by Candace Robb
Margaret produced the other document she’d taken from Roger, the one with the word ‘Rex’ in the text.
Smoothing it out, Ada glanced through it, her expression growing troubled. ‘I believe this may be what you deemed dangerous. A letter from the younger Robert Bruce. Your husband should have destroyed this, once read.’
Her heart pounding, Margaret bent over the parchment. She recognised a few words but too little to understand the message. ‘What does it say?’
Ada read slowly. It concerned Edwina of Carlisle, the wife of ‘our good friend’. The wording was cautious, until mention of Edward’s slaughter of the burghers of Berwick, a slip of passion in an otherwise harmless request for Roger to escort Edwina to Edinburgh and there await the funds to continue on to an unspecified safe haven. She would travel under the name Dame Grey.
So Roger had rescued Edwina at the request of Robert the Bruce.
‘Does Roger think to survive by pleasing both sides?’ Ada wondered.
‘He had a change of heart as he travelled to Dundee on the elder Bruce’s business,’ Margaret said. ‘I already knew of this.’
‘Ah.’ Ada rose and poured the contents of the small pot she’d heated into two cups. After handing one to Margaret she moved to the window with hers and stood quietly gazing out for a while.
The tisane was spiced with ginger, Margaret discovered as she held the steaming liquid to her lips, and it was still too hot to drink. She set down the cup, drew out another document. The rustle of silk made her look up. Ada had turned from the window. Her attention was on the basket.
‘Are you also a supporter of the young Robert Bruce, Maggie?’
‘No.’ Margaret sipped the tisane, burning the tip of her tongue.
‘Are you spying on Roger for someone else?’
Margaret shook her head. ‘For myself. I need to know this man I married.’
Ada eased down beside her and took her hand, looking long into her eyes. ‘My dear friend, I had guessed there was much you had kept from me. Your stories the other day were amusing, yet I sensed a great sadness behind them. I pray you confide in me.’
It took little more coaxing for Margaret to open up to her friend.
‘Roger seems unable or unwilling to tell me the truth about how he came to disappear, what his bonds are with others.’ She explained who Edwina of Carlisle was, and her lingering suspicion that she’d been Roger’s mistress. ‘Uncle Murdoch was so loath to tell me about her, I was ready to believe the worst. And then Roger reappears with a servant far too fine for his station.’ Knowing she could trust Ada, Margaret also confided her own staunch support of John Balliol so that her dilemma was clear. ‘You see, I’ve taken a scunner to my own husband.’ She shook her head.
Ada listened to all of it attentively, asking no questions though her eyes were alive with emotion, which Margaret found comforting.
‘And yet I weaken at his touch,’ Margaret added in a hushed voice, then blushed and looked away, thinking she had said too much. The last was not something to share with others, no matter how close. She closed her eyes and drank down the spicy tisane.
Ada was bent over the next document by the time Margaret was composed enough to open her eyes.
‘I am glad to know all this,’ said Ada. ‘Now I know your mind.’
‘I feared I’d said too much.’
Ada pressed Margaret’s hand, then tapped the letter. ‘As for this,’ she said, ‘it contains further arrangements for the king’s use of your father’s ships, acknowledging that Malcolm will be sailing on one of them.’ She regarded Margaret. ‘The first of these you found in the possession of Roger’s servant, or whatever he is. This one, too?’
Margaret was only half listening. That Aylmer had one of Malcolm’s letters was suspicious, but to have two was damning. She needed to know whether these letters had been in her father’s casket at her uncle’s tavern, whether Aylmer and Roger were the intruders who murdered Old Will.
‘I know what you are thinking,’ Ada said. ‘It is strange that this man is collecting information about your father, indeed letters that belong to him.’
‘I very much fear that Roger and his servant collected these documents in Edinburgh, and that Old Will, the boller I mentioned the other day, caught them in my uncle’s undercroft.’
‘And one of them murdered him to keep him silent.’ Ada took a deep breath. ‘This is a terrible business. What will you do now?’
‘Put these back before they are missed,’ Margaret said, rolling up the letter and returning it to the basket. ‘There was another, but I think I know what I need to know.’
‘Don’t be so certain. Let’s read them all.’
‘I have what I need.’ Margaret rose.
Ada caught her by the arm. ‘How do you know, Maggie? You’re frightened, and with good cause. But the more you know the better prepared you will be.’
She was right. Margaret could hardly run away. Settling back down, she drew out the third document she’d found in the false bottom of Aylmer’s casket.
Ada unrolled it, and as she glanced through it she nodded. ‘So. Aylmer is no servant but kin to the younger Robert Bruce. The Bruce places his trust in him.’ She paused as she read further. ‘He is to assist Roger in making his way to Perth, introducing him to those who can help him in such travel.’ She paused again, frowning as she read, then set down the document and looked at Margaret. ‘He says that Malcolm Kerr is someone with ties to both Edward and John Balliol and therefore would be a prized spy, unless he cannot be persuaded to be constant.’
‘And then what?’
‘It is left to Aylmer’s imagination.’
Margaret’s hands had grown cold. Her heart felt fluttery, as if she were ill. She prayed that her father was well away. Yet she also wished she might ask him where he had kept the two letters.
Ada sighed and shook her head as she returned the document. ‘When you wed Roger I rejoiced for your good fortune. I imagined pretty children tucked to your breast and an attentive husband sitting beside you. Clearly I have not your mother’s gift of prescience.’
‘Much good hers did me. She kept her misgivings to herself.’ Margaret hugged her friend. ‘Bless you for coaxing me to hear the last letter. And for not telling me to stay out of trouble.’
‘It is far too late for such advice. Our king is fortunate in having your support. But go with care, Maggie. Do not let Roger and the Bruce’s kinsman see your fear.’
Fergus had made little progress. As he’d left the relative safety of the town he had begun to doubt the wisdom of travelling alone armed with the sketchiest of instructions as to the route, merely a drawing his father had once made to illustrate a tale and the names of a few landmarks and towns along the way. It was little to guide him, and provided no checks to judge whether he strayed. He spent the night in an outbuilding on his father’s property in the countryside, out of the way of the cousin who farmed the land. He was too agitated to sleep, anxiously debating whether to return to Perth or to seek out the Wallace near Kinclaven, a destination he knew. He guessed it must be someone in Wallace’s camp with whom Maggie communicated, and perhaps it was someone from that camp with whom he might journey to Aberdeen. He also missed his dog. He should have brought Mungo, for no one would care for him, not properly. Perhaps he should return to town and confer with Maggie. But to return to Perth was to risk seeing Matilda and that would be a reminder of his mistaken ardour. She had made him feel the greatest fool in all the land. Mungo was worth a hundred Matildas. And therefore Fergus should go back for him. What to do? He had never faced a more difficult decision. The birds were greeting the dawn when at last he felt himself being pulled down into sleep.
By the time he woke and went out to relieve his bladder he found the foreshortened shadows of noon. Back inside he chewed on the bread and cheese he’d left too long in the pack and resumed his debate.
*
On leaving Ada’s house Margaret turned away from the river,
needing time to compose herself before facing Roger, who might be home for the midday meal. She felt ragged, as if her stuffing were being nibbled by mice and birds and parts of her were already cut off from her heart and head. And she was giddy with fear, unable to still her mind. To the few who greeted her she responded absently. Those who pretended not to notice her were far more intrusive, their eyes boring holes into her back. When she found herself on Southgate, she sought a moment’s quiet in her father’s house. Fergus’s dog Mungo greeted her with an anxious bark and led her to the door. He preceded her into the hall but stopped abruptly and growled upon discovering Aylmer.
The Bruce’s kinsman rose from her father’s favourite chair, cup in hand. His moon face was expressionless.
He’d made himself right at home. ‘What is your business here?’ Margaret demanded, interrupting his greeting. Intruders deserved no courtesy. She trembled with anger and feared that he’d already missed the papers, although she thought it unlikely.
Aylmer pressed his free hand to his ear. ‘Can you quiet the dog?’
‘He recognises an intruder,’ Margaret said, but she crouched down and tried to calm Mungo. He stopped barking but kept his eyes on Aylmer. Mungo was a good guard dog.
‘Thank you, Dame Margaret.’ Aylmer stepped away from the chair and offered it to her, then resettled on a bench nearby. Mungo moved to lie across Margaret’s feet. ‘I was sent to fetch your brother Fergus,’ said Aylmer, ‘but Jonet says he did not come home last night or this morning, and that dog has barked all the while.’
Margaret reached down to pet the dog. ‘Mungo seldom barks for nothing.’
Aylmer dismissed the comment with a sniff.
‘Did Jonet mention anyone coming to the house?’
‘No. But I was visited earlier by some angry men claiming your father is in Perth and demanding to see him.’ He regarded her intently.
‘What men?’ Margaret said as off-handedly as she could manage.
It must have been convincing, for he looked disappointed. ‘You are not surprised by the claim that your father is here?’
‘I’d already heard that rumour. What men, I ask you?’
‘Only one gave his name – Gilbert Ruthven. As their spokesman he demanded the sterlings owed to all of them by Malcolm Kerr.’
‘Everyone’s eager to call in their debts,’ Margaret said, amazed by her calm voice.
Aylmer shook his head slowly. ‘Sterlings – they were clear about it, Dame Margaret.’
She found it unsettling, both of them aware that her father’s ships had carried Edward Longshanks’s men and that Malcolm had no doubt been paid well, probably in sterlings, the coin of the realm, and yet neither mentioning it.
‘Sterlings, coins, what does it matter?’ she asked, an honest question for she had no idea why Aylmer found it significant.
‘Might I ask what you know of your father’s trading?’
About to rebuff him, she changed her mind, thinking she might quite naturally put him off. ‘Less than I know of my husband’s, which is little. The household is my responsibility.’
Aylmer said nothing.
‘What did you tell these men?’ Margaret asked.
‘That my master understood Malcolm Kerr to be in Bruges. I could not help them. It was but a small lie.’
‘You know something of the sterlings?’
‘No, but I believe your father has been in the town.’
Margaret wondered whether Jonet had told him. She should have admitted it when Roger first asked her. He would not have harmed her father. And yet there were the letters. ‘In faith, little surprises me of late.’ She rose. ‘I must be going.’ Mungo rose and stretched, obviously intending to stick by her.
To her dismay, Aylmer insisted on escorting her home. ‘The men were quite agitated, Dame Margaret. I would not have you harmed.’
‘No one accosted me earlier, and now I have Mungo to protect me.’
‘You were fortunate to pass safely. But your husband would not wish you to risk walking alone again.’ He nodded to the dog. ‘As for him, he hid when the men arrived.’
Aylmer’s determination silenced further argument.
They found Celia in the yard airing clothing. She greeted Margaret and bent to scratch Mungo behind the ears. Margaret was bemused to find fussy Celia fond of dogs. She told Celia briefly why he was there, and the maid offered to watch him while working out in the yard. ‘You have been missed,’ she said. She did not so much as look at Aylmer.
Roger was pacing in the hall when Margaret and Aylmer entered. He glanced from one to the other. ‘What has happened? Did you find Fergus?’
‘No.’ Aylmer informed him of Ruthven and company’s visit. When Roger exhausted his questions, Aylmer excused himself and withdrew to his room.
Margaret’s heart sank. She could only hope that Aylmer was so confident the papers were well hidden that he did not obsessively check for them on return.
‘Have you no idea what it is the men are demanding of Malcolm?’ Roger asked.
Margaret stood beside the table at which Roger had apparently been going over the accounts. She set the basket out of sight on the bench pulled up to the table and fussed with a mound of tally sticks. ‘I have never witnessed anyone descending upon my father’s house in the mood that Aylmer described. Is there enough light for you to work in here?’
‘Yes. And leave the tallies as I had them.’
Margaret shrugged and sank down on to the bench beside the basket and sighed as if weary.
‘It is strange they do not think to come here about your father’s debts when they find no satisfaction at his house,’ Roger said. ‘As if they know only Malcolm can satisfy their demands.’
‘Sometimes I think Andrew is the only member of my family I understand.’
‘I have seldom heard you praise him. You thought him lacking joy.’
‘I have learned to value his steadfastness. And at present even Fergus lacks joy.’
‘That reminds me …’ said Roger. ‘I sent Aylmer for Fergus. Where is he?’
‘I don’t know,’ Margaret said. ‘What did you want of him?’
‘We need to make certain that the English hear the same story about John Smyth from all of us.’
‘I don’t understand your secretiveness about his death. Everyone knows of it. We don’t know what happened, but he shouldn’t have been in the warehouse. He was trespassing. Isn’t the truth our best defence?’
‘Maggie, I know what I’m doing. Do not interfere.’
Margaret refused to back away. ‘Then explain how you imagine it working.’ She paused as she thought of a possible explanation for the scene at her father’s house. ‘I wonder. Smyth’s death is no secret. Perhaps Da’s creditors are worried that the English will seize him when he returns, and they fear their money will be claimed by the English.’
Roger cast his eyes down for a few breaths, then met her gaze with interest. ‘That is quite possible. With whom have you discussed this?’
‘Only with Aylmer. He spoke with the men. Why?’
He shook his head. ‘I maintain that it’s best the English find no proof of anything amiss.’
Margaret was about to appropriate Ada’s reasoning and suggest that the English might have been the executioners, or would approve of Smyth’s murder, but remembered in time that she should not know of Malcolm’s cooperation with the English for she’d learned of it in the stolen letters.
‘What of Smyth’s kin?’ she asked instead.
‘What proof do they have? And I don’t think the English will care enough to talk to them. They’ve bigger problems, with Wallace and Murray gathering troops near Kinclaven, and the Bruce they know not where.’ He began to leave the room.
Margaret relaxed a little. She might at least return Roger’s documents. But he suddenly turned in the doorway.
‘Where is Malcolm?’
‘I’ve wondered that myself. All but his family seem to have seen him. Aylmer believ
es he has been in Perth.’
‘We’ve found signs of someone shifting goods as if preparing to move them. Whoever it is, he has not succeeded in hiding the preparations. But you’ve not spoken with your father?’
For the second time this day she regretted her promise to her father. His carelessness made her feel a fool. But she did not have time to consider the consequences of confessing to Roger. ‘How could I have spoken to him without your knowledge?’
‘Where were you this morning?’
‘At Ada’s. I’m worried about Fergus,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘It’s not like Mungo to bark in the night, even when Fergus is from home. Do you think Ruthven and the others are watching the house? Do you think they might have taken Fergus?’
‘If they had him, why would they storm the house when Aylmer was there? More likely they would demand ransom. I’m still wondering why they don’t come here.’
‘Give them time,’ said Margaret, ‘they’ll think of it soon enough.’ She picked up the basket and rose, struggling to keep her mind from the damning documents she carried lest Roger somehow read her thoughts. ‘Perhaps we should close up Da’s house and let Fergus and Jonet bide here.’
‘We’ll discuss it.’
‘I thought that’s what we were doing.’
‘I must think about it.’
‘Oh. Then I’ll be about my work.’ Margaret brushed past Roger and climbed to the solar to return his letters to the casket.
Halfway back to Perth, Fergus halted. Fear of what he might face on the road was propelling him back into the trap of his family. But it occurred to him that because of his father’s activities Perth might be the most dangerous place for him at present. Or was he using that as an excuse not to see Matilda? He could not think clearly.
The afternoon grew hot as Margaret, Jonet, and Celia shifted the airing bed linens. Celia kept up a patter about spreading linens on lavender shrubs, which Dame Katherine had recalled from her mother’s youth in Suffolk in the south. That led her to perfumed oils and unguents. Margaret relaxed with the chatter, imagining an idle life in a richly furnished home with a glorious garden that bloomed even in winter. Mungo had been sleeping in the sun, but suddenly he stood up and growled.
