A Cruel Courtship (10 page)

She found the nun sitting in the cloister, eyes closed, head tilted up towards the warm sun. Not wishing to disturb her peaceful moment, Margaret sat down a little way from her and looked at the
flowers, the bees going about their business, the birds drinking from a bowl-like depression in the sun-warmed stones. The wind sighed in the grass and moaned now and then through the stonework. This and the humming of the bees created a soothing cocoon of sound interrupted at irregular intervals by birdsong. How peaceful it was here. One could forget that armed guards were needed to protect this community. Certainly the birds, the bees, the flowers, the stones had no knowledge of the troubles out beyond the walls of Elcho. The river still ran past, the rain still fell, sun and moon and stars still defined the day and night, the season turned slowly towards autumn. One might be tempted to dismiss Longshanks’s betrayal, for it had changed little here. Except for the guards. And Margaret’s presence here, as well as her father’s.

‘Young Margaret! God has drawn you to a healing spot, has He not?’ Dame Bethag’s smile seemed to emanate from the beauty of the cloister.

‘I did not wish to disturb you.’

‘And you did not.’ The nun resettled beside Margaret, her face turned towards her as she smoothed out her skirts.

Realising Bethag was studying her, Margaret asked her whether what she had experienced the previous day had been a holy vision or the Sight.

Bethag responded without hesitation, ‘Does it matter what you call it?’

Margaret did not reply at once, expecting the
nun to continue, but Bethag had turned her attention to the garden, apparently content with her answer.

‘How could it not matter?’ Margaret said. ‘Your visions bring you joy, they are blessings. My mother’s visions have caused so much pain and they’ve destroyed her soul.’

Bethag shook her head. ‘Your mother’s soul is not destroyed, Margaret. She does not understand, that is all. I understand that you want to know what to call what you’ve experienced, and I say what we call a thing does not change it.’

‘But what if it is a foretelling?’ Margaret asked. ‘Does that not mean I have a responsibility to
do
something with the knowledge? I must know whether my husband is truly in danger, whether such a terrible end is what shall come to pass and whether God is guiding me to do something to prevent it. What if I’m just not wise enough to understand what He is telling me?’

‘Time will show you, young Margaret. More I cannot say. God will show you the way.’

Margaret felt close to tears and could not return the nun’s gentle smile.

Bethag turned away for a moment in the direction of the outer courtyard which had come alive with the clatter of horses. ‘More travellers arriving?’ For once she sounded impatient.

Margaret was glad to see the woman had emotions. ‘You must find visitors distracting. We
bring news of the world outside, unfamiliar voices.’

Bethag looked askance at Margaret. ‘Oh, my dear, distractions are something to celebrate here. We begin to gnaw on the slightest irritations when we have no variety. But I do fear that we might soon be crowded with exiles from the troubles.’ She smiled. ‘Though I should be delighted if
you
chose to bide here awhile.’

How tempting that would be were Margaret not needed in Stirling, and not worried about Roger – though where he might be, how she might reach him, she did not know.

‘Do you ever fear your visions, Dame Bethag?’

‘Why should I fear a gift from God?’

‘Because you are suddenly swept up in such feeling, unable to temper it, completely in the hands of – God.’

‘That is ecstasy, young Margaret.’ Bethag had tears in her eyes. ‘You will see, in time.’

‘You were never frightened?’

Bethag shook her head.

Margaret despaired of learning anything from Bethag. Her attention returned to the sounds in the yard, and she grew curious about the new arrivals.

‘I must see – someone might have brought news of my husband.’

‘God go with you,’ said Bethag, bowing her head.

Margaret almost stumbled over her skirts as she
flew from the cloister, suddenly convinced that she would have news of Roger. She arrived at the guest house in time to see James dismount. With him were several other men, but no one she knew. As she hurried forward, her eyes met James’s and she read relief in his countenance.

‘Dame Margaret.’ He made a formal bow for the sake of the others, ‘I looked for you in Perth.’

It was not the friendliest of greetings. She wondered whether he’d received the messages she’d left him.

‘Tom was to tell you where we had gone.’

‘You mean the drunk I found sleeping in your bed? He said not a word.’ James looked both angry and disgusted.

‘Drunk? Tom? Curse him.’ How could he play them so false? ‘But I also left word with Gilbert Ruthven that I had come here.’

‘I have not seen him,’ James said under his breath. ‘I specifically asked you to remain quietly in Perth.’

Margaret saw no point in arguing. ‘You truly found my servant drunk?’

‘I sent him off and closed up the house as best I could.’ James nodded to the other men who were watching him for instructions. ‘Those of you set to ride out soon, drink little ale, eh? The rest of you can sleep off what you drink, for we’ll wait until nightfall to depart.’

‘We are to leave so soon?’ Margaret said.

‘The English are moving more quickly than we had expected.’

As the men moved past, Margaret noticed that one wore some of James’s clothes.

‘He is dressed as your double?’

James gave a curt nod. ‘I am counting on his daylight departure to mislead anyone watching us.’ He glanced round. ‘I presume Dame Ada is also here?’

‘Yes.’ Margaret was put on guard by the abrupt change of subject.

James took her by the elbow. ‘Where might we speak alone?’

Her heart pounded; she was not yet accustomed to his touch. ‘What has happened?’

‘Let us walk in the garden.’ James steered her in the direction from which she had just come and hastened her towards a bench well out of earshot of the others.

‘What is it, Jamie?’

He settled on the bench, but Margaret stood before him so that he could not ignore her.

In a quiet voice he said, ‘God’s blood, Maggie, I don’t know what I would have done had I not found you here.’

She realised now that his anger came from his fear for her. ‘I thought I’d left sufficient word that you would not be so worried.’ She sat down beside him, hoping that he might touch her again.

He glanced round and, seeing no one near, lifted
her hand and kissed it, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. ‘Forgive my temper,’ he said, ‘I was worried. And then to find that sluggard in your chamber–’ he made a noise deep in his throat, much like a growl.

Margaret melted in the warmth of his gaze. ‘I am sorry you worried so.’

James leaned forward and kissed her cheek. His breath tickled her and she could not resist turning towards him, letting her lips brush his. He pulled her closer and with his tongue teased open her lips. Margaret loved the taste of him. She was disappointed when he released her.

‘I forget where I am,’ he said a little breathlessly.

So, too, had Margaret.

They sat quietly for a while.

‘I bring news of your brother Fergus,’ James said in a brisker tone.

Margaret searched his face. ‘Good news, I pray.’ Fergus was younger than she, and despite being quite untested by life had accepted a mission to carry a message for Andrew Murray from Perth to Aberdeen.

‘I trust you’ll think it so. He’s come south with Murray and should be with him now on Abbey Craig. I introduced him to our friend Hal from Edinburgh who I think will be a good influence on him.’

At last some good news. ‘Fergus is safe. God be praised.’

‘Alive and unharmed when last I saw him. I cannot of course promise that all will be well.’

Margaret chose not to dwell on that. ‘I am not surprised that soldiering appealed to him more than being a secretary to Uncle Thomas.’ Their uncle had a shipyard in Aberdeen and had requested that Fergus come to work for him as his secretary. Her brother had intended to take up the position after delivering the message he’d carried north to Murray. She was glad to hear that he would have her good friend Hal as a companion, dependable, capable Hal. ‘Uncle Murdoch must miss Hal sorely.’ Once again she realised how much she missed his counsel and company. ‘How did you find him amidst all the troops?’

‘I brought him with me from Edinburgh.’

‘You hadn’t told me.’

James shrugged and left Margaret to imagine the scene when Hal had announced his departure. Her uncle was very fond of him.

‘Was it your idea or his?’

‘Mine. We need men with his skill with horses, and his courage – that most of all.’

Margaret sensed that there was more to it, but James had already changed the subject.

‘So Ada is here?’ he asked.

‘You sound as if that displeases you,’ Margaret said, sensing his mood shift.

‘I wish to God you had waited in Perth as we’d agreed. I don’t know how we’ll be rid of her now.’

This was an unexpected turn. ‘Rid of her? I’m to stay in her house.’

He looked worried. ‘That might no longer be wise.’

‘Are you mad? It’s part of the plan.’

‘It was she who suggested you bide in her house, was it not?’

‘Yes and no. When I told her about the mission it was with the thought that she might be of help.’

‘What possessed you to involve her?’ he snapped.

‘Don’t talk to me like that. You were delighted that I had. It’s not my fault that you’ve changed your mind.’

‘Christ, Maggie, do you realise–’ he broke off, looking away with an exasperated sigh.

Margaret saw more than anger in his posture. ‘What has happened?’

‘She could not have known beforehand.’ He spoke as if to himself. ‘She would have needed another ruse.’

‘She did not trick me, James. It was you who asked me to go to Stirling, not Ada. For pity’s sake, tell me what has happened! You’re frightening me.’

For the first time she noticed the shadows beneath his blue eyes, the lines about his mouth. He was exhausted and tense. ‘Ada’s lover Simon Montagu is expected in Stirling – at the castle.’ James said it as if blaming her.

‘
Former
lover,’ Margaret said absently as she strove to comprehend the significance of this news.
‘Her English lover,’ she whispered. ‘Of course I had no idea he would be there. And neither did she.’

‘He will join his son –
their
son, Peter Fitzsimon.’ James watched her reaction.

Margaret felt her face burning. According to Ada she had not seen Simon in years. But a son? ‘I knew nothing of Peter Fitzsimon.’

‘He was brought up in England. He’s already renowned for his valour.’

But of course he must have been brought up there – Margaret had known Ada all her life, or since she could remember, and there had never been a child in her home. ‘This is an unwelcome piece of news.’ She bit her lip. ‘I see the problem. Our party will attract too much notice – even more so if I play her niece.’ Which had been the plan.

‘That is not my greatest concern,’ said James. ‘I worry about their hold on her, where her loyalty will lie once she knows of their presence.’

‘Her son’s, yes. I doubt she feels much for Montagu – she seldom speaks of him. They did not part friends. I wonder why she did not rear her son here.’

‘He’s a Montagu,’ said James, ‘though by blood, not by name. A Comyn would do the same. Perhaps Simon thought one day to legitimise him in the event he had no other sons.’

They stared at one another for a few moments.

Margaret shook her head. ‘She will not compromise us.’

‘How can you be certain?’

‘I can’t.’ Margaret’s heart was pounding. She could not keep the fear from her voice. ‘But we need her even more now.’ She took a deep breath and said more strongly, ‘We must present the facts to her.’

James rose with a curse.

He moved a little away from her, then turned on his heel and paced past her. There was nothing to do but sit and wait for him to walk out his aggravation. It occurred to Margaret that had she remained in Perth it would still have been necessary to find a way to present Ada with a change of plan, and she could not imagine Ada agreeing to stay in Perth without good cause.

‘I apologise again,’ James said when he’d calmed. ‘My temper is too easily kindled of late.’

‘I understand, Jamie. These are desperate times.’

He straddled the bench, facing Margaret. ‘It is still true that she can provide you with the cover of being a supporter of Longshanks – once her relationship to Montagu is known.’ He pressed one of Margaret’s hands as he studied her. ‘Your life is in her hands if you follow through.’

‘I see that, Jamie.’

‘You are not wavering in your trust of her?’