by Candace Robb
‘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.
Back in the prioress’s parlour she watched understanding dawn on the faces of Agnes and her kinsman.
‘They would feel far too exposed down here,’ Thomas said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘I am grateful to you, Dame Christiana.’
The prioress smiled benignly and commended Christiana for her clever scheme.
As Margaret made her way home from St John’s Kirk she pondered what it would take to know her own heart, and it seemed to her that she must decide whether or not she trusted Roger. There was Aylmer as well – she no longer considered him insolent, but rather unaware that there was more to playing a servant than being called one. He was not the actor that James was. If he was so unprepared for the role she might learn much from his belongings. She would search them.
Celia was sitting in the doorway to the yard, using the daylight to mend a tear in one of Margaret’s worn gowns. ‘You’ll be thirsty,’ she said, moving to set aside her work.
Margaret shook her head. ‘I’m going to search Aylmer’s chamber. If anyone appears, come for me.’
Celia bowed her head. ‘Have a care, Mistress.’
Margaret nodded and went within, hurrying up to her chamber for her tools. Back down in the hall she lit a piece of kindling from the hearth fire, and then crossed to the small chamber in the rear in which Jack and Fergus had worked on accounts and letters. Lifting the hide that covered the doorway, she lit the lamp on the shelf just within and looked around. She found Aylmer’s travelling casket and pack beneath the small work-table. Lifting the casket to the table, she set to work picking the lock. Her trembling hands slowed her but the simple lock was soon opened.
Within were daggers, a small cache of coins, a jewelled belt, and a wallet like the one she had found in Roger’s casket, filled with rolled documents. She sat back on her heels and examined the rolls in the wallet. All but one were sealed; the opened one bore Roger’s name as well as what she thought might be a form of the name Bruce. She stared at the casket, willing it to reveal more. And in a little while it did, for she realised that the casket was not as deep within as it was from without. But there were no legs, nor was there a bottom compartment. She set to prodding and poking what must be a false bottom. With persistence she shifted it enough to insert a finger and pop it out. Beneath were more coins and several documents with broken seals – English royal seals. Setting those aside, she replaced the false bottom with care and then repacked the casket.
She would take these and the two from Roger’s casket to Ada, who read as well as any priest. In fact she would do it now. She gathered the documents and went out into the town with them hidden beneath a cloth in her market b
asket.
At the Northgate crossing, she spied Fergus talking to an acquaintance a few doors from Matilda’s. She nodded to him as he noticed her and was surprised when he quit the man and hurried towards her. His face was livid.
‘We were close to starving and all the while he was hoarding coin!’ he blurted.
Margaret glanced about uneasily. ‘Who?’ she asked softly. ‘What coin?’ She listened with increasing perplexity as he told her of his visitors. ‘Does it not mean that Ruthven wants to recover a debt, rather than that Da is hoarding?’ she asked. ‘Has he paper to prove it?’
‘Two men, Maggie, two days in a row, and Ruthven said others would accompany him tomorrow.’ Fergus shook his head. ‘Da is up to no good, you can be sure.’
Thinking of the royal seals on the documents she carried in her market basket, and her father’s name in the text, she said, ‘I’m on an errand that might prove enlightening. Be patient, I pray you. And I have found a travelling companion for you.’
He had resumed his complaints but her last comment caught his attention. ‘How soon does he leave?’
‘In a few days.’
Fergus cursed. ‘More waiting. Who is this companion?’
‘We really should not talk of such things out here in the street.’
‘The body’s gone from the warehouse. Did Roger take it?’
Margaret hushed him. ‘Come to the house first thing in the morning, after Roger departs. I hope to have much to tell you.’
‘I mean to be gone by the time Ruthven returns.’
‘Lock up Da’s house and bide with us.’
Fergus hunched his shoulders. ‘You tell me nothing.’
‘I’ll tell you all I know. I pray you, be patient.’
He wagged his head, a gesture that could mean many things. ‘I’m expected at Matilda’s.’
‘Will you come to me in the morning?’ Margaret asked, uneasy about his mood.
‘If you have much to tell me I’d be a fool not to, eh?’ He forced a smile, but his eyes were sullen as he left her.
Puzzling over how she might have better handled her brother, Margaret continued on to Ada’s. But she was met with frustration. Ada had gone out with her niece and the child to visit an ailing friend. Margaret told the servant that she would return in the morning.
In the end, Fergus did not dine with Matilda. He had not the constitution to accept two humiliations in one day. On his arrival he discovered one of Matilda’s old sweethearts seated in the hall, regaling her with tales of his adventures in Edward Longshanks’s ranks. Her blue eyes were fixed on his suntanned face, sounds from her lovely throat expressing awe at every pause. She was enraptured by a traitor. Fergus was doubly shamed, by his lack of experience and his stupidity in falling in love with such a witless woman. He could not bear another night in Perth, no matter what Maggie had to tell him. In late afternoon he collected his travelling pack from Maggie’s stable and was off north.
16
KINNOULL HILL
After Roger left for the warehouses in the morning Margaret lingered in the hall waiting for Fergus. She hoped his tardiness was a sign that he had stayed late with Matilda. To while away the time she engaged Celia in helping her hang the largest of Christiana’s tapestries.
Quiet at first, her dark eyes pensive, Celia eventually broke her silence to ask whether Margaret dreaded the return of the English soldiers. Margaret was about to answer when Celia continued.
‘Will they take an interest in Smyth’s death? Do we have anything to fear?’
‘They must control the townsfolk for the safety of their men, so they’ll mark anything unusual. I’m certain they’ll hear the rumour and come to question Fergus,’ Margaret said. She explained Roger’s reasoning about the surreptitious burial. She understood Celia’s sceptical expression, for it seemed less useful each time she recounted it. It was plain that she had not managed to reassure Celia. Margaret was sorry to leave her with such concerns, but she was anxious to take the documents to Ada and learn their contents for she must know the nature of her father’s business with Longshanks. ‘If Fergus comes, tell him I’ll not be long away,’ she said.
Ada answered her knock, elegant in her silk gown but too impatient to wait for a servant to open the door. Seeing something in Margaret’s demeanour, she guided her in by the arm and closed the door. ‘What has happened?’ She lifted Margaret’s chin so that she could clearly see her face. ‘You look as if you’re about to have a spell.’ She touched one of Margaret’s hands. ‘And you’re cold despite the day.’
‘I’m in no danger of fainting.’ Margaret was sorry to have caused Ada concern, but she did not wish to spend the visit reassuring her. ‘I hoped you might read some papers to me. I’ve learned to read a little, but only enough to confuse myself.’ She glanced at Ada’s niece, who was rocking the baby’s cradle with one foot as she spun wool. ‘Might we talk where we would not be heard?’
Ada glanced with interest at Margaret’s basket. ‘The kitchen is deserted at present.’ She led the way to a small building at the edge of the backland. Directing Margaret to sit at the table beneath the window, Ada tossed some herbs in a small pot, added water, and set it over the fire. Their relationship was that of friends, but Ada also enjoyed mothering Margaret, and her efforts were appreciated. Once she was seated she asked about the documents. ‘Are they personal letters?’
‘No.’ Margaret’s face burned as she drew from the basket one of the letters she’d taken from Aylmer’s casket, suddenly shy about having taken what didn’t belong to her. ‘They may concern dangerous matters. You’ve only to say and I’ll find someone else to help me.’
‘Someone you would not mind endangering?’ Ada asked with a wry chuckle. But her strong face tensed as she noticed the broken seal. ‘It looks like rather official correspondence. Where did you find this?’
‘In the possession of Roger’s servant.’
‘Servant,’ Ada repeated in a thoughtful voice. For a long moment she held Margaret’s gaze. It seemed neither of them breathed.
When at last Ada stirred, her eyes and mouth softened. ‘I know you would not have searched had you not good cause.’ She spread the document on the table before her. ‘Let me see whether I can help.’ She skimmed the document and nodded. ‘The scribe has a good hand. That is to be expected, of course, in the household of King Edward of England.’ She watched Margaret’s reaction.
Sick at heart, Margaret crossed herself. ‘So I was right in thinking the seal that of Edward Longshanks. Are you able to read the letter?’
‘I can see that you are aware of the danger in reading such things, Maggie. Have a care.’ Ada nodded to herself, as if satisfied that she had done her duty in warning her friend. ‘The answer to your question is yes, by a good hand I mean that the writing is easy to read. You have learned some letters, you say?’
‘A priest in Edinburgh was teaching me.’
‘At your request?’
Margaret nodded.
‘I’m glad you wish to learn. I’ll take over for him if you like.’
By the rather inappropriate sparkle in Ada’s eyes, Margaret saw that her friend welcomed the intrigue. Margaret had hoped that Ada’s past with a noble lover might prove helpful, but she had expected some resistance.
Without waiting for Margaret’s response, Ada lifted the document and began to read aloud. The letter acknowledged Malcolm Kerr’s offer of the use of his ships for some of the king’s business in Flanders. The king accepted the offer, with the arrangements to follow.
It was as Margaret had feared, her father had chosen the side of wealth and influence in this struggle. She turned away from Ada, shamed by her father’s lack of honour.
Ada set down the document. ‘Many in Perth would admire Malcolm for this,’ she said in a thoughtful tone.
‘I hate him,’ Margaret said too loudly. ‘I am ashamed to be his daughter, coward and traitor that he is.’
Ada shifted, her silks whispering rich
ly. ‘He might have done you a favour, Maggie.’
‘How could this favour me?’
Ada smoothed out the curling document. ‘If the English were in fact the executioners, they will never mention Smyth’s death; if they had nothing to do with it but consider a thief in your father’s warehouse a threat to either their supplies or their plans, again they won’t mention it.’ She gestured to Margaret to move closer. ‘Come, I’ll read the letter slowly, pointing to each word. Then we’ll read the next.’
Following along as Ada read calmed Margaret’s mind a little, but Aylmer’s possession of her father’s letter troubled her.
She next chose the document addressed to Roger that mentioned her own surname and bore part of a royal seal. She held her breath as Ada explained that it was dated shortly before Roger’s departure for Dundee. It was not the royal seal, Ada said, after a quick look at the contents, but that of the constable of Carlisle Castle, a royal castle, and thus it incorporated some royal details in its design.
‘The scribe wrote on behalf of Robert Bruce the constable of Carlisle,’ Ada explained, ‘father to the Bruce who some believe might lead us out from beneath Edward Longshanks’s hammer.’
Margaret had not told Ada of Roger’s connection to the Bruce. It was an unexpected complication, that Roger had been in contact with the father of the Robert Bruce whom Roger served. This Bruce was still publicly loyal to Edward Longshanks. Fearing the letter might concern Roger’s rescue of Edwina of Carlisle, Margaret said, ‘I don’t know that I want to hear this one.’
Ada gave a silky shrug. ‘It is a trifle, purely business. On behalf of your father, Roger was to receive some goods for the constable in Dundee and arrange for transport to Carlisle.’ She looked up at Margaret. ‘Would you care to go over the words?’
Margaret shook her head. ‘Perhaps I can come again to learn more words.’ She was relieved that Roger had genuinely intended to go to Dundee.
‘Come as soon as you like,’ said Ada as she handed back the document. ‘Do you have another?’
