Candace Robb: A Cruel Courtship

Their warring loyalties and Roger’s lies had created such a rift in their marriage that Margaret had finally suggested to Roger that he use whatever influence and wealth he had to annul their marriage. But it seemed he’d belatedly decided their marriage was salvageable.

She slept poorly again that night despite all the tiring work in the garden, plaguing Celia with her tossing, eventually falling into a brief, exhausted sleep at dawn. Waking with the indecision still gnawing at her, Margaret pushed back the covers and pulled aside the bed curtains. Sunlight streamed in the open windows and filled the room with a delicious heat. She was grateful for the warmth of the floor as she slid out of bed. She might think it a glorious day had there been no owl a night past. But it had kindled a sense of guilt she’d struggled to ignore, and now she thought that because she’d been anxious to escape Roger she’d not questioned the level of care he would receive at Elcho if she were not there to supervise.

She struggled into her simplest gown, impatient with her awkwardness. She’d become too accustomed to Celia’s assistance in dressing. She was muttering to herself when a darksome thought stopped her in mid-motion: Celia believed the owl portended the death of the head of the household — not a possibility, but a fact. There was nothing she could do to avert his fate. Nothing … She rejected that idea as she slipped on her shoes and went off in search of Celia. Margaret could not think that God would be so cruel as to warn her if she was powerless to prevent her husband’s death. God was good. God was love. God was at least reasonable or mankind was doomed.

But should she not at the very least tell Roger of her fears? In the eyes of the Kirk she should honour her marital vow above her vow to James Comyn. She should go to Roger at Elcho Nunnery. It was only a short distance downriver. Besides, James was away, somewhere between Perth and Dundee conferring with Wallace and Murray — he might be away for a long while. She would leave a message with one of his men still in town asking that James meet her at the nunnery and continue to Stirling from there.

In the kitchen, drawing Celia away from the capable Tom, Margaret proposed her plan — the woman was not only her maid, but her trusted confidante, although she had told her nothing of the visions or the recurring nightmare.

Celia listened, hands on hips, never one to let her small stature give the impression of timidity. As soon as Margaret had presented her case, Celia rejected it with a shake of her head, her straight dark brows joined in a forbidding frown. ‘I fear you’re thinking with your heart, not your wits, Mistress. Master James instructed you to bide here until he returns, and you did promise.’

Margaret threw up her hands. ‘Then what am I to do about the owl that so frighted you the other night? It’s not like you to defend James — you do not trust him.’

‘But neither do I trust Master Roger.’

‘So I’m to say nothing to my husband?’

‘Perhaps a messenger could be sent?’

Margaret imagined asking someone to risk their life to tell Roger that a bird had warned her that he was marked for death, and it made her wonder at her own wits for having given it any thought at all. Still, it had forced her to face her unease about his welfare.

‘Dame Margaret?’ Celia awaited a response, her brows knit in concern. ‘Are you unwell?’

‘No, uncertain what to do. I need advice from someone less caught up in these matters of the heart, but there are few I trust in Perth since the English arrived. Folk are too eager to prove themselves friends of the English in order to protect their property.’

‘I’m sorry I’ve given you a new worry.’

Not a new one. You merely made me face myself.’ There was one woman she trusted. ‘We’ll consult Dame Ada.’

Ada de la Haye was not only Margaret’s old friend but she also happened to be an integral part of James’s plan, for she was to provide lodgings for Margaret in Stirling and a plausible reason for her presence, as well as being a travelling companion.

Celia nodded her approval.

By the time they crossed North Gate the sun beat down unmercifully. What faint breeze came from the river did little to relieve the heat. Margaret and Celia mingled with townspeople listlessly going about their errands. Fortunately Ada de la Haye’s house was not far along the main street, and the two women were soon welcomed in to the cool shade of Ada’s hall. From without it was a modest house, disguising the wealth of the inhabitant and the richness of the furnishings within.

The de la Haye family were well connected leaders in the community, but Ada’s station and wealth had to do with her kin’s ambition, not their generosity. She’d been an orphaned niece who was given the choice of being a pawn for the family’s gain or being married off to either a very elderly man or a younger son. Having set her mind to wealth, and already fond of men, Ada had chosen to be a mistress to the powerful and thus aid her family’s influence in politics. Marriage had sounded boring to her.

For many years her beauty and grace had held the devotion of her lover. Simon Montagu, an Englishman who had won King Edward Longshanks’s favour in combat and diplomacy, had been generous to her, and now in her mature years she enjoyed a comfortable life. After returning to Perth from the English manor on which Simon had kept her, Ada had in turn been generous to St John’s Kirk and had thus earned the respect of the community on her own terms. She was an educated woman and despite her unmarried state she was as influential as any de la Haye. In short, she was a force to be reckoned with. Margaret admired her above all women and most men. In her childhood she had often fantasised about life as Ada’s daughter, particularly when her mother Christiana was lying abed, exhausted after having a vision.

Now Ada, elegant in her silks, her white hair caught up in a fussy cap that emphasised her still slender ivory neck, listened with growing concern to Margaret’s account of the owl, and her indecision. Margaret relaxed as she spoke, imagining that Ada was already devising a plan, but was disappointed by her friend’s initial comment.

‘This is too unlike you, Maggie. All this confusion because an owl lit on your rooftop two nights ago? Are you unwell?’

Perhaps she was — it was the second time someone had asked that this morning.

‘I upset her with my ma’s tale of the owl,’ said Celia.

‘She woke me to my responsibility,’ Margaret said.

Ada sat back a little, gazing at the ceiling. ‘I tried hunting with owls when I lived in the south. I loved their silent flight and their feather weight — despite their huge wingspans, long claws and noble beaks they weigh so little.’ She tilted her head and smiled as if admiring one on the blank ceiling. After a pause, she drew her attention back to Celia. ‘They are fierce birds; one would be unwise to trust them. It seems perverse to cast them as messengers.’

Celia shrugged.

‘But I hear something else in your words, Maggie,’ Ada continued. ‘You will be no good to James Comyn while you fret about Roger. Perhaps it would be best to begin our journey to Stirling by visiting Elcho. My menservants can escort us. My household has made the journey before, though, I grant you, we haven’t for a long while.’

Celia gave a little cry. ‘But Master James-’

‘Needs your mistress calm, Celia. What he is asking of her requires that she have all her wits about her.’

Ada was right, Margaret thought, and she wished only that she had expressed herself more rationally. It frustrated her to have stopped short of reasoning through her worries so that she might have simply said that until she was satisfied that Roger was receiving the care he needed she would not be able to concentrate on her work for James.