Candace Robb - A Trust Betrayed

Wind fanned the flames of the guards’ fire into fantastic shapes.

Andrew joined in Matthew’s prayer.

20

Watching the CloudShadows

Margaret and Celia sat in Janet’s house, talking quietly with the weaver as she worked the loom. The click of Margaret’s cards made counterpoint to the slower rhythm of the shuttle. Celia worked on new sleeves for Margaret’s best gown.

“What will Murdoch do about Sim?” Janet asked. “He cannot trust him now.”

“Sim is still in the tavern,” Margaret said. “Murdoch thinks it best to keep him in sight.”

Janet exclaimed at that. “He’ll regret that.”

“I’ve a mind it’s the same reason he accepts James Comyn as his partner,” said Margaret. “I’ve never heard a pleasant word pass between them.”

“I don’t like James Comyn,” said Celia. “He has dead eyes.”

“I think him a fine figure of a man, although I dislike his loyalties.” Janet stepped down from her bench, shoved it aside with her foot. She had completed enough of the cloth to reach it from the ground. “I understand Roy has done little work and much damage since Belle returned.”

“My uncle is too patient with him,” said Margaret.

Celia shook her head. “If Roy loves Belle so, why does he refuse to wed her?”

“It’s the doubt,” said Janet. “He would ever look at the bairn and wonder if it’s his. And fear Belle would wander offagain with the first man who promised a better life.”

Margaret stretched forward to turn a card. “Rosamund thought Besseta and Comyn were lovers.”

“Don’t listen to that woman’s tales,” Janet warned.

“Oh, Master Jack was much finer than James Comyn,” Celia said.

Margaret was glad her head was bent over her weaving. Celia’s comment had startled her. She had not thought before how Celia might feel about Jack, how well she might have known him. He had returned to his aunt’s house so often.

“He was bonny, aye,” said Margaret. “The bonniest man I’ve ever seen.”

Margaret and Comyn stood together over Agnes Fletcher’s grave. They had buried her close by the Blackfriars kirkyard, just beyond consecrated ground-Father Francis would not go so far as condoning both suicide and murder, and neither would the Blackfriars. Besseta knelt, weeping as she planted a rosemary that the fathers had given her.

“Do you not wish you had spared the sisters what they went through in those rooms these weeks? Separated them from each other?” asked Margaret.

“It would not have saved Agnes. Or eased Besseta’s pain.” Comyn was looking out over the graves to the kirk wall, where two friars wielded shovels, digging a hole for a young tree that lay beside them. “They might save their backs for the grave digging. The dead will fill the kirkyard when Wallace and Murray join together.”

“Darksome thoughts.”

“It’s best to face it.”

Margaret did not respond. She was waiting for the right moment.

“Have you found what you wished to learn here in Edinburgh?” Comyn asked.

The day had grown warm. Margaret pushed back her hood. “Not all of it. I would ken whether my husband had a part in this. If he encouraged his cousin to betray you.”

“It would have been a good use to make of such a man as Jack.” Comyn said it with bowed head, nodding slightly.

What a cold, bloodless man. “Good use? He was Roger’s cousin, they were brought up together like brothers. I would not use my brother so.”

“No, I don’t believe you would.” Comyn glanced at her, saw something, turned to look directly at her. “What will you do if Roger appears?”

Not liking the way his pale eyes searched her face she moved away from him, sitting down on the wall that bordered the kirkyard. Comyn followed, as she had expected, but she had regained her composure.

“Well?”

“I shall ask him whether Jack acted alone. I’ll not shy away from that.”

“And if you don’t like his answer?”

Margaret dropped her head. “I cannot say.”

He did not pursue the question, for which she was grateful. After a brief silence, he began to rise.

She must spit it out. “What you said about our being allies, what did you mean?” She met his pale gaze, prayed God her eyes stayed steady.

“What are you asking?”

The intensity ofhis regard made her heart pound. “John Balliol is my king. I want to know what I might do to help him.”

“Truly?”

Slowly, she nodded. “I do not want to look back on this time with regret.”

“What does your uncle say about this?”

“He is not to know.”

Comyn dropped his gaze, shook his head. “You have a strange way with you, Margaret Kerr.”

“You will consider what I have said?”

He reached over, took her right hand, turned it over and back. “You do not shy from work.” He looked up into her eyes. “I will give it some thought.”

She withdrew her hand.

In a little while Comyn rose, took his leave.

Margaret sat on the wall for a long while, listening to Besseta’s tearful farewell to her sister, watching the cloud shadows glide across the castle high above. After a time Margaret hugged herself, trembling with the import of what she had set in motion. She had done it. She had embraced her mother’s visions as the best hopes she had. Pray God Christiana was right.