The Fire In The Flint (Margaret Kerr Mysteries 2)

by Candace Robb

  Roger returned from the warehouse and nodded curtly as he passed her on his way into the house. She had expected him to say something to her about the arrival of the English troops. But Roger said not a word. She was annoyed by her disappointment – she could not both hate and love him. But hate was too strong a word. She was hurt by his lies and neglect, more sad than angry. She would have preferred anger.

  Mungo interrupted her thoughts, barking loudly and spinning several times before dashing away towards Watergate. Margaret set her tools aside and chased after him, stumbling to an abrupt stop as her father and her brother appeared, the latter leaning down awkwardly to pet his excited dog.

  ‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said to her father, glancing back at the house. ‘Roger’s within.’

  ‘The lad’s injured, I could not let him limp through the town unaided, and your Comyn thinks he has even more cause than I do to hide from Sinclair.’

  Margaret shooed the dog away and took Fergus’s shoulders, searching his eyes. The left one was blackening. She noted that he remained stooped even now that Mungo had moved away.

  ‘My God, what happened?’

  ‘Beaten by some English soldiers, then kicked by your husband’s man Aylmer,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘I’m not dying, Maggie, just sore.’ Fergus flashed her a wan smile.

  ‘Dying or not, come within,’ said Margaret. ‘Celia and I will attend you.’

  Her father accompanied them to the door and appeared ready to enter the house.

  ‘Have you decided to come along in?’ Margaret asked, wondering at the change in her father’s behaviour.

  ‘I will, yes, Maggie. I mean to have my say with Sinclair and Jonet.’

  ‘Jonet?’ Margaret said.

  ‘Fergus will tell you,’ said Malcolm. ‘Take him up to the solar while I deal with Sinclair.’

  ‘Why have you chosen to confront Roger now?’ Margaret persisted. ‘With the English in town you are in more danger than before.’

  ‘I’ll do it and be gone, Maggie. I meant to see my son safe home and have my say with both Sinclair and that false maid, and then I can leave with a clear conscience.’

  ‘You’ve a slow wit, Da, to fret over Fergus now. You might have spared him this had you agreed to his going to Uncle Thomas in Aberdeen months ago.’

  Her father grunted and led the way into the house.

  Roger was in the hall sitting at the table that was still littered with documents and tally sticks. He rose as they approached, his eyes moving from Malcolm to Fergus to Margaret, where they lingered accusingly. Margaret noticed ink stains on the fingertips of his right hand. That was more like the Roger she had married.

  ‘I rescued my youngest from the hands of English soldiers,’ said Malcolm. ‘God’s hand is clear in this, my having just disembarked in Dundee.’

  ‘I’m not blind, Malcolm. I’ve known for a while that you’ve been here gathering goods.’ Roger turned his attention to Fergus. ‘You’re injured?’

  Margaret left them to tell Celia to bring her healing herbs up to the solar, where she intended to give Fergus Celia’s small room for the night. ‘Until we see whether Da’s home is safe now the English are here.’

  Celia agreed. ‘I’ll sleep in the kitchen with Jonet.’ She followed Margaret back towards the hall.

  Margaret paused before they entered the house. ‘I didn’t see Jonet in the kitchen. Da and Fergus learned something about her that has made them angry.’

  ‘She offered to go to the market for me,’ said Celia. ‘What has she done?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ Margaret stepped into the hall.

  Fergus sat slumped in a chair by the fire circle. Her husband and her father stood on either side of the table loudly spitting venom at each other.

  ‘I’m not keen to hear this,’ Margaret told Celia. ‘Let’s help my brother up to the solar.’

  Up in the small chamber Fergus sank on to the bed and groaned with pain and exhaustion as he pulled his shirt up over his head.

  ‘God save us,’ Celia exclaimed as he exposed the bruises on his stomach, side, and one shoulder. ‘Can you tell whether you’ve any broken bones?’

  With Margaret supporting him beneath one elbow, he eased down on to his back.

  ‘These ribs maybe,’ he said, pointing to his left side. ‘But it hurts only when I breathe.’ He winced as he chuckled at his own humour and cupped his blackened eye with his hand.

  Margaret guessed he was trying to hide his suffering, but as she and Celia examined his injuries he kept up an animated narrative despite his fading voice. He sounded like a boy recounting a wonderful adventure.

  ‘—and there were Englishmen following us, and then Da appeared, all worried for me of a sudden.’ He stopped to sip the herbed wine Celia had prepared. The pause must have given him time to realise how he felt. ‘I’ll save the rest for later,’ he said, then lay back and closed his eyes. ‘The Lord was watching over me last night,’ he added softly. ‘I might have died.’

  ‘What did Da mean about Jonet?’ Margaret asked, hoping to learn more before her brother dropped into sleep.

  ‘It was her friends who were following us today, two men who were about all summer. I caught her serving Da’s wine to them on more than one occasion.’

  Margaret would never have guessed Jonet could be so brazen. ‘More than once? Why didn’t you tell me about this? Surely you might have found another maid?’

  ‘Without you or Ma here to show her how the households are run?’ Fergus pressed a hand to his eye again. ‘I never guessed they were Longshanks’s men. It must have been Jonet who let them in to search while you were gone, and closed Mungo up so he wouldn’t alert me.’

  ‘Marion thought a woman accompanied the searchers,’ Margaret recalled. ‘But you could hardly have foreseen that.’ He was near sleep. ‘I’m relieved you mentioned nothing to Roger of James Comyn’s part in your return.’

  ‘They didn’t beat all the wits from me,’ Fergus mumbled. ‘I like him.’

  Their father entered the room. ‘Is he badly injured?’

  Celia shook her head. ‘Bruises, but no wounds.’

  ‘Will you talk to Jonet, Da?’ asked Fergus.

  ‘She’s not here,’ said Margaret. ‘But we’ll find her.’

  Malcolm took a seat on the edge of the bed and reached out for Fergus’s hand. With the other he took Margaret’s. ‘While I have you two here I want to explain why I’ve been hiding.’ He sounded resigned, as if he had lost a long struggle.

  Fergus withdrew his hand and propped himself up on his elbows. ‘Is it about the sterlings?’

  Malcolm nodded solemnly. ‘I thought I’d been clever, taking Edward Longshanks’s money for my ships and then cheating him right under his nose to help the men of our country. But I discovered I’d been burning my candle at both ends instead, and there’s naught left to show for all my planning.’

  ‘He’s using your ships?’ Fergus cried hoarsely. ‘Da, how could you?’

  ‘They carried men and weapons across the North Sea – away from us. It seemed a good use of my ships. And on board I’d hidden silver from people in Perth to be minted in the Low Countries. Longshanks has forbidden that because he loses the revenue of his mined silver being turned to coin in his mints. The mint gets a percentage, you know. It finances the bastard’s wars. So a group of us thought we’d get our coins more cheaply and cheat Longshanks out of his share – a pittance, for sure, but the gesture felt grand.’

  ‘What went wrong?’ Margaret asked. ‘What happened to the sterlings? Why are you avoiding the men you owe?’

  ‘On my return, my ship was boarded by the English. I parted with most of the sterlings to walk off a free man.’ He shook his head. ‘I thank the Lord that so many of Longshanks’s soldiers are felons with little loyalty to him. But I’ve made enemies in Perth.’

  ‘My God,’ whispered Fergus. ‘Ruthven and the others – you used their coin for your ransom.’

 
Malcolm sighed. ‘I told Maggie – I did not know the land was yet filled with Longshanks’s troops. I thought they’d all gone east.’ He put his hands on his thighs, gazed at the floor. ‘It was John Smyth who saw me on the river and spread word I was here.’

  ‘And so you murdered him?’ Fergus guessed.

  ‘I didn’t touch him,’ Malcolm said loudly to the floor, then glanced nervously at his children to see their reactions. ‘Will no one believe me?’

  Margaret found it difficult. ‘What was he doing in the warehouse?’

  Malcolm shrugged one shoulder. ‘I know not. He was so surprised to see me there that he brought the barrels down atop himself. Sweet Heaven, the Lord is punishing me for something, I know not what.’

  Margaret could suggest a number of transgressions, but she said nothing.

  ‘John Smyth seduced Jonet and made her believe that I lacked all morals,’ said Malcolm. ‘He told her that is why Christiana left me. So she helped his new comrades search Christiana’s chamber at Elcho, my house, your house.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell us?’ Margaret whispered, though nothing should surprise her in these times.

  ‘It slipped my mind,’ Malcolm said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I had more serious problems by then,’ he said, waving a hand.

  ‘And you thought nothing of your family and the danger they could be in,’ she said. ‘At least you might have considered the safety of your wife in Elcho.’

  ‘There’s a good watch on the nunnery,’ Malcolm said. He looked pathetic, sitting there leaning on his hands, head bowed, a grown man admitting to his misbehaviour as if it were a matter of dented pots and a lost spoon.

  ‘Those same men failed to protect Perth from Longshanks,’ said Fergus. ‘What makes you think they can stand against him now?’

  ‘That situation was much different, lad,’ Malcolm said with a shake of his head. ‘I thought you two would understand.’ He rose with a grunt. ‘I see I’ve wasted my breath.’ He left the room a little unsteadily.

  Margaret helped Fergus lie back against the pillows.

  ‘I can’t believe Longshanks’s men are sailing on our family’s ships,’ he said.

  ‘You must rest now,’ said Margaret. ‘There’s nothing to be done about the past.’

  She considered sitting watch, but Celia assured her that Fergus would sleep quite soundly for some time. The herbs were strong.

  *

  ‘That scheming whore,’ Celia muttered as they left the room. ‘She’s been gone a good long while.’

  Out on the landing Margaret saw that her father had gone down below and picked a fight. ‘Wait up here,’ she said to Celia. ‘I have a plan.’ She hurried down the steps.

  Roger stood behind her father, pinning his arms behind his back, and Aylmer stood to one side holding a cloth to his bloody chin and swearing under his breath.

  ‘You’re a liar,’ Malcolm growled.

  ‘I searched your son,’ Aylmer said thickly, ‘but I did not beat him. I fought off the English who had fallen on him.’

  ‘Liar!’ Malcolm shouted. ‘Wallace’s men said you kicked Fergus hard in the gut after finding nothing of use on him.’ He struggled to free himself but Roger held tight.

  Margaret moved to stand between her father and Aylmer, facing the latter, looking him in the eyes. ‘You kicked him after he’d already been beaten?’

  Aylmer began to turn away from her, but Margaret reached out for his chin. He lifted an arm to hit her.

  ‘Aylmer!’ Roger said sharply.

  The Bruce’s kinsman dropped his hand. ‘I’d been injured chasing off the robbers. And then to find nothing of use on him …’ Aylmer swore and pressed the cloth to his chin. ‘Wallace’s men. So that’s where the brat was headed.’

  ‘Go on, Da, you’ve played father long enough today,’ said Margaret, disgusted with all three. ‘Hurry before the English discover you here. Your son is sleeping comfortably, he’ll mend.’

  ‘We must talk, you, Roger and me.’

  ‘I’m not talking to Roger. You talk to him – you were so eager to have me wed him, see what you make of him.’ She headed for the steps.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Roger demanded.

  Ignoring him, Margaret gathered her skirts and climbed up to the solar. Celia still stood on the landing.

  ‘Come within,’ said Margaret, leading the way to her chamber.

  Once inside, Margaret locked the door and with Celia’s help slid a clothing trunk in front of it. Then she knelt to the casket in which Roger had stored some rope.

  ‘It won’t reach all the way down to the kitchen garden,’ said Margaret, ‘but I’ve worked the ground so it’s quite soft.’

  ‘Why are we sneaking out of the house?’

  ‘I thought we might find Jonet at Da’s house,’ said Margaret, ‘searching for the sterlings. No one has taken care not to mention them in her hearing.’

  Celia helped Margaret tie the rope to the sturdy bedstead.

  *

  James sat in a corner of St John’s Kirk hoping to see Margaret. He’d had misgivings about sending Fergus on with only Malcolm, a man of quicksilver moods and loyalties. Neither was he confident that either of them could be trusted not to mention James’s part in the rescue. But over and above those good reasons to seek reassurance from Margaret, he had news of her brother Andrew. Wallace had received it from a courier out of Edinburgh. James knew Margaret feared for her brother and would be grateful for word that he was well, or had been weeks ago when he’d sent the missive to Father Francis at St Giles naming some of the Scots who were spying for the English.

  Old memories stirred as Margaret stepped into her father’s house. The cupboard near the hall door had the marks where she and Fergus had nicked it with their wooden wagon. She found the scar on one of the beams where Andrew’s attempt at a knife trick had gone astray. Beneath one of the windows was the bench on which she had been sitting when Roger first tried to win her favour. Yesterday she had been too absorbed by Mungo’s needy affection and Aylmer’s intrusive presence to feel the pull of the past, but this afternoon it was powerful.

  ‘It is a pretty house,’ said Celia, running a hand along a carved shelf.

  Margaret thought it looked bare, austere, but that was only in comparison to what it had been. ‘You’ve seen Ma’s room at the nunnery. This house was as full of colour and almost as crowded as that when Ma lived here. We needed a cook and a servant at the least to keep things tidy, two servants when we were little, and a nurse.’

  ‘Will such times ever come again?’ Celia wondered. ‘You might have valued a lady’s maid in better times.’

  ‘What will be left when the English are routed?’ Margaret shivered, seeing the future as a vast void. ‘I’d rather think about the present.’

  They both looked up as a board creaked in the solar above.

  ‘She might not be alone,’ Celia suggested in a whisper as she held Margaret back. ‘Perhaps a few knives from the kitchen?’

  ‘I’ve something better.’ Margaret led Celia to a trunk beneath the steps. Her father stored an assortment of weapons in it. But as she knelt to it she saw that it no longer bore a lock. Lifting the lid, she found the trunk empty but for a few old pairs of shoes. Edgy now, less confident in her plan, she sat back on her heels and listened to the cautious noises above. ‘I hear only a woman’s tread,’ she said.

  Celia nodded. ‘What is still up there?’

  ‘Da’s clothes, things Ma left behind, Fergus’s belongings.’

  ‘She won’t be there for ever,’ said Celia. ‘Might we just sit down here and wait for her to discover us? She can’t escape.’

  ‘Go out to the kitchen for the knives while I wait here.’ Margaret settled on the trunk.

  But she was soon on her feet at the sound of Celia’s voice in the yard, loudly denying that anyone was in the house. Footsteps came to the landing above.

  ‘Who is there?’ the maid called timidly.
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  Margaret moved beneath the open steps and held her breath as Jonet began her descent, readying herself to catch the maid as she came down. As Jonet’s shoes appeared Margaret considered grabbing an ankle through the steps. She might get some pleasure out of the woman’s tumble. But two men suddenly rushed in from the yard door, sending Jonet fleeing back up to the solar.

  Impatience sent James from the kirk and through the backlands to Margaret’s house. He moved slowly, in the character of the elderly friar. He reasoned that there was nothing suspicious in an old friar giving Margaret news of her brother. He might do so in Roger’s presence without compromising anyone.

  It was Aylmer who opened the door. He had not the courtesy to invite the old friar to step within, but he did leave the door ajar as he withdrew to fetch Margaret. Roger and Malcolm were in the hall, tensely facing each other across a table spread with documents. James saw no sign of Fergus but his father’s presence reassured him that the party had arrived.

  Roger suddenly rose and approached the door. ‘I’m Roger Sinclair. My man says you have news of my wife’s elder brother?’

  James had not seen Roger closely since he’d suffered the injury to his cheek. In fact he had not seen him since shortly after Christmas. He noted with interest the changes in the man, the loss of weight, the scarring and hardening.

  He bowed to Roger. ‘One of my brethren saw Father Andrew at the great hospital and found him passing well and eager for news of his family.’ He was thinking how implausible the account sounded, a friar freely speaking to the confessor of the soldiers, when the sound of wood splintering came from the solar.

  With a cry of alarm, Roger disappeared within.

  James thought it best to depart.

  The two men warned Margaret away from the steps and went after Jonet. Relieved to see Celia unhurt, Margaret asked what had happened.