Candace Robb - A Cruel Courtship

‘What happened this morning?’ Ada asked. ‘You looked even worse than when you spoke to Ranald.’

Taking Ada’s hand, Margaret affectionately squeezed it. ‘I’ll tell you all in exchange for some brandywine.’

Ada did not know what to make of Margaret’s behaviour.

Gradually Margaret felt coherent enough to look outward and trust that she was seeing with her own eyes. By the expression on the face of her good and loyal friend, she knew that she must at last explain her behaviour to Ada. She needed to know that the Sight had come to Margaret, and that she was struggling to learn how to use it and how to live with it. It was plain that she’d frightened both of them, for Celia had heard quite a lot at the Allans’s house.

They sat up in the solar, just the three of them, talking softly. At first it was mostly Margaret who spoke, telling them of the beginnings before they left Perth, Dame Bethag’s advice, how frightened and lost she’d been as she rode towards Stirling.

‘I have wondered what was bothering you ever since you told me of the owl,’ said Ada. ‘Roger’s death — how horrible to dream of it. I wish you had told me.’

‘There is nothing you could have done for me, my friend, just as I’ve never been able to help Ma.’

‘Father Piers guessed that you had the Sight that day when you asked about the clothing in his parlour,’ Ada remembered. ‘I’ve been so blind.’

‘I wanted you to be,’ Margaret assured her.

She told them of her fear for Johanna, and how it had brought her to Johanna’s house, but too late.

‘Why have you seen nothing about her murderer?’ Ada asked, sounding as frustrated as Margaret felt. ‘Have you no idea who beat that poor woman?’

Margaret shook her head. ‘I know it’s difficult to understand, but the Sight seems to choose what it reveals — or God chooses.’

She told them of her growing obsession with the Allans, and the question about Huchon’s ring that she’d asked Ranald without knowing why.

‘Poor Lilias Allan. What was Peter thinking, to insist they watch? And to wear that damned ring!’ Ada growled.

‘He might not have known whose it was,’ Margaret said. ‘In truth I doubt he could have. Why would Gordon tell him? But it is returned to the Allans now.’ She bowed her head. ‘I have prayed and prayed that the Sight is God’s gift, and not a curse.’

Celia looked up from her work. ‘I am sure it is God’s work, Mistress.’ She had been quiet until now, delicately scraping the last traces of blood from Margaret’s sleeves. ‘What you did for Lilias Allan was a blessing for her. You drew her out of the despair that threatened her soul’s salvation.’

‘Perhaps God has yet some information about Johanna to give us,’ said Ada. ‘It is not right that such a murder go unpunished.’

‘The English don’t care about her death,’ said Margaret. ‘She was unimportant.’

‘I know. But I do. My situation with Simon was not so different from hers with Rob.’

‘He hurt you deeply.’ Margaret took Ada’s hand.

‘Perhaps his punishment will be to never know Peter’s fate,’ said Ada. ‘That will give him pain, I know it will.’

‘If he returns, will you not tell him?’ Celia asked. ‘Someone will surely notice the burial.’

‘If Simon returns to Stirling we’ll have far more serious concerns,’ said Ada, ‘for that will mean our people have lost the battle.’ She shook her head. ‘As for telling Simon about Peter, I shall know what to say when he asks. I always do.’

‘I wonder about Johanna’s English lover,’ said Celia, ‘what Rob’s fate will be — or has been.’

‘I’ve wondered that, too’ said Ada. ‘I should have thought they’d make an example of him.’

‘Like poor Huchon Allan,’ said Celia. ‘Only her lover Rob did not know he was committing treason.’

‘Then he was a fool,’ said Ada.

Margaret wondered at the turn in the conversation. Her friends seemed to have accepted the change in her and gone on to other concerns. But then she hadn’t told them of her bargain with the Sight. By following it, she had done some good, so she intended to keep her vow to seek out Euphemia when she was free to do so. That would not be received without argument. She expected Ada and Celia to try to persuade her not to take such a radical step. For now she was relieved that they knew, and grateful that they accepted her as she was.

At dawn the noise of men arming and gathering to march woke Andrew and Matthew, though it was not their camp on the move. Word passed through the camps that some infantry had been sent over the bridge. The battle had begun. Andrew soon found himself surrounded by soldiers wanting his blessing. It was not only Sir Francis’s men, but many of those who had stopped him as he moved through the camps a few days earlier with Pete and Will.

‘Do they think your blessing will make the arrows and axes glance off them?’ Matthew asked.

‘For a man who cannot learn his letters, you are a canny one, Matthew,’ Andrew said.

‘I pray they don’t come after us when their comrades are killed,’ said Matthew.

Andrew was finally eating some hard bread soaked in watered ale when Holm arrived, cursing and kicking at anything in his path. The infantry that had been sent over Stirling Bridge had been called back because Surrey had overslept and was furious that someone else had ordered the battle begun. Andrew feared Holm would end up killing one of his own men, but he eventually gained control of himself, though he was anything but calm.

The news was enough to sow panic in the camp. Andrew had never seen men so agitated as the soldiers were now. Rumours abounded — that Wallace had fierce highlanders waiting to pick them off from beneath the bridge, that sea monsters were heading upriver from the firth — and fights broke out as fear frayed tempers.

‘If King Edward were here he’d have Surrey’s head, and ride with it into battle,’ said Sir Francis, already looking spent and anxious. ‘I’ve never known such incompetence. I have a bad feeling about this day, Andrew. Pray for us.’ They had been ordered to the bridge once more, and this time troops seemed to be crossing.

Andrew blessed him, and was choked with sorrow as he watched Sir Francis ride off, leading his men into the chaos. Andrew might be free now, but he respected Sir Francis and had grown fond of many of the men who had come to him for absolution and guidance. He wished he were ministering to the army of his own cause, but that did not make him hate these men. This was a war begun by a king who had sucked the heart out of Wales and now intended to do so here in Scotland. It angered Andrew that a king’s lust for power had forced men to take sides against their fellows with whom they had no personal argument. He prayed that Sir Francis, his men, and all the men he had met here might pass this day unharmed, but he did not have much hope. There was a witless feel to the movement of the troops.

When they were alone except for servants and camp followers, Andrew and Matthew packed their few belongings, adding some of the dwindling provisions, and headed up the hill to Stirling. He might be surer of escape by heading into the countryside, but he was worried about Maggie. His heart lifted a little with the thought of seeing her. But Matthew was muttering prayers beneath his breath as they climbed.

Andrew tried to distract him with talk about what they’d missed most since leaving Holyrood Abbey.

‘The bed I thought so hard,’ said Matthew.

‘I miss the quiet work of copying out a letter in my best hand,’ said Andrew, surprising himself with fond memories of the cloister.

‘The singing,’ said Matthew. ‘And the food.’