Candace Robb - The Fire In The Flint

It was not merely the timing that bothered James. Margaret had been of much help to him in gathering information, anything from overheard conversations between English soldiers to the names of women from the town who visited the castle garrison. He worried that Roger might persuade her to change sides, abandoning Balliol for the Bruce, and if she did, she might share information with him. James wanted to believe that her sense of honour would prevent her from betraying him, but love often pushed people beyond moral behaviour.

It all put James in a foul mood and, though it was the middle of the night, he woke his servant to fetch him wine and a cold repast.

Voices raised in anger woke Margaret. They were so loud that her heart raced as she peered out of the bed curtain. The room was empty, the argument now more clearly down in the yard. One of the voices was Murdoch’s. Someone had arrived yesterday — the English servant. And what of his master? She realised with a start that she had neither met him nor resolved whether to let them stay. The light streaming in through the slatted shutters alarmed her. She could not think why Celia had not roused her much earlier.

But a hat on one of the hooks and a leather travelling pack on the chest jogged her memory. Roger was here. Had she not seen his things in the room she would have thought his return a dream. Yesterday afternoon had been like any other. She’d had no premonition that her wait of almost a year was about to end, not even a fleeting thought that Roger might appear. In fact, of late she had ceased to pray for either his safety or his return, an omission born of resentment. She was not even twenty and condemned to the chaste life of a nun while her husband yet lived. Though he might never venture near her, she was condemned to await his pleasure while he might change his name and marry or bed as many women as he pleased — or so she had come to think over the past year, usually in wakeful hours before dawn.

And now he’d arrived, pledging his love, teasing her with passionate play, promising … what? No more than he had promised on their wedding night, to be a good husband. She had told him she did not understand what he meant by ‘love’ but she might have added ‘husband’.

About one thing she was adamant — she would not let his return erase the strength she had gained in his absence. Nor would she withdraw her support from John Balliol. With that resolve she forced herself to rise and begin her day. Her eyes burned and her face was tender from Roger’s scratchy beard. Worst of all, she had been left unsatisfied and abandoned, as if he’d opened his eyes this morning and realised she was the wrong woman.

Celia knocked — her timing was uncanny. After pulling her crumpled shift over her head, Margaret called out for the maid to enter. As the door swung open the arguing voices grew louder.

‘With whom is my uncle debating so long and loudly?’

‘English soldiers,’ said Celia. ‘They are carrying out orders to board up the High Street door to the tavern and guard the yard entrance.’ She glanced at Margaret, then quickly averted her eyes. ‘The tavern is shut.’ She shook out Margaret’s dress.

Margaret turned her back to Celia to receive the gown overhead. ‘Shut?’ This was disturbing news. ‘Uncle feared this would happen. Does it have something to do with that stranger who arrived yesterday?’

Celia looked confused. ‘Stranger?’ She shook her head as if she didn’t know whom Margaret meant. ‘The soldiers say it’s because of Old Will.’

‘Old Will,’ Margaret whispered. ‘They searched his rooms and now they close the tavern.’ She turned back to Celia. ‘Why has death stirred them like no other among us? Who do they think he was that they find him so important in death?’

Celia stole another glance. Her pained expression was like a mirror held to Margaret — she must look as ragged as she felt.

‘Whatever their reasoning,’ Celia said, ‘they are eager. While your uncle argues with one, the other soldiers make haste with the carpentry. But I don’t believe their mission surprised him. Your uncle and Hal were up before me, loading a cart in the dark.’

So her uncle had another hiding place. Margaret should have guessed. As she stretched out her arms for the sleeves she asked, ‘Where did you sleep?’

‘The east chamber up here — I thought I should be near.’ Celia worked at the laces, her fingers cold. ‘But I woke at every sound.’

‘Where did you put Aylmer, the English servant? And what of his master?’

‘Oh! Master Roger did not tell you the man is his servant?’

Margaret could not believe it. Even in her father’s house they’d never had such a well-spoken, well-dressed servant. ‘No, he said nothing of him.’

‘I put him in the other house. He and Master Roger were up early, out in the town.’ Finished with the sleeves, Celia looked Margaret in the eye. ‘Are you well, Mistress?’

Margaret wondered just how bad she looked. ‘I am tired, that is all.’

When dressed, she went out, avoiding her uncle and the soldiers while she looked for Hal. She could not help but notice when passing them that the English soldiers had begun to look shabby, and in fact one wore a tunic so large for him that he’d tucked the hem into a wide belt so it didn’t drag in the mud. They’d not looked so when they’d marched into Perth the previous summer. It gave her a little hope, or at least the satisfaction that they, too, suffered deprivation. She found Hal in the stable, combing Murdoch’s sable-coated cat.

‘Agrippa wanted to hide from the soldiers,’ Hal said to the ground.

Heavy-lidded green eyes watched Margaret approach, then closed as she gently touched Agrippa’s round, silky head. ‘He is calm now,’ she noted.

Hal nodded. ‘The master’s voice, though it be angry, reassures him.’

‘What do you know about my uncle’s movements with the cart?’

‘Celia must have told you.’ Hal nodded. ‘I saw her watching from above.’

‘I wonder who else saw you.’

Hal shrugged. ‘The master wanted the cart brought round to the close after curfew, when I’d seen no one about for a good while, but long before dawn.’ Hal raised his head and she saw by the slackness of his young face how weary he was. ‘I helped him load barrels and trunks, and then he led Bonny away down the backland. I was to watch a good while to see whether someone might think it safe to run off and report him. I saw no one.’

Margaret’s petting inspired a loud purr from Agrippa.

‘What is to happen to us, Dame Margaret?’ Hal asked. ‘With the tavern shut, Master Murdoch will have no need of me.’

The cat jumped away.

‘I don’t know, Hal. Have you any kin?’

He shook his head.

Margaret had begun to reach for his hand, but thought better of it, and glad she was, for at that moment Roger and Aylmer appeared, leading their horses. Hal stepped forward to relieve them of the beasts.

Handing Hal the reins, Roger swept off his cap and bowed low to Margaret. ‘How goes my lady this fine day?’

‘With the soldiers about it is hardly fine,’ she said, noting once more the change in his appearance, the hollows in his cheeks, the grey-flecked hair. ‘You cannot have missed them.’

‘I am only surprised they left it so long.’

Margaret was unsettled by the warmth in his eyes as he looked at her. ‘They seem to allow you much freedom at the gates,’ she said.

‘We came through Blackfriars’ to Potter Row and then down the backlands. Unfortunately, one of the soldiers saw us. He said nothing, but he will to his superiors. It is best that we leave soon.’

So already he planned his escape from her.

‘Would you not rather bide at home in Perth?’ he asked. ‘You said you’ve lost sleep for worrying about Fergus. And you are right, he is too young and lacks the experience to deal with such problems.’