Candace Robb - The Fire In The Flint

‘Perhaps you’ve been too long away from gentle companions, ones who mean you no harm.’ Roger’s fury at Aylmer had cooled Margaret’s own anger. She touched his cheek in turn. ‘Let us leave Longshanks and the troubles outside the door tonight.’

Roger caught her hand and kissed the palm.

Recalling James’s earlier kiss, Margaret blushed, thinking how much like this kiss it had seemed. And both times it was she who had proffered her hand.

Roger pushed away from the table and rose to bolt the door. ‘The English and all the world but you and I are locked out, I swear.’ He leaned down and scooped her up in his arms. ‘I love you, Maggie Kerr. I pray you never doubt me again.’

She felt light-headed as he carried her to the bed. Tonight he was all gentleness and consideration. Margaret felt deliciously wanton, and luxuriated in the role. Much later she fell asleep satisfied.

James was puzzled. It was noon of the day Roger Sinclair meant to depart and he had not come to James about replacements for his horses. Surely Murdoch would have mentioned that James kept a well-guarded stable in the countryside. He’d expected Sinclair and his manservant to come to him about a trade, and when James sent them away that they would resort to thieving. But they had not come. It made James uneasy to be so wrong about Sinclair’s behaviour. If the Bruce were supplying reinforcements, if Sinclair had access to horses gathered for the cause, then this was no personal journey on which he was embarking. James recalled Margaret’s concern that it was a trap.

What did Sinclair want? He was rushing Margaret to Perth. That meant he was not hoping to spy on her work for Balliol, because he would best do that here. He might know Wallace was at Kinclaven, but Margaret could not ride there alone, and she would never be such a fool as to accept Sinclair or his man as an escort. It was possible that James was quite wrong about Sinclair’s motives; the man might be dipping his hand into his lord’s purse to mend his marriage.

But that was the behaviour of a desperate man, and Sinclair did not seem desperate.

Perhaps his goal was the same as James’s — to speak to Christiana MacFarlane, the seer. If James told Margaret he suspected this, she might confront Sinclair. Such a confrontation might prove interesting, even entertaining, but James saw no potential for gain in it. In any case, as a cohort he should share his thoughts with Margaret. Though they might make her feel newly betrayed she should be warned. He sent his man with a message for her, if he could deliver it discreetly, that his master had something important to tell her, and to come if she could, or send word where he might find her.

Margaret and Roger walked along a cow path that wound through the countryside south of the town. For a while now she had felt a constriction in her chest that made breathing difficult, slowing her. The early afternoon sun beat down on them, and the crag along which Edinburgh stretched was blocking the breezes from the firth. Margaret’s obsession was that in packing she had forgotten something of great importance, something that might make the difference between life and death on the journey. She tried to recall all that she and Celia had planned.

Roger had paused to look back at her. ‘Why such a frown?’ Sunlight picked out the grey strands in his hair as he took off his cap and used it to blot the sweat from the back of his neck. ‘Is it the heat? We’ll soon have the wind off the loch to cool us.’

‘You gave me little chance to say a proper farewell to Janet and forced me to abandon Celia on such a busy day. Shame on you, Roger Sinclair. You’ve reverted to the tyrant I believed you’d left behind.’ She turned away from him, hiding tears.

‘I did it for you, Maggie. I could see how you were dreading tonight, and so I schemed to steal away with you so that we might enjoy the day, just the two of us, before we join the others.’

‘There was yet much to do.’

‘Celia seems able, as is Aylmer. My condemnation of his behaviour last evening has made him have more care with me. They are our servants, Maggie.’

‘I cannot help my worry.’

Margaret had gone to Janet Webster’s house, at her request, to say farewell but mostly hoping to be reassured that her uncle would be left in loving hands.

‘What a woebegone countenance I see,’ Janet had said. ‘Aren’t you happy to have Roger by your side? You came here all those many months ago searching for him, fearing he might be in a grave you’d never see.’

‘God has smiled down on me, Janet, and I am grateful. My grief is in leaving all of you. You’ve been a good friend to me. Uncle, Hal, Father Francis, Roy and Geordie …’

‘And the Comyn?’ Janet had turned away from her loom and quirked an eyebrow at Margaret.

‘Yes, I don’t deny it. But not for the reason you’re suggesting.’

Janet waggled her head and picked up the shuttle. ‘You’re young, Maggie, and you have a taste for the company of men, and they you. It is nothing to blush about.’

Margaret changed the subject. ‘Roger has asked over and over about how Old Will’s Bess died. He’s disappointed that I have only the barest details of the accident.’

‘You’re fishing for gossip?’ Janet continued to work the shuttle across the cloth. ‘For shame, Maggie!’ A dimple in her cheek reassured Margaret that her friend was teasing.

‘I’m not proud of it, but he is so curious.’

‘Why?’

‘He says he’s looking for anything that might explain what happened the night Old Will died.’

‘He says . What do you think?’

‘It’s no secret that I have much to learn about my husband. But he has me wanting to hear more about what happened to Bess.’ Margaret laughed self-consciously, though it was true. She told Janet what she knew of the tragedy.

‘There’s little more to know, it being only the two of them on Arthur’s Seat. What folk suspected was more interesting. Bess was much younger than Will was, so there was talk of his pushing her in a jealous fit. Most of us could not believe he’d do that, so in love with her as he was. And she with him, if you ask me. He was a vigorous man with a heavenly voice, no matter his age. When they sang together …’ Janet shook her head. ‘It was a blessed thing to hear.’

‘So it was an accident.’

‘I say so. Unless they were not as they seemed.’ Janet used the weaving sword to pat down the weft along the warp. ‘I often wonder about the children. They were lovely bairns. It was fortunate that kin came at once, took them in, but to lose both parents so.’ She sighed. ‘It must have changed them.’

‘The kin came at once? Before Old Will woke?’

Janet shook a teasing finger at Margaret. ‘You’ll find no guilt with them. His sister sat with him throughout his faint, and tried to arrange things so he might have the children with him. But he dived into a bowl of ale and went into rages whenever someone poured him out.’ She wiped her hands, set the shuttle in the wool. ‘Would you like to see Tess’s wean?’ She was very attached to her first grandchild. ‘They’re in the kitchen.’

It was while they’d been playing with the baby that Roger came for Margaret.

‘I’ll take good care of your uncle,’ Janet had said as she hugged Margaret. ‘And I’ll pray for you.’

At least Margaret need not worry about Uncle Murdoch. In fact Roger’s explanation of why he’d interrupted her preparations to bring her out at midday had cheered her enough that she’d begun to look about her. It was good to be out in the countryside in such fine weather, alone with the husband she had yearned for.

‘Here we join the loch path,’ Roger said, sounding gay and relaxed. The path forked, one following along the north and one the south side of Burgh Loch. Roger led them south.