Candace Robb - The Fire In The Flint

Margaret reached for his hand. ‘It is the times, my love. We all grow secretive by habit.’ She prayed her father had escaped safely.

The meal ended without incident. After loitering until Roger was out of the house, Margaret walked slowly to St John’s. This time she found James sitting on a bench in a rear corner of the nave.

Joining him, she asked, ‘Have you found my brother a travelling companion?’

James nodded. ‘He will depart in two days.’

‘Two days? Can he not leave sooner?’

‘No.’ James shifted a little on the bench. ‘Fergus is in such a hurry?’

Perhaps she was panicking. She could not in truth predict Fergus’s reaction. She prayed Matilda was kind to him today so that he might choose to linger. ‘He’s angry, but he may calm. Who would this companion be?’

‘One of Murray’s messengers. A trustworthy young man and someone with whom your brother might feel comfortable.’

‘I’ll tell him. When can we talk again?’

‘Ride out into the country with me after Nones. Surely that gives you time enough to discuss this with Fergus. Then you can meet the man.’

‘I’ve told you-’

‘You have. But it is Wallace himself who wishes to meet with you.’

William Wallace. She had seen him once at Inverkeithing, awaiting the ferry across the Firth of Forth. At that time she had thought him a common thief and wondered at the quiet deference of the men who acknowledged him. ‘I have nothing of use to tell him.’

‘He would warn you. He says you are in danger. I believe he has information about your husband’s or your father’s activities.’

Warn her or question her, she wondered. ‘I fear for my father,’ she said. ‘Someone is following him. Is it Wallace’s men?’

‘Among others.’

‘What others?’

‘I’m uncertain — but it seems the English are interested.’

‘Then I am glad he is wise enough to leave Perth.’ She feared he was more like his brother Murdoch than she had known, that perhaps John Smyth was just one of his troubles, and the rest had to do with smuggling.

‘I pray he manages that safely, but he might be wiser to stay now that he is here.’

‘There was the death in his warehouse.’

‘A thief. Even the English understand thieves.’

‘I think he is very frightened.’

‘I’ll watch his house.’

‘So you’ll be in town?’

‘For a while. But first I would take you to Wallace.’

‘Not today, James. What of Roger? Are Wallace’s men watching him?’

‘I am, through you. Why not today? You are concerned about both your father and your husband. I thought Roger and his man were spending their days going through the warehouses and checking the accounts.’

‘They are. I can’t explain. I don’t feel ready. I know too little. I don’t even know my own heart.’ She was momentarily upset with herself for having said that, but it was the closest she could come to an explanation. It seemed enough for James. He agreed to meet her the following morning.

Fergus was relieved when Jonet departed for Maggie’s house — she was upset about the mess he was making of the hall and his father’s bedchamber in his search, and he had spent part of the morning undoing the neat stacks of papers that she had made the past evening without regard to the organisation he had devised when the tenor of his search had changed late the previous afternoon.

A well-dressed stranger had come looking for his father, having heard a rumour of his return to Perth. He claimed Malcolm owed him a bag of coins, which he now needed. Fergus had convinced the man that he knew nothing of the coins. Once the man had gone on his way, Fergus had resumed his search in more earnest, determined to find out where his father was storing money. But searching through the evening and part of the morning he had unearthed nothing of substance — a few coins and a necklace that might be worth a goodly amount if there were anyone in the market for jewels at present.

Fergus had considered making Matilda a gift of the necklace, but decided against buying her affections. Yet he kept returning to the small casket in which he’d found the jewellery, looking at the delicate jet and silver strands and imagining them encircling Matilda’s neck. He was lost in one of his daydreams when there came a loud knock on the street door. Whoever it was rapped again even more loudly and called out to Fergus’s father.

Expecting the caller of the previous day, Fergus opened the door muttering about patience, but lost his train of thought as he faced yet another well-dressed stranger. This one was larger and appeared angrier than the earlier visitor.

‘Where’s Malcolm Kerr?’ the man demanded, trying to peer beyond Fergus into the hall.

‘In Bruges,’ said Fergus, bracing a hand on either side of the doorway. ‘If you knew my father you would be aware of that.’

‘Make no mistake, I know Kerr,’ the man said as he easily pushed past Fergus. Striding into the hall, he bellowed Malcolm’s name.

Fergus slammed the door. ‘Who do you think you are, barging in here like this?’

The man had a foot on the steps to the solar. ‘He has been seen on the river.’ Crossing to the alcove that opened on to the kitchen yard, he glanced round, then returned to Fergus. ‘He’s keeping the silver to himself, isn’t he? Or he’s handed it over to Longshanks. He’ll be doubly sorry if he has done so. You tell him that Gilbert Ruthven means to retrieve what is his. I’ll return tomorrow — with others he owes.’

A Ruthven, landed and lordly. ‘I’m his factor but I know nothing of silver owed you or anyone else. Nor of any dealings with the English king.’

As Ruthven looked Fergus in the eyes, his expression softened. ‘Then he is cheating you as well. Look to yourself, young sir, and trust not your greedy master.’ He bowed and departed.

Fergus leaned against the door and began to go over the encounter. He examined it again and again, fanning a fire in his gut. The man had insulted the family honour. Yet, as Fergus calmed a little, he wondered whether there had been some truth in the man’s accusations. It would be no wonder his father was in hiding if he had cheated a Ruthven and who knew how many others. Damn him for leaving Fergus to face his victims. Silver … that might have been what John Smyth was after. Fergus’s anger shifted to his father. He wondered what else his da was hoarding, or trading to Longshanks. By St Columba, if his father proved to be in league with the English invaders Fergus would never speak to him again. To so humiliate his own son. Damn him. He would not see Fergus’s face again, not on this earth. Aberdeen would be his new home.

And where was the stolen silver? Not in the house, that was almost certain. Fergus hid the casket of coins and jewellery in a chest beneath the solar stairs and headed for the warehouse.

The cool mist of early morning had lifted and the day had warmed, though the sun had not yet broken through the low clouds. Fergus’s clothes clung to him damply and he slowed his stride in an effort to cool himself. But his mind could not let go of Ruthven’s sympathetic tone, his father’s deceit, and his own humiliation, and the anger heated his blood to a simmer. At the warehouse he jammed the key in the lock at an angle while he swatted at midges and then spent an eternity straightening it. Once within, he cursed to discover the body gone. He’d wanted to search it again, look at the hands.

Resigned to the loss, Fergus set about scouring for clues in the area in which the man had fallen.

After meeting with the prioress, Christiana had walked for a long while in the water meadow under the wary eyes of Dame Agnes’s kinsman, seeking a tale that would send the English running to Perth for protection. But she was a receiver rather than a creator of visions and her mind kept wandering away from what might sufficiently disturb a soldier. The abrupt cliffs of Kinnoull Hill across the river held her attention. When she had first visited Elcho, the cliffs looming above the opposite bank had filled her with dread. Now, as on the night of the intruders, she thought how vulnerable the water meadow was, how all the low-lying fields, the river, and Friarton Island might be watched from that cliff. The cliffs’ vantage point might make the English uneasy.