A Cruel Courtship (33 page)

‘With Maggie?’

Simon gave a curt nod.

‘Who is this man with you?’ Ada did not like the stranger’s slightly amused expression.

‘He’s a soldier in King Edward’s army,’ said Simon.

‘I guessed that. Why is he here with you? Why have you brought him here?’

The stranger glanced away, as if realising he’d offended her.

‘Fetch your niece,’ said Simon.

‘She’s been taken ill. She’s lying down and should not be disturbed.’

‘I won’t keep her long.’

‘But–’

‘Shall we go up to her?’ he asked, eyeing the steps.

‘No. I’ll ask her to join us.’

As she climbed to the solar Ada wondered what mischief Simon was about. The stranger irritated her, but Simon’s formality frightened her. It was a bad sign that he was distancing himself from her.

In the solar she found Margaret sitting up, her loosened hair tucked into a neat cap, sipping the tisane as Celia helped her into her shoes.

‘I heard,’ Margaret said. She was pale and her
hand trembled as she lifted the cup to her lips. ‘What can he want?’

‘I don’t know. There’s a soldier with him in a livery I haven’t seen before. Can you walk?’

Margaret set down the cup and rose. ‘We’d better find out what he wants.’ She shook her head as Celia moved to assist. ‘Stay here. I’ll go with Ada.’

Ada could not help but admire how her young friend lifted her chin and walked over to the steps though she still lacked colour and energy. Margaret paused at the steps and motioned for Ada to go first.

‘In case I stumble,’ she said.

Dear girl
, Ada thought, and said a prayer as she descended that this was some foolish whim on Simon’s part.

When Margaret had joined them, Simon glanced over at his companion. ‘Do you know this woman?’

The man nodded. ‘Dame Margaret Kerr,’ he said in a Welsh accent, ‘we meet again.’

Ada’s heart skipped a beat at the use of Margaret’s name, and she heard her companion gasp. She took Margaret’s arm to steady her and angrily demanded, ‘Simon, who is this man?’

But Simon was looking at his companion. ‘Kerr. So this is the woman you met in Perth, David?’

‘It is, my Lord.’

Simon turned back to Margaret. ‘Do you recognise this man?’

To Ada’s despair Margaret nodded. ‘He brought me news of my brother. He claimed to have escaped from the English camp at Soutra. Your sores have healed well,’ she said to the stranger.

‘I am grateful to James Comyn for his care,’ said the obnoxious David.

One of his hands was wrapped in a stained bandage. ‘I see you are not completely healed,’ said Ada. She wanted to say more, call him a liar, but that would be hypocritical in the situation, for she’d done her share of lying and did not want to chance angering God.

‘Wait without, David,’ said Simon.

The Welshman withdrew at once.

While Simon stood regarding Ada, she remained silent, unable to think of anything she might say to improve the situation.

‘Of course you knew Dame Margaret was a spy for James Comyn, Ada. You are too smart to be fooled by her.’ His voice was cool though she had no doubt of the anger he suppressed.

‘You know me well, Simon. Who was that Welshman?’

‘A spy,’ Margaret said. ‘James was right not to trust him.’

‘What I don’t understand, Dame Margaret,’ said Simon, ‘is how it came to be that you serve the Comyns while your husband was in service with the Bruces. The families are enemies. But I’m certain you know that.’

‘She knows her own mind,’ said Ada.

‘It’s almost amusing. Peter and I thought you were the spy, Ada, until the Welshman arrived and opened our eyes to your niece’s activities. She isn’t your niece at all, is she?’

‘It matters little now.’ Ada did not know whether Margaret was safer as her kin or as a friend. ‘What do you mean to do now, Simon?’

‘I should have killed you when you chose Godric.’ He said it as if he was at last coming to some decision.

Ada had no doubt he knew she’d lost her daughter shortly after birth and that Godric had left her to fend for herself. ‘You almost did. And in the end I lost everything I loved. Everything.’

‘You need not have suffered. It was your choice.’

Bastard. ‘Can you be so cold? Surely what we’ve shared in the past week has meant something to you.’ As soon as she spoke she wished she could take it back, annoyed with herself for sounding as if she were pleading with him.

‘I thought I was keeping you from spying,’ said Simon.

She could not believe his arrogance. ‘Liar.’

‘Dame Margaret Kerr.’ Ada felt Margaret stand straighter as Simon studied her. ‘I believe I know where my son has gone. He’s searching for your late husband’s friend.’

‘What friend?’ Margaret asked.

‘I am sure you know of whom I speak. Did you
know that Aylmer is English? My men wanted to kill him at once, but I’d hoped to learn more about his kinsman, Robert Bruce. Curious man, Bruce, one season fighting for King Edward and amusing himself at the English court, the next season turning against his sovereign.’

‘I don’t trust him,’ said Margaret.

Ada wished she’d keep her tongue. Simon needn’t know any more about her.

‘I certainly think you’re right in not trusting the Bruce.’

‘I meant Aylmer,’ said Margaret.

‘Ah? Neither do I. Unfortunately, with most of our soldiers headed to the battlefield Aylmer managed to escape the castle. At least we think so. And I have a feeling Peter is tracking him.’

‘May they have joy of one another,’ said Margaret.

‘As I said, she is not well,’ said Ada. ‘Is that why you asked whether he’d been here – because she might have spoken with this Aylmer?’

‘I had no idea he was at the castle,’ said Margaret.

Simon regarded Margaret as if deciding whether or not to believe her. ‘Well, then,’ he said at last, ‘I shall trouble you ladies no longer.’ He bowed to Margaret, then to Ada. ‘This is, I believe, farewell, Ada.’

‘What will happen to us?’ she demanded.

‘I don’t know.’ He said it as if he’d not given it any thought. ‘At present I am needed in negotiations
with the Scots. I have some hope that your nobles are about to turn on Wallace and Murray and their rabble. Then – I don’t know.’ He bobbed his head again and headed towards the door.

‘Remember me to our children,’ Ada said, hoping that would make him turn, that she might read something in his eyes.

But he did not pause.

‘Bastard,’ she hissed as the door closed behind him. ‘Lying bastard.’ Her face burned with anger and shame and she wanted to both cry and scream. ‘Forgive me, Maggie,’ she said, pushing past her, heading out to the backlands. Once outside she gulped the air. Hugging herself to try to stop the trembling, she stepped out into the sunshine and stood with head bowed, letting the sun’s warmth soak into her. She cursed herself for coming to Stirling. In Perth she had at last found peace with herself and a contentment in her life, participating again in the lives of her family by taking in various members when their lives overwhelmed them. But coming here had opened wide all the wounds she had worked so hard to heal. Damn Simon, damn him for dallying with her and then shoving her aside. He might at least have kept up the pretence of affection. All the power was in his hands, he had nothing to fear from her.

Margaret touched her on the shoulder, then held out a cup of brandywine. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

Ada shook her head, and then drank the wine
down in one gulp. As it warmed her she noticed that Margaret looked more herself.

‘
Have you
seen aught of Aylmer?’

Margaret shook her head. ‘I’d imagined him long gone. I am going to the kirk to tell James all that has happened.’

Ada felt she should protest, being responsible for Margaret’s welfare while her young, impetuous friend was a guest in her house. ‘He does not want you going about.’

‘It is over, Ada. Whatever Simon means to do is already decided. Nothing I do will change that. I might as well go about my business.’

‘But why risk yourself?’ Ada was not ready to give up all hope of reaching Simon.

‘James might be able to advise us. I’ve had John pack food and drink for him.’

For a moment, Margaret looked so like her mother that Ada caught her breath. Perhaps it was the wimple and the signs of exhaustion on her face, but she had never so reminded Ada of Christiana before. Yet she saw a stillness in Margaret that she’d never seen in Christiana. Thinking of what Margaret had gone through with her mother’s Sight and the havoc it had caused her home life, as well as all she had suffered with her ill-suited husband, and now her widowhood, Ada felt horrible for causing yet more strife in her young life.

‘I should have turned around when James told me Simon and Peter were here,’ Ada said.

‘Should you?’ asked Margaret. ‘I don’t know that I agree.’

‘What did Ranald Allan say that frightened you so?’

Margaret glanced over in the direction of Ranald’s house. ‘Isn’t the tale of his son’s being hanged for a spy enough?’

‘And now Simon knows you came here as a spy.’

Margaret closed her eyes and nodded.

Ada still sensed there was more, but she was too drained to press her. ‘You are right, James may have some advice for us. Heaven knows we need some. Reason tells me Simon will do nothing now that he considers us exposed and thus powerless. He would gain nothing. But Peter–’

‘Simon was cruel to you,’ Margaret said, touching Ada’s shoulder. ‘I am sorry.’

Ada shrugged. ‘Go along. I’ll take care of myself. Be careful.’

She watched Margaret cross the yard to the back door. Beautiful, intelligent, courageous, and at nineteen already a widow. She wondered what would become of her dear young friend.

A strange hush had descended upon the town. Margaret sensed even more than she had the night of Johanna’s death the collectively held breath of the townsfolk as the armies massed below. She noticed Celia’s hesitation when they stepped out into the quiet market square.

‘We are not the only ones who have stayed within, out of harm’s way,’ said Margaret. ‘But today the harm came calling. It doesn’t matter whether we stay within.’

‘Where do you think Aylmer has gone?’ Celia asked.

Margaret wished she knew. Not that she had forgotten how she loathed him, but if he’d witnessed how Roger had fallen she wanted to hear it.

‘I would imagine he’s trying to escape Stirling and the battlefield below,’ she said in belated answer to Celia.

They both halted as a cry broke the silence.

Margaret laughed with relief when it resolved into a cat fight. ‘It’s so quiet they must think it’s night,’ she said.

But Celia was not about to be sidetracked with levity. ‘What did happen in the garden?’ she asked.

‘I spoke to Ranald Allan, our neighbour. I’d heard him and his wife arguing about a ring last night – one that had been long in the family. I mentioned it today – I’d watched him bury some clothes and – it was the Sight working through me – I asked whether he had also buried his son’s ring. He became furious. He was so
angry’

‘What does it mean?’

Margaret shook her head. ‘I wish I knew. Huchon was betrothed. Ranald spoke as if she’d abandoned them.’

They crossed over towards the kirk and sought out Father Piers.

‘He is already in the kirk,’ said the clerk.

They crossed the yard again, to the north door, where the guard searched the basket for weapons before allowing them past.

‘They hope James comes out, but unarmed,’ Margaret muttered, trying to distract herself from the fear the nave’s enormity had caused her the night James had sought sanctuary. But the sun had broken through the clouds and the light of early afternoon softened the great expanse. Across the nave, in the south aisle, Father Piers stood over someone who knelt on the stones with head bowed. Margaret and Celia nodded to the priest and then sought out the chapel in which James was biding.

Fully dressed even to his boots, James lay dozing on his pallet. Celia gently set the basket down, but the slight noise brought him to his feet, his eyes wild, his fists ready.

‘St Columba!’ Margaret cried. ‘You startled me.’

Celia laughed nervously. ‘Master James,’ she bobbed her head.

He recognised them and relaxed his hands. ‘I dreamt I was to be hanged.’

Margaret caught Celia’s eye and knew she, too, was thinking of Huchon Allan.

‘What’s the news?’ James asked, now fully awake and seemingly glad to have company. The cleft in his chin seemed deeper and his hair was longer than his
wont, swept back from his high forehead and lying softly on his collar. Margaret thought it suited him. ‘You’ve brought food?’ He’d noticed the basket.

Celia nodded, holding it out to him.

‘Have they buried Johanna?’ he asked Margaret.