A Cruel Courtship (41 page)

‘Is it possible?’ Margaret asked Andrew.

He looked drained by the confrontation between mother and son. ‘Nothing is impossible, Maggie. It is God’s to choose the outcome, though it is mankind’s sorry way to play it out by killing their own.’

‘I know that this is an important battle,’ said Ada, ‘but Longshanks has never been a man to accept defeat. I fear for us even if we win the day.’

Margaret looked to Andrew, who looked away.

‘Tell us about the journey from Soutra Hill,’ Ada suggested. ‘Are the fields ready for harvest?’

‘It was a ghost land,’ Andrew began, but the clatter of horses out in the square distracted them, and all three hastened out to the street, fearing trouble. Most of the household were already there. In fact, townsfolk lined the square.

Andrew craned his head to see the approaching troop. ‘That’s Sir Marmaduke Twenge,’ he said, pointing out a man who was clad in armour and riding a destrier.

The soldiers riding and walking behind him were
bloodied and wore expressions that were a mixture of exhaustion and defeat. One dismounted in the market square, looking around at the houses as if uncertain where to go, and then approached Margaret.

‘I bear a message for Ada de la Haye.’

Ada stepped forward. ‘I am Dame Ada.’

The soldier bobbed his head to her. ‘Sir Simon Montagu sends greetings. He requests that if his son returns to Stirling you tell him that his father has ridden south and will not be returning.’

‘Simon survived,’ said Ada, crossing herself. ‘Is the battle over? Did– Who won?’

The messenger looked around, and seeing none of his fellows within hearing, said, ‘We are routed. The Earl of Surrey has raced south. Sir Marmaduke says the day went badly because some men are fools. Sir Hugh Cressingham, the Treasurer, was torn to pieces and many, many Englishmen lie dead in the swampy ground across the bridge. Pray for us.’ He bowed to her again and turned his horse towards the castle.

‘May God grant them eternal peace,’ Andrew said.

‘God speed,’ said Ada.

Margaret did not think she meant the messenger.

‘Why have the English gone to the castle?’ Celia asked.

‘If the bridge is lost to them, they can at least hold the castle as before,’ said Andrew. ‘This is one battle won by our side, not the war.’

He sounded so very weary. ‘Perhaps you should rest, Andrew,’ Margaret suggested.

‘No, I can’t rest yet. I’m as eager to hear more as anyone. I’m better here with you.’

The townsfolk lingered in the square for a long while afterwards, waiting for more troops to arrive, sharing gossip. Suddenly cries rang out and the pounding of men running up the steep street from below echoed against the buildings.

‘It’s a rout!’ a man down towards Bow Street shouted.

As the panting, sweat-soaked men appeared Andrew crossed himself. ‘The guards from below,’ he said.

‘Praise God,’ Ada cried.

A cheer went up as the runners began to collapse and their pursuers arrived, wielding swords. Margaret cried out at the first blow and buried her face in her brother’s shoulder.

‘We’d do more good in prayer,’ he said.

‘Come, all of you,’ Ada commanded.

The women retreated into the house, and without a word Celia and Maus fetched the paternoster beads. By the time they knelt near the fire Matthew, Sandy, John and cook joined them. Soon Alec appeared, ashen faced.

‘They murdered them all,’ he said, ‘right there where they lay.’ Pressing his hand to his mouth, he hurried out the rear door.

‘The killing is hard to stop once it begins,’ said
Sandy. ‘I’ve seen it before. We’re no better than them, once it starts.’

They all bowed their heads.

Images of terrible suffering and death filled Margaret’s head. She prayed that it was her imagination and not the Sight. A marsh awash in blood, arms reaching out, imploring, weapons caked in blood and worse, a terrible stench, flies thick on the bodies. Suddenly she straightened with a kenning that drew her to her feet. She was already walking towards the door when the knock came, heavy and insistent. Crossing herself, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

All she saw at first was Fergus, her brother, his head lolling to one side, his eyes unfocused. ‘Dear God in heaven!’ she cried, reaching for him, stroking his bloody cheek. ‘Fergus,’ she moaned, ‘not you. Dear God.’

‘Maggie, step aside. We’ll carry Fergus in,’ someone said.

Behind her, Ada cried out for a pallet by the fire, water and rags.

Andrew gently drew Margaret aside. Two muddy, bloodied men carried Fergus upright towards the fire.

‘His feet are moving,’ Margaret whispered, realising that Fergus was trying to walk. Celia put a cup to her lips. A mouthful of brandywine steadied Margaret.

Moving closer her heart leapt as she recognised
James beneath the grime. Free now of Fergus, who had been eased down on to the pallet and was already being tended by Maus and Ada, James approached Margaret, but stopped short of her.

‘I am filthy. Hal found me and together we pulled Fergus from the marsh. If Hal had not seen him fall beneath the English knight’s warhorse–’ James glanced back at the group before the fire.

Andrew was now kneeling beside his brother, making the sign of the cross on his forehead with oil.

Margaret reached for James’s hands and waited until he looked her in the eyes. ‘How serious are his wounds?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Maggie. He’s lost much blood. I think some ribs are broken. He’s not spoken, nor can he walk on his own. But I don’t know the extent of his injuries. All Hal and I thought was to bring him here. I pray we did the right thing.’

He kissed Margaret’s hands. ‘I must sit down.’

‘Of course. I’ll fetch something to drink.’

But Celia was already there with Ada’s flask and cups. Hal had taken a cup and withdrawn to one side of the fire, looking on with dead eyes.

Margaret went to him. ‘Your hair,’ she said, ‘you’ve cut it away from your eyes.’ His straight, fair hair had always fallen down over his eyes. He’d had a habit of speaking down to his shoes, never making eye contact.

He reached to push back what wasn’t there. ‘James said the Wallace wanted to see the eyes of his men.’

Margaret took his hand. ‘God bless you for watching over my brother.’

‘He’d’ve done the same for me, Dame Margaret.’

‘Maggie, call me Maggie,’ she said. ‘And you? Are you injured?’

He shook his head. ‘Bruises, scratches, naught else. I am sorry about your husband.’

‘Much has happened in the month since we parted, Hal. It’s as if a lifetime has gone by.’

‘I know.’

Although it seemed a silly concern when so many men had died, Margaret asked: ‘Where is Mungo?’ He was Fergus’s dog, who’d accompanied him to Aberdeen.

Hal’s eyes warmed. ‘I’ve no doubt that Mungo is eating well down at Cambuskenneth Abbey. We asked the monks if he might stay there during the battle and they were happy to have him. I’ll bring him here if Fergus–’ he dropped his gaze.

‘You’ll feel better if you wash off some of the marsh,’ she suggested, and went to see about hot water for Hal and James, who had nodded off on a bench. It felt better to be in motion.

In the late afternoon Ada drew Margaret aside. ‘I’m not as young as I once was,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you for a while. Fergus will stay here, of course. Hal and James are welcome.’

‘I’ll attend Peter’s requiem with you in the morning.’

Ada kissed her cheek. ‘Bless you.’

Margaret sought out Maus and sent her up to Ada; then she went to sit with Fergus. Celia quietly reviewed his condition.

‘His head is bruised on the right side. He bled from the ear.’

Margaret gently touched the bandage, then the one on his right side. ‘And this?’

‘The ribs feel broken and the bruise beneath the skin is so dark we think he’s bleeding – there was also some blood from his mouth, but his teeth are all there. His right hip also feels different from the left, and he cried out when Maus cleaned it. We’ve sent for Dame Bridget. She must have Archer settled by now.’

Margaret sat down beside Fergus, drawing out her beads.

Much later, after Andrew and Matthew had left for the kirk and James had disappeared, promising to return by dawn, Dame Bridget arrived. Celia took the opportunity to coax Margaret to the backlands for some air, and sat with her beneath the starlit sky, listening to the eerie silence. The air was very welcome.

‘Fergus has always been so full of life,’ Margaret said after a long while. ‘It’s so hard to see him lying there.’

‘He will mend, Mistress,’ Celia said. ‘He is young, strong, and too full of life to let go so easily.’

‘God grant you’re right,’ Margaret said, rising to return to the hall. She found Hal sitting with Fergus, who had begun to snore. Dame Bridget was mixing something over the fire.

‘I’ve never heard a snore from a dying man,’ said Hal. ‘It’s a good sign.’

He made Margaret smile. ‘I miss sitting with you in the stable,’ she said. ‘I did my best thinking there.’

‘I miss Bonny and Agrippa,’ said Hal. They were her uncle’s donkey and cat. ‘But most of all I’ve missed you, Maggie.’

She found him watching her with such intensity she looked away.

‘I know you’re with James Comyn now, but I swore to myself that I’d tell you if I saw you again. I love you, Maggie. Just so you ken that – well, if you–
Jesu
, I’m a bloody fool.’

Moved by his unexpected declaration, Margaret couldn’t immediately think of a response except, ‘You’re as far from a fool as anyone I’ve ever known.’

He was a good man. He’d always been willing to do whatever she asked, with no reward but a thanks, if that, for he’d been her uncle’s groom, and when she’d taken charge of the inn he’d become her servant. He’d been resourceful, wise and loyal, and she had counted on him time and again. But she’d never considered falling in love with him. He was her age – young, inexperienced. Of course now they had both been forced to mature quickly.

‘Let’s go without,’ said Margaret. ‘Dame Bridget is attending Fergus, and the fire is too hot.’

She watched how wearily Hal moved and hoped some air would calm him enough to sleep.

‘You don’t know me well, Hal,’ she began when they were out beneath the eaves.

‘Did Roger?’

The question caught Margaret off guard and she laughed, not a happy laugh. ‘No. You probably know more about what I like, what I fear, what I want than Roger ever did.’

Hal stopped, his head tilted, listening. ‘It’s even quieter now.’ He sniffed. ‘They’re lighting fires down in the valley.’

Margaret closed her eyes. ‘I don’t want to know what’s going on down there. Not right now.’

‘Maggie?’ a voice came from the wynd.

‘James,’ Hal said, disappointment clear in his voice.

Two men appeared around the corner of the house, stepping into the pool of light from the lanterns. James had brought Aylmer.

‘Dame Margaret,’ Aylmer said with a nod of his head.

Margaret rose and forced herself to look into his eyes. ‘I heard you’d been kept at the castle.’

James joined her.

Aylmer nodded once. He looked thin and haggard, and instead of cockily meeting her gaze and holding it, he lowered his eyes. This was a changed man.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked, slipping her arm around James for support.

‘I wanted to tell you how sorry Roger was that he’d hurt you, how determined he was to find a way to win you back to him. I was honoured to be his friend, and I made certain that Peter Fitzsimon died knowing it was for Roger’s life.’

‘Tell me what happened to my husband, Aylmer.’

‘Didn’t Ellen come to you and explain?’

‘I want to hear it from you.’

He described the incident much as Ellen had. ‘I have cursed her over and over for choosing to leave just then, but in my heart I know that Fitzsimon would have found another opportunity to kill Roger – he merely took advantage of the moment.’

‘So you did kill Peter. How did you find him?’

‘I was watching for him, but that lad was faster – Ellen’s brother, mad as a hatter to take on a fighter of Fitzsimon’s skill, I thought. But he gave it his all and managed to badly injure him. I let Fitzsimon crawl to the shed and get some rest. I wanted him quite clear in the head when I killed him. I wanted him to hear me when I told him why he was dying.’

Margaret bowed her head. ‘I suppose I should thank you,’ she said when she’d recovered her voice. ‘For Peter, and for sending Ellen to me.’

Now Aylmer looked up. ‘He disgusted me, how he preyed on her family.’

She nodded. ‘What will you do now?’

‘Return to the Bruce, tell him how the battle went, what a fool Surrey proved to be, how worthy Wallace and Murray are.’

‘I hesitate to invite you into the hall,’ said Margaret. ‘Because of Ada …’

Aylmer nodded. ‘James told me that Fitzsimon was the son of the mistress of the house. I’ll not disturb her. I’ve done what I came to do.’