A Trust Betrayed (3 page)

“What do you mean?” Margaret asked rather sharply.

Fergus moved beside her. “Surely he has not become a saint in your mind now he’s dead? If ever there was an unsaintly man it was Jack with his schemes and his small lies, his flirtation with all females younger than Mother. But no, I recall he even flirted with Mother for a time, until she had a damning dream about him.”

Margaret blushed at the memory.

“Look at all the females in this crowd, eh?”

“Aye,” Margaret whispered.

“Well?” Fergus asked. “Why did you snap at me?”

“I am tired, that is all. And I do mourn him, Fergus. He was a great help to me and a good man.”

“Oh, aye, I know that. But he was a knave as well.”

“I’m much better since you joined me. And warmer.”

“Your goodmother should have thought of the mantle.”

Folk came up to speak with them, but Margaret responded with only half her attention. She kept looking for Roger’s arrival at the edge of the crowd. Had he heard about Jack’s death, he would have come. So he did not know. She would not let herself think of the other possibilities, that he was prevented from coming by illness or death.

The tolling bell stilled the voices, calling the mourners to the kirk. It kept the pallbearers’ steps slow and steady. The priest’s incense spiced the wintry air.

In the kirk Margaret’s breath rose in frosty clouds as she prayed, steadying her goodmother beside her.

Once more the pallbearers lifted Jack. Katherine straightened, shook her head at Margaret’s offer of support. For this last walk with her nephew she would be strong.

The hard clods of frozen earth dropping on the coffin sounded like hoofbeats in the quiet kirkyard. How they must thunder within Jack’s coffin. Margaret shivered. Fergus put an arm round her.

It should have been Roger who comforted her.

2

THE CROSSING

Monday brought iron gray clouds, winds that found every crack in the walls, every loose shingle, and a chill that threatened to turn the rain to snow. It was not a day to travel. But Andrew, having wasted Sunday in Dunfermline, was determined to lose no more time in returning to Edinburgh, and Margaret was not about to be shaken off by his haste.

As she had walked back to the house from Jack’s grave on Saturday she had decided what she must do. Once the guests had departed she had urged Katherine to retire to her chamber, then gathered her brothers round the fire circle in the main room. She warned Andrew and Fergus to speak softly, that the elderly woman’s hearing was quite sharp.

“What do you not wish her to hear?” Fergus had asked, glancing uneasily at Andrew.

“She will know on the morn, but for now I would have her sleep.” Margaret took a deep breath. “I am accompanying Andrew to Edinburgh.”

“What?” Andrew came to attention.

“I must find Roger.”

“You don’t know when he was last there,” Fergus said.

“If you do not mean to support me, hold your tongue,” Margaret snapped.

Andrew shook his head. “Edinburgh Castle is crowded with Edward Longshanks’s soldiers, Maggie. The town is no place for a young woman.”

“There is no other way. No one else will search for him with English soldiers about.”

“Aye. Nor should you.”

“You are on good terms with the English.”

“Why do you say that?” Andrew looked offended by the comment.

“They let you have Jack’s body. You said you knew the sheriff.”

“Do you?” Fergus asked.

“It is true I studied at Oxford with Sir Walter Huntercombe’s son. His son, mind you,” Andrew said. “I cannot protect you, Maggie. And what will you do with Roger when you find him— demand that he come home?”

It was perhaps foolish to go, but it was better than what she had done so far—worry and pray. She was sick of it.

“Where would you stay?” Andrew demanded.

“With Uncle Murdoch, at his inn.”

“Heaven help you.”

“I am decided.”

They had argued until they woke Katherine, who had heard enough by the time she came out of her chamber that she needed no explanation.

“Of course you must go, Margaret,” she said in the tone of one who suddenly understands. “That is how your mother’s prophecy will be fulfilled.”

“You believe Mother’s vision?” Margaret said.

“Wise men and women go to her for advice. The Abbess of Elcho was happy to receive her. It means pilgrim offerings for their abbey.”

Margaret’s mother had withdrawn to Elcho Nunnery on the Ta y after Margaret’s marriage. With her father’s blessing. Malcolm Kerr said his wife’s notoriety in the town made his fellow merchants uneasy, which was bad for trade.

When Margaret had last visited Elcho Nunnery her mother had told her of two visions of her daughter’s future. “I saw you standing over a table, studying maps with two men. One was giving you and the other orders, concerning a battle.” Margaret had laughed at that. But her mother had solemnly continued. “On another day I saw you holding your baby daughter in your arms, your husband standing by your side, watching the true King of Scots ride into Edinburgh.”

Christiana MacFarlane, Margaret’s mother, had grown up on the north shore of Loch Long. Her family had been perplexed by her fasts and visions even as a child, and her parents undertook the difficult journey to St. Andrews to pray at the shrine of the apostle for guidance. Christiana’s flux began while they were there, and her parents decided it was a sign she was to be wed and bear children. On their way back to Loch Long they stayed in Perth, where Malcolm Kerr first set eyes on her. He thought she had the face of an angel, but he did not know whether he liked the idea of marrying an angel. Or a saint. So he did not make his feelings known to her parents. A year later, when he understood that he had discarded all the marriageable women in Perth for not being the beautiful Christiana, he took himself off to Loch Long.

Christiana’s visions had ceased until Fergus was born, and then she began to inform neighbors of her dreams about them. Margaret had grown up with the unpleasant expectation that being her mother’s only daughter she would very likely also have visions. When she showed no sign of doing so, she felt people wondered what imperfection cursed her.

“I shall rely on my own strength in this,” Margaret said to her goodmother. “On my own certainty that God guides me.” She turned to her brother. “Is that not better than relying on our mother’s pronouncements?”

Andrew did not answer, but sat staring into the fire.

Fergus looked uncertain. “I thought them strange visions at the time, but now that you’ve chosen to go to Edinburgh and feel so sure of it, I wonder. She might have foreseen all this.”

“There,” said Katherine, satisfied. “Now Margaret must get her sleep, so good night to you, Father Andrew, Fergus.”

This morning, Katherine paced about and hovered over Celia’s preparations—she insisted Margaret have a maid on the journey. Celia was a vain woman and tidy to the point of sinful-ness—though Katherine claimed it to be an excellent virtue in a maid. Margaret was not pleased with her goodmother’s gift, but she knew it was meant kindly and so accepted Celia’s presence—for the time being.

Eventually the household began to calm and settle into the morning routine.

Then Andrew announced that his servant Matthew waited without with the horses. It was time to depart.

The widow threw back her head and pressed her palms together. “Blessed Mary, Mother of God, watch over them.” She lowered her eyes to Celia. “Take care of Margaret. What you do for her, you do for me.”

Celia forced a smile. Margaret did not like the tension she sensed beneath the maid’s attempts to appear calm and wondered whether Celia was less pleased at the prospect than she had claimed the previous night, whether she had agreed to do this to please the widow. No doubt she was afraid. Faith, she would be wise to be fearful.

The scent of lavender water and the sour breath of one who has been weeping for days assailed Margaret as her goodmother gathered her in a farewell embrace. “Find our Roger, my dear. Let your mother’s vision of your future give you courage.”

Margaret pulled back far enough to look into her good-mother’s eyes.

The widow smiled through tears and hugged Margaret once more. “God go with you.”

“May God watch o’er all of us,” Margaret whispered.

*
      
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*

Father Andrew loved his sister, but he did not want her in Edinburgh. So close, within a comfortable walk, sooner or later she would hear of his shame.

He had watched her this morning, rushing about, her red-gold hair loose, tumbling in long waves down her back, her freckles making her look too young to be a wife. She should not witness what the troubles had done to her fellow man. Neither should she endanger herself for a husband who so regularly disappeared.

Ye t even Perth was not safe. King Edward had touched it, as he had touched so much of this land. Margaret was strong-boned and strong-willed. She would no doubt survive the disillusionment. In faith, he only angered her when he tried to guide her. Sooner or later Margaret would know anyway.

*
      
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*

All through the ride to Inverkeithing the wind tore at Margaret’s hood. The rain soaked through her two pairs of gloves, the outer pair made of leather.

But worse than the weather was her belated fear. Saturday night she had been so sure this was what she must do. But that clarity had abandoned her, replaced by the clamor of all she had heard about the cruelty of
 
Edward Longshanks, his governors and soldiers. If they were behind Jack’s death, she did not know what justice she could hope for.

Her uncertainty about her husband haunted her, too. Though Roger had been horrified by the slaughter in Berwick, she was uncertain what he might be willing to do in exchange for an English governor’s turning a blind eye as his ships approached Scotland. She would never have wondered but that one of his ships had arrived in Dundee in early autumn. Roger had proclaimed it a sign of a good captain, no more, and set his sights on Dundee as an alternative port, but folk had whispered at his long absences and the ease with which he had found a solution. And the longer Roger was away the more Margaret brooded on his contradictory behavior. He had cursed Edward Longshanks when his army slaughtered the people of Berwick, but then he had subscribed to the Ragman Rolls, swearing his loyalty to the English king. He had been summoned to swear, it was true, but he was no one of importance, the King of England would not have wasted troops to pluck him from Perth if he had not gone. He need not have sworn loyalty to the murderer.

She glanced at Celia to see how she fared.

Katherine had not warned Margaret that Celia had little experience on horseback. The maid had required assistance this morning in mounting and staying astride. On the journey her hood had been blown back and her white headdress was askew. Her horse flicked his tail and danced. Celia fussed nervously with the reins. Despite all this, her expression was one of determination.

As they approached Inverkeithing Matthew spurred his horse and rode ahead for news of the ferry. The timing of the crossing was unpredictable in the stormy weather and with the English occasionally shutting down the ferry. In a short while, the lad reappeared, sodden and flushed by the ride, shaking his head at Andrew’s shouted query. The news drew a curse from Margaret’s impatient brother.