Candace Robb - The Fire In The Flint

‘Spies, all of the men, is that how it seems to you?’ James asked.

The man nodded. ‘Their mounts are too steady through it all for merchants’ horses.’

‘Not mounts they could have bought along the way.’

‘Not such horses, sir.’

No, not such horses. ‘We’ll set out after the curfew — you’ve little time to eat and rest.’

‘I’m accustomed to that,’ the scout said. He bowed and moved on to the kitchen.

James left the house, wanting a few last words with Hal.

Hal was brushing Bonny, but when James entered the stable the groom dropped his hands and, fixing his gaze on James’s boots, shook his head. ‘I cannot do it.’

James had expected argument for he had discovered to his surprise that Hal was a stubborn young man. ‘Murdoch has no need for you now that the inn is closed.’

Hal shook his fair hair from his eyes and looked directly at James for a change. ‘I don’t agree on the master’s choice of king, but the Bruce is far better than Longshanks.’

James was irritated by Hal’s echo of Murdoch’s reasoning. He burst out, ‘How can Robert Bruce be king with his father still alive?’ He checked himself, reminding himself to focus on his goal. ‘That is no cause to stay,’ he said more rationally.

‘Who would watch over Bonny and Agrippa when the master’s at Dame Janet’s?’ Hal asked.

‘If the town burns Murdoch would come for them, you cannot doubt that,’ James countered.

‘No. But if the soldiers come for Bonny while the master is away, she would be gone before he knew.’

They might continue in this vein for ever. ‘I don’t believe that is your only reason,’ James said, closing the argument.

Hal gave a little shrug and resumed his grooming.

The young man was impossible. ‘You’d meet William Wallace,’ said James. ‘Fight with him.’

It was enough to make Hal pause. He stared at James’s feet, his hair hiding his face, but his hands, clenching and unclenching, expressed his uncertainty. After a while, he met James’s gaze.

‘It was not for the fighting I wanted to go to Perth, sir,’ he said, and quickly looked away.

So that was it. James had wondered whether it was truly only for Margaret that Hal had been willing to go north. Poor fellow. He must have been heartsick at the return of her husband.

‘We need men like you who know animals,’ James said. ‘Dame Margaret would be proud to hear you had joined the fight to put King John back on the throne.’

Hal had fallen into a rhythm again with the combing and did not reply.

James was now even less willing to give up on him. They did need grooms, and young men dedicated to the cause without wife and children, or any ties that would tempt them away home when most needed. Hal was ideal. But it was knowing the cause of this stubbornness that now motivated James. He knew the pain of loving someone who could never be his — his love was a beauty of wit and surpassing grace. It was his own skilled negotiations that had joined her to his cousin. All these long years James had cursed himself. And still he dreamt of her.

‘You’re wrong about the master favouring the Bruce,’ Hal said, stepping away from the ass, his head tilted to keep his hair from his eyes. ‘He helped Master Roger only because he was Dame Margaret’s husband.’

‘Maybe.’ James gestured towards Hal’s hair. ‘For soldiering you’d need to slick that hair back, or cut it away from your face.’ He got the grin he’d hoped for. ‘You won’t have another chance like this, to be so close to Wallace. How will you keep yourself busy? You can’t groom the ass all the day. You know Murdoch can manage.’

Hal shifted feet, then dropped to a crouch, tracing something in the dirt. ‘I could not leave without telling Master Murdoch.’

‘I did not think you would. Come to my house as soon as you can.’

Still on his haunches, head down, Hal gave a nod.

James left him to his farewells, satisfied in having liberated a worthy young man.

When word of a scouting party delayed the departure of the company, Margaret and Roger took the opportunity for some time alone, finding a bench behind one of the outbuildings. The evening was soft with summer and yet held a hint of cooler air from the highlands above them. Delicate high clouds streaked the twilight sky. Margaret watched them passing as she rested her head on Roger’s shoulder. He kept an arm around her as they talked idly. They wondered whether Murdoch and Janet would wed, marvelled at Roy’s loyalty to Belle after she’d gone off for a time with another man, explored what might have happened to Old Will and Bess on Arthur’s Seat, then drifted into talk of Perth, how it had changed with the English in the country.

‘We are strong people,’ Roger said, ‘and I doubt the English will hold sway in Perth for long.’

‘It is good to be going home,’ Margaret said. ‘I have missed it more than I knew.’

‘You’ve missed Fergus most of all, I suspect.’

‘Yes. He’ll be so surprised.’ Margaret struggled straighter to kiss Roger’s cheek, a difficulty with the beard. ‘I’m grateful for this journey.’

They grew quiet watching the sky.

‘Do you hear anything of Andrew?’ Roger asked after a time.

‘I’ve had no word of my brother,’ Margaret said, feeling a wave of sadness.

‘I am sorry I doubted him,’ Roger said. ‘I grieve to think of him at Soutra with the soldiers. By blindly obeying Abbot Adam he hurt his kith, but he does not deserve such a grievous penance.’

‘They’ll not let him go, the English.’ Margaret felt a band of sorrow tightening around her chest. ‘I pray for Andrew every day.’

‘I have as well, since I understood it was a punishment.’ Roger withdrew his arm, took her hand, turning a little so that he might kiss her forehead. ‘Does your mother know of his plight?’

She studied Roger’s face, saw no dissimulation, just affection and concern. ‘No.’

‘Then we must see her, find out if she can offer us any hope.’

‘You’ve changed your opinion about the Sight?’ Margaret asked, for he’d been a non-believer.

He shrugged. ‘It seems a comfort to believe in it at such times.’

‘She’ll know nothing of his future,’ Margaret said, although her mother had once foreseen that Andrew would go through fire.

‘And the sisters can pray for him,’ Roger added.

‘The sisters’ prayers — I had not thought of that. Yes, I should go to her.’

‘And soon, I think. We’ll stop at the priory as we near Perth.’

It was too neatly tied up for Margaret’s comfort. ‘Why the haste? I’d rather see Fergus as soon as possible.’

‘It will make little difference in time, Maggie.’

‘Aye, that is my point.’ She wondered a little at her stubbornness. It would not matter a great deal. But she felt he’d manipulated her into agreeing with the plan.

‘You’ll not wish to come away once you’re home,’ he said, smiling down on her with a touch of insulting bemusement, it seemed to Margaret.

‘Have a care, Roger Sinclair. You may not know me as well as you think.’

He kissed her hand and rose, offering his arm to her. ‘It grows dark and chilly. Let’s go within.’

Margaret would have something new to ponder as she rode — an encounter with her mother, never a happy experience.

A sudden summer storm delayed the company, now riding cautiously in daylight. A thrown shoe on another day forced them to stop. It was four days before they reached Elcho, long days and nights in which Margaret fretted about the coming meeting and her growing suspicion that Roger was manipulating her towards his own ends. When she questioned the genesis of his plan he insisted that a stop at the priory had not occurred to him until the evening he had suggested it.