once again she felt like a mote in the draughts of the dark nave, at the mercy of an inhuman force. She stepped closer to James.

‘I feel too small in this great nave.’ She forced a little laugh that eerily echoed.

‘It was not built for our ease,’ said James, ‘but to put us in awe of the Almighty. I’m sorry to keep you
here. We will join the others as soon as I’ve told you–’

‘I have troubling news for you as well,’ she whispered.

‘Troubling? I said nothing of that.’ James took her hands. ‘Do you feel what I am feeling? Are we already so bound?’

Margaret realised that in his hesitation she’d known what he was about to tell her. Both of her frightening visions had now been realised, with her powerless to have prevented them. The Sight was a thing of madness, a curse.

‘Something has happened to Roger,’ she said.

He pulled her closer, stooping to look into her eyes. ‘How do you know?’

Surely it was a sign of madness to have forgotten to wait for him to tell her. Think, she screamed in her head as he stood waiting for her explanation. If she revealed her madness he would want to know more, he would expect her to see into the future, and she could not do it. She had no control over this affliction.
Think
. She’d already been worried about Roger before the vision. Because of Christiana. ‘My mother was worried about him, and it seemed one with her concern about my coming to Stirling. What is it, Jamie, what are you thinking?’

He relaxed his grip on her hands a little. ‘I feared that Dame Christiana has passed you the Sight. I don’t know how I would feel about that regarding our mission.’

Margaret did not dare respond for that’s why she’d said nothing of it.

‘He is dead, Maggie. Roger is dead.’

The power of the words startled Margaret. She had relived Roger’s fall in the visions and dreams many times, and yet she had not been ready for the finality of James’s words. Dead. No more. There would never be a reconciliation. She would never know the truth of Roger’s feelings for her. Feeling light-headed, she leaned against James not because she thought his embrace would ease her pain but because she feared falling in this place, disappearing through the stones to the ancient power that lay beneath.

James put his arms around her and held her close.