Candace Robb - The Fire In The Flint

As soon as she was set down in the hall, Jonet bolted for the door, but she fell with a cry as she tripped on her skirts.

As Jonet crumpled to the floor she became once more the family maid rather than the enemy of the past hours, and Margaret impulsively hurried forward to help her to her feet, Celia right behind her, but the man who had followed the other stayed Margaret with a firm grasp on her arm.

‘You’ll find some of your family’s goods in there, I’ll warrant, Dame Margaret,’ he said, placing in her free hand a cloth bundle. ‘I’m sure Hugh has done his best not to injure your maid, and when you understand how she has harmed your family you’ll be glad I held you back. She does not deserve your charity.’

Margaret recognised Gilbert Ruthven, the one of whom Fergus had spoken. ‘Why are you after Jonet?’ she asked.

‘We’re after our sterlings and we think she’s taken them,’ he said.

‘That does not give you the right to trespass in my father’s house,’ Margaret said. ‘Gilbert, isn’t it?’ Her stomach churned and her breath was shallow but she was not going to swallow her outrage. ‘You need not have invaded my family’s home to take her. You’re behaving like the English you despise.’

Gilbert smoothed out his brow into a placating expression. ‘Dame Margaret, you don’t ken what I’m telling you about this woman.’

‘I know she has betrayed my family, and I intend to return her to my father and husband, for it is them she has wronged.’

The other man, Hugh he’d been called, stood menacingly over Jonet’s curled-up form. ‘She’s stolen our sterlings.’

‘I’ve stolen no siller.’ Jonet’s voice was muffled, but stronger than Margaret would have expected. ‘I’ve given our deliverers food and drink — you’d do well to do the same.’

‘Traitor,’ Hugh said.

‘You are wrong about the sterlings,’ said Margaret. ‘My father’s ship was boarded by the English and his freedom required a goodly bribe in sterlings. It’s my father with whom you must take up your cause. But you’ll not come to an agreement by invading his household.’ She moved forward, reaching out to Jonet. ‘Come, there’s no need to lie on the floor.’

‘Let her do as she will, Hugh,’ Gilbert said as his companion moved towards Margaret. ‘This is the home of Dame Margaret’s parents, and this woman is their maidservant.’

Hoping Margaret was in the other place he knew to look, James made his way to Malcolm’s house on Southgate.

Margaret opened the door, her veil askew and her gown dusty.

James wondered whether she’d simply been cleaning, but remembering the sound of a splintering door at her house, he asked, ‘Are you all right? Why are you here?’

‘I might ask the same of you, Friar James, but I’m glad you’ve come.’ She stood back to let him enter.

When James could distinguish people in the dimmer light within, he discovered Celia seated on a bench with an arm around the maid Jonet, who sat woodenly and stared ahead at nothing.

Margaret joined two men who stood near the solar stair looking uneasy. James recognised them as members of the families Wallace was counting on.

‘What is this?’ he asked, half to himself, of the odd assembly.

‘These men forced their way into the house and treated Jonet so roughly she is unable to walk,’ Margaret said.

‘She tripped,’ said one of the men. ‘Who is this friar to you, Dame Margaret?’

‘My good friend and confessor.’

James was glad that the men did not have Fergus’s keen eyes. ‘You were wrong to trespass, the two of you,’ he said.

‘We thought she’d stolen our siller,’ said Gilbert. ‘But we’ve learned from Dame Margaret that we were mistaken.’

‘But she’s kept company with Englishmen of late,’ said Hugh. ‘I ken a traitor when I see one. Still, we’d no cause to treat her so roughly.’

Gauging the mood of the small party to be not so much hostile as unresolved, James thought he would accomplish more by revealing his identity. Straightening, he said, ‘Forgive Dame Margaret and me for our play-acting, but we must be cautious. I’m James Comyn, sent by the Wallace to make sure of your families’ support.’

The men had first looked bewildered, but now they seemed more at ease.

Knowing that Gilbert’s townhouse was near the north gate, James said, ‘I believe Roger Sinclair will soon arrive. We’ll have no peace here. But we’ve much to discuss. Gilbert, might we come together at your home?’

Gilbert nodded, and both Hugh and Margaret agreed to the plan.

The injured maid came alive and looked about her as if thinking to escape, but Celia took her firmly by the elbow and helped her rise. Hugh joined them and, with either elbow supported, Jonet was able to stand.

Ignoring Aylmer’s looks of impatience, Malcolm tried to reason with Roger. ‘Maggie’s no child, and she has that flint-eyed maidservant with her. Let’s bide here calmly.’

‘What if she’s gone after Jonet?’

Malcolm had told Roger of the maid’s suspected deeds. He chuckled now, imagining Maggie descending upon the unsuspecting maid. ‘The town will be gossiping about it for a long time to come.’

‘And the English will hear of it,’ Roger reminded him.

Indeed. Malcolm was growing too old for intrigue. In his amusement about Maggie’s escape, he’d forgotten his own danger. ‘She’ll have gone to Ada for advice,’ he suggested.

‘Stay here until we return,’ Roger said as he rose and motioned to Aylmer that they were off. ‘If Maggie appears, keep her here. And check that Fergus still breathes.’

He said that last coldly, and Malcolm cursed him.

*

Christiana followed the novice to the prioress’s parlour. The English captain had returned.

‘ Benedicite , Prioress Agnes,’ she said.

‘ Benedicite , Dame Christiana,’ Agnes said in a dulcet tone, though her smile was strained.

Christiana sensed that something had gone wrong.

‘You have my deepest admiration and gratitude, Dame Christiana,’ the English captain said with a bow.

‘What?’ she said in surprise.

‘Your warning allowed the capture of five of William Wallace’s men. In thanks you have my word that this priory will be left in peace.’

‘Captured?’ Christiana whispered. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for them.’ As she began to understand what she had done by telling the English captain of the watchers she crossed herself and sank on to a chair that a maid set behind her.

‘God blessed you with a profound gift,’ said the prioress. ‘I am newly amazed.’

‘Do the men yet live?’ Christiana asked.

‘Four do,’ said the captain. ‘The fifth fell from the cliff rather than be captured. They’d murdered all four of my men.’

The maid bent to ask, ‘Are you unwell, Dame Christiana?’

Christiana lifted her eyes to Thomas, on whose face she saw pain and blame.

‘I must leave you now,’ she said quietly. ‘I am not well.’

‘Wine!’ cried the prioress.

A cup was placed in Christiana’s cold hands. She stared down into it and saw in the blood-red liquid a symbol of what she had done. ‘I cannot drink this.’ She thrust it aside as she willed herself to rise. This is what came of collaboration. She had known it was wrong, to produce a vision for the prioress. She had known it. ‘I pray you, send Dame Bethag to me,’ she said, and pushing past the prioress’s agitated concern she fled into the yard. She would be cursed for this, and all her family with her. She must pray, pray for the dead man’s soul and the rescue of the others. She must pray.