A Cruel Courtship (31 page)

‘I don’t yet know who beat him,’ Margaret said. ‘He needed tending before I questioned him. It was plain to me that he was frightened to be left alone again.’

‘May God watch over this household,’ said John as he crossed himself. ‘His clothes are old and filthy. He is no stranger to trouble.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Margaret, ‘but he had been brawling. I’ve no doubt those clothes looked better yesterday.’

In a little while Sandy entered the kitchen with a bowl of bloody rags.

‘Are his injuries serious?’ Margaret asked.

‘We need Dame Bridget, the midwife,’ said Sandy. ‘His leg is swollen and hot and I’m afraid to set the bones – I’ve done only a dog and a goat. Do you want me to fetch her?’

Margaret nodded. ‘Yes, fetch her. What about his head wound?’

‘It bled a lot but he’s not confused. If you want to talk to him, you might do so – he’ll sleep soon, now that he’s warm and safe.’

Archie lay on one of the servants’ pallet beds near the hall fire, staring at the ceiling. As Margaret brought a stool near she saw that his eyes were filled with tears.

‘Are you in much pain?’ she asked, thinking about giving him some of Ada’s brandywine. They had not finished it.

‘No,’ he said, brusquely wiping his eyes on one of his sleeves. ‘The fire is smoking.’

It wasn’t, but Margaret let him have his pride. ‘You say you picked the fight?’

‘I did.’ He glanced at her, then quickly away.
‘With Captain Fitzsimon, the bastard who wouldn’t let me see her that night. He shouldn’t have come to her funeral, the bastard. Murderer.’

Dear God, the small young man before her had picked a fight with Ada’s well-trained son. It was a wonder Archie was alive. ‘You call him a murderer. Do you know that he is?’

‘Ask the soldiers – they’ll tell you.’

‘But do you know of any murder he’s committed in Stirling?’

Archie looked away. ‘Maybe.’

‘Johanna?’ Margaret asked.

‘Who else would have done it, eh? For weeks he watched me and watched me but when it came to–’ Archie’s voice broke. ‘Why her?’ he moaned through the lump in his throat. ‘Why not me, damn him? Damn him to hell.’ He turned away to hide his emotion.

Margaret sat back and gave him time to compose himself as his words sank in. He’d loved Johanna, and believed that Peter had murdered her. It was quite plausible that Peter had if he’d discovered Johanna spying.

‘Do you have any proof of this, Archie?’

‘Just my gut when he’s near. I followed him from the kirk,’ Archie said through clenched teeth, ‘but he went straight to the castle, so I had to wait until he came back out into the town, alone, away from his friends. Then I stepped out and challenged him. Like David taking on Goliath.’ He groaned.

‘What did you mean he wouldn’t let you see her that night? Were you speaking of the night of her death?’

Archie let out a long, sob-like sigh. ‘I went to her house, but he’d blocked the door and wouldn’t let me past. I just wanted to see her. Say goodbye. What right had he?’ He was clenching his fists and his colour was high.

Margaret regretted having started the conversation for his ordeal had weakened him, and yet she needed to know what he knew. ‘This was while she was alive?’

‘After. Fitzsimon is everywhere. I can’t breathe – he’s taking up all the air in the town. He’s no mortal. He’s the devil.’

Archie’s words echoed between them while Margaret collected her thoughts. She knew she could not count on his talking for long. ‘Were you and Johanna lovers?’

He flinched and dropped his gaze. ‘She could have anyone at the castle. Why would she take me?’

He’s no boy
, Johanna had said. ‘You loved her, didn’t you?’ Margaret asked, though she was quite sure she already knew the answer.

‘I told you I’m the greatest fool.’

‘Is that why you stopped going to her for the messages?’

‘He was always there, Rob, her English lover.’

‘Did you tell her how you felt?’

He shrugged.

‘Was Peter Fitzsimon also her lover?’

Archie turned away from Margaret. ‘I don’t know.’ He looked so small lying there on the pallet, so young and heartbroken.

‘She wouldn’t have you?’

He caught his breath. ‘She laughed.’

‘So it wasn’t that Peter Fitzsimon’s interest frightened you from helping James Comyn any more, it was your love for Johanna.’

‘Fitzsimon couldn’t catch me at spying. He worried Ma, but I told her I was too good to be caught by an Englishman.’

‘Why did you challenge him last night?’

‘God knows. I wanted to kill someone. He was the best I could do.’

Margaret didn’t think it would serve much purpose to ask why he wanted to kill someone. She already believed that he hadn’t killed Johanna.

‘Was Peter injured last night?’

‘I doubt it.’ He glanced around. ‘Where are my things?’

‘I’ll ask Sandy.’

‘He grabbed my knife. Da gave me that knife.’

‘We’ll find your knife, Archie. Why don’t you want your family to know that you’re here?’

‘It’s best that way,’ he mumbled, his voice beginning to fade.

She had a look around the hall for his clothes, but did not find them. Before heading for the kitchen she checked on him. His eyes were closed and his mouth had gone slack.

In a short while a strongly built woman of indeterminate age strode into the hall with Sandy. Her gown was a simple russet, but very clean, as was her undyed wimple.

‘Dame Maggie, I’ve brought Dame Bridget to see to Archie’s leg,’ said Sandy.

‘God bless you for coming so quickly,’ said Margaret.

The woman nodded as she reached Archie’s side and crouched to examine him. ‘He’s picked on a better fighter than himself this time, I see. I’ll attend him, Dame Maggie. He’s in good hands. I’m familiar with most of the bones in his young body.’

The midwife made Margaret feel for a moment as if everything would be fine. How reassuring she must be to women in labour.

‘I’m glad to see his eyelids fluttering,’ said Bridget. ‘He should be propped up more – we don’t want the blood pooling in his brain.’ She gently ran a hand down his leg, her fingers seeming to float, pausing here and there. Sitting back on her heels, she glanced up at Margaret. ‘I believe it’s a simple break.’

‘Will you need someone to help you straighten the bone?’ Margaret asked.

‘Sandy will do. Come on, lad, a good pull and Archie will be walking out of here soon enough.’ She shook her head at Archie and glanced back at Margaret. ‘Not enough babies since the English marched up the hill. I need the work, and I need some pay.’

‘You’ll be paid,’ said Margaret. ‘Sandy, did you find a knife on him?’

Sandy shook his head.

‘Who is this?’ said Ada as she descended from the solar. Smoothing down her clothes she studied the midwife and patient for a moment. ‘I don’t recognise the injured lad, but you are young Bridget, Dame Alice’s daughter, are you not?’

The midwife’s eyes brightened. Hands on hips she wagged her head. ‘
Dame
Bridget now, but just Bridget to you, my dear friend.’

The women embraced, and Margaret smiled to see the years fall off Ada as she and the midwife exchanged news for a while. Even the story of Alice’s death the previous summer seemed to cheer Ada.

‘She pushed away the potion saying she was warm, in no pain, and at peace with the Lord, so it was a good time to die. She closed her eyes, and in a little while stopped breathing. I’ve never witnessed a happier death,’ said Bridget with a wistful expression on her pleasant face. ‘I thank God that she died before the English came.’

At last Ada remembered the others in the hall. ‘Who is he?’ she asked Margaret, nodding towards Archie, who had wakened. When Margaret explained, Ada shook her head in wonder that she’d slept through it. ‘And once again Peter is involved.’

‘Archie attacked him,’ Margaret said. She
started as Bridget and Sandy snapped the bone into place. Archie was stoically silent, except for his shallow breathing.

‘We aren’t needed here,’ said Ada.

She passed through the hall to the kitchen with Margaret following, hungry at last. After breaking their fast Ada suggested that they take their spinning and weaving up to the solar.

‘And you can tell me all about that little man down below. We seem to have so few peaceful moments like this.’

They settled near the window in Ada’s chamber. Margaret with her spinning and Ada a border she was weaving on tablets. After Margaret related the morning’s events, they worked for a while in silence, interrupted only by Bridget taking her leave, promising to return the following morning to see how Archie fared the night. Ada’s generosity pleased her.

After she departed, Ada sighed. ‘I suppose we should be thankful that my son hasn’t made a habit of paying me visits here, else I would worry about brawling in my hall. What was he thinking, accepting a challenge from that slip of a man? I should think his honour would prevent him from taking such an unfair advantage.’

‘He might have been taken by surprise, Ada. He was attacked, and he defended himself. A small dog can do much damage to one twice his size if he’s fierce and quick.’

Ada looked doubtful, but nodded. ‘You may be right.’

While she worked it was not Johanna’s murder but that of Gordon Cowie over which Margaret kept puzzling. She did not fight this preoccupation for if it was the Sight teasing her she’d not win the fight. Perhaps she was about to put the pieces together. A goldsmith came into contact with the highest and the lowest of the town’s society, she imagined, customers and thieves. What could she make of that, she wondered. The Allans had mentioned a ring in the family. But it was old.

‘How well do you know Isabel?’ she asked Ada after a while.

‘We were children together here,’ said Ada.

That had not occurred to Margaret. She’d thought Ada had been born in Perth. ‘I should have guessed, though I had not realised until I overheard you with Bridget that you’d grown up in Stirling.’

Ada looked around the room, then nodded. ‘This was my parents’ home. I was probably born in this bed – delivered by Dame Alice. What do you want to know about Isabel?’

‘It was actually her late husband I was wondering about. Was Gordon also from Stirling?’

‘Oh yes. His family have been goldsmiths here for several generations.’

A ring in the family for generations. Margaret wondered. ‘What was Gordon like?’

‘Do you mean was he likely to be murdered in his shop in midday?’

‘I do not mean to disrespect the dead.’

‘I know.’ Ada straightened and gazed out the window for a few breaths, the lines in her face starkly visible again. ‘Gordon. In his youth he played the fiddle and was light on his feet. He was also grasping and selfish, and those are the traits he cherished to his death. It was quite like him to trade with the English, to ensure that they would consider him to be on their side. Isabel devoted herself to raising their children and enjoying as much of Gordon’s wealth as she could squeeze from him.’

Margaret remembered Isabel’s elegance at Mass. ‘I would say that she’d been successful.’

‘And yet her mourning is sincere, she is not playacting. She remembers his youth, his music, how they danced–’ Ada’s hands lay idle in her lap, her weaving forgotten, her gaze unfocused. ‘We forgive much in the men we love.’

Margaret left her in peace with her memories until she bent once more to her work.

‘Did Isabel notice whether anything had been stolen when Gordon was attacked?’ Margaret asked.

Ada wagged her head. ‘You are quite focused on Gordon’s murder today. Isabel was not often in the shop. She asked his apprentices and her son whether they were missing anything and they’d noticed nothing out of place.’

‘I find that most strange,’ said Margaret. ‘I should think few would be able to resist taking a small token of gold.’

‘Quite restrained. You’re right.’

‘Don’t you wonder how the murderer knew that Gordon was alone in the shop?’

‘There had been little work of late, so he was often alone.’

‘It sounds as if you’ve asked her quite a few questions.’

Ada glanced up. ‘I suppose I have. I hope I haven’t been too obvious.’

‘Do you know the Allans in the house between theirs and yours?’

Ada frowned down at her work. ‘It is terrible about their son. Ranald and – I don’t recall his wife’s name.’

‘Lilias.’

‘Oh yes. He trades – I believe wine was his chief trade, though with the English interfering I imagine he now trades whatever he can. The house belonged to Dunfermline Abbey. It may still, and they are tenants. I haven’t introduced you to the neighbours because I thought it might be dangerous. On the other side is a saddler who has made a fortune from the castle. I should have thought he was as likely to be resented by the townsfolk as Gordon.’

Later, when Margaret could sit still no longer, she excused herself and went down to the hall.
Celia sat quietly watching Archie, who moaned in his sleep.