A Cruel Courtship (11 page)

‘No,’ Margaret said without hesitation. ‘I understand that Montagu is an added risk, but I think our original plan is the best we can do. What of you?’

‘I don’t like this complication, but I see no way out of it.’ James sighed. ‘We are decided then.’ He reached out and cupped Margaret’s head in his hands.

But noticing someone approaching the steps nearby, Margaret drew away and James dropped his hands. It was one of the guest-house servants carrying pillows.

‘Servants are the worst gossips,’ said Margaret. She grew uncomfortable under his blue gaze and shifted to face the garden. The midday sun had dried and cracked the soil and the blooms hung limply, the soil too sandy to hold the morning’s moisture. ‘You said the English are moving quickly?’ she asked.

‘Yes. I don’t like it that a man of Montagu’s standing has arrived. And worse, Warenne and Cressingham have left Berwick and are riding west with troops. The English are invading faster than we’d anticipated. We need news from the castle.’

The royal lieutenant and the treasurer – Margaret understood now why James was in haste. ‘There is still silence from the castle?’

‘Not utter silence, but too little information to be of help. I am almost certain the messenger has been compromised and is being told what to tell us.’

Margaret rose. ‘Then come. We must go to Ada.’

Taking advantage of the light from a south window, Ada was absorbed in needlework. No one
else was about. James spoke quickly, as if he feared that at any moment they might be interrupted. His manner was so different from that of a few moments before in the garden that Margaret felt uneasy. She’d noticed this ability of his before, shedding one mood for another, and even, when playing a friar or some other character, trading one accent for another, as well as mannerisms. She realised it was the latter that disturbed her the most. He moved as a noble now as he sat with Ada; in the garden he’d been less grand, simpler.

Her attention returned to Ada, who was quite visibly shaken by the news of her lover and son being in Stirling. She sat stiffly, as if afraid to move. ‘Peter,’ is the only word she’d yet uttered. ‘Peter,’ she repeated, as if growing accustomed to saying it.

‘Are you still willing to take Maggie with you?’ James asked.

Ada shook her head slightly and glanced at James, then Margaret, as if she’d just realised their presence. ‘My son was not yet walking when they took him from me,’ she said softly. ‘I doubt Simon’s told him that his mother is a de la Haye of Perth.’

Margaret took Ada’s hands in hers. ‘How hard it must have been for you.’

‘My family had warned me that I would not keep my children, though of course I had not understood how terrible it would be, how a mother loves her child.’ Ada caught her breath and dropped her chin.

‘Shall we leave you for a while?’ Margaret asked.

Shaking her head, Ada pressed Margaret’s hands and released them to dab at her eyes. She took a deep breath and then faced them both, with chin up despite tears still balanced precariously in the corners of her eyes. ‘It will not be the first time my skills as a player are tested.’

James nodded. ‘They will be tested. I must also warn both of you that the tempers of the townsfolk are brittle, distrust divides them, and as in Perth some are eager to prove themselves trustworthy to the English by betraying their neighbours. If either of you has any doubt of your ability to carry through with your roles, tell me now. It would be better to stand aside here than to fail us in Stirling.’ His eyes searched Margaret’s face, then Ada’s.

Margaret realised she was holding her breath and clenching her hands.

‘When are we to depart?’ Ada asked.

‘Nightfall,’ James said. He turned to Margaret. ‘And you, Maggie, are you still with us?’

The magnitude of what she was about struck her afresh. ‘I am.’ Fear might catch her breath and bring on a sweat, but she would not withdraw. There was no turning back for her.

James nodded to each of them. ‘I’ll find some refreshment for my men while you prepare for the journey.’

As Margaret rose she found her legs unsteady.

4

Time and again James was reminded of Margaret’s youth. Just now she had sounded strong, and yet as she’d risen she’d almost swooned. She claimed her leg had cramped, but he guessed she was frightened. It was her youthful innocence that he hoped would protect her, but it was a gamble and he was very worried that he’d made the wrong decision to put her in such danger. Her friend Hal would never have wittingly put her in such peril. He loved her too. His disappointment when Roger had returned for Margaret was what had convinced James that the young man needed to leave Edinburgh and apply himself to winning this battle for his country’s independence from England. James understood such disappointment – he’d experienced it when the woman he loved had married his cousin. He’d thought he’d never love again. Margaret had
changed all that. He reminded himself that he was not sure he knew Margaret’s heart. She might in time decide to stay in her marriage to Roger; it was the comfortable thing to do.

With a hand beneath Margaret’s elbow, James escorted her and Ada out to the garden and then watched as they parted from him and crossed to the outside stairway. Both were tall, one with red hair, one with white that had in her youth likely been honey gold for her brows were still a dark honey, and both had strong jaws and prominent cheekbones. It was plausible they were kin. He counted on that.

The friendships of women were strange to James, the need they had to know the whole histories of one another, not satisfied with the kinds of things men wished to know of other men – how they fit within the present and in relation to their goals. Margaret had been taken aback and, he thought, quite disturbed to learn of Peter Fitzsimon. Certainly James would have preferred to have known of the man’s existence when making the arrangement for Stirling, because he affected the plans. But it seemed to him that Margaret’s unease only partly stemmed from that – she seemed equally disturbed to learn that there was someone so dear to Ada about whom she had never spoken to her. James wished he knew whether that was significant; he was not entirely reassured by his conversation with Ada.

‘So you’re off to Stirling, eh?’ said Malcolm Kerr. He stood only a step behind James, hands clasped behind his back, watching the landing though his daughter was now out of view.

Under his breath James cursed whoever had told Malcolm where he was headed. But the damage was done. He nodded. ‘We must ride on today.’ He expected an argument about Margaret’s part in his plans. But he was surprised.

‘I’m proud of my daughter, her courage,’ Malcolm said. ‘I’d not have thought of her as part of all this, but she has chosen, and though I could not bear to lose her, I’ve no means to keep her safe, not here.’

‘In these times no one is safe,’ James agreed. Malcolm was less like his brother Murdoch, James’s business partner in Edinburgh, than he had realised. Curious about him, he asked, ‘Will you join me and my men in some refreshment?’ He would find out just what the man knew.

But Malcolm shook his head. ‘I was on my way to my wife’s chamber. If my daughter leaves without stopping there, will you tell her I’m proud of her?’

‘I will. And I’ll tell you this, I’ll do everything in my power to protect her.’

Malcolm gave a little laugh. ‘A Comyn’s no more able to do so than I am. Save your boasts for the ladies.’

Malcolm bowed and walked on, leaving James irritated. Perhaps he
was
just like Murdoch.
Margaret’s parents seemed liabilities James could not afford, not if he was to help his kinsman regain the throne of Scotland. He had not intended to be more than Margaret’s compatriot. He had not been looking for love. But his panic when finding only the drunk servant in Margaret’s house had revealed his heart to him. She was admirably courageous for such a young, inexperienced woman and intriguingly complex. But such a father – and a mother so fey. He would be glad to leave them behind.

After Margaret had given Celia instructions to prepare for departure and answered her questions as briefly as possible, she looked for Ada. Maus was anxiously packing and did not know where her mistress had gone. From the gallery Margaret soon caught sight of her sitting quietly on the garden bench that James had chosen earlier, her eyes cast down. As Margaret hurried down the stairs Ada lifted a tear-streaked face.

‘I am so glad you’ve come to me.’ Ada dabbed at her eyes with a square of linen.

‘I thought you might like a companion,’ Margaret said. ‘You seemed quite shaken by the news.’

‘I was.’ Ada straightened and took a few deep breaths. ‘It is a heartless practice, though common enough among the noble families.’

This was an Ada that Margaret did not know – sorrowful, wounded. ‘I thought you were content with your life,’ she said.

Lifting her chin, Ada seemed to study the branch above, but she clutched the cloth in her hand and breathed shallowly as if holding back more tears. ‘I was far too young to understand the finality of my choice, how unlikely it was that I would one day be settled with my own family round me. Nor had I understood that I would not be choosing my liaisons. In faith, I was fortunate in Simon. By the time he bedded me I knew enough to be ready to do anything he asked if he would only keep me by him, for he was loving and thoughtful in bed.’

‘I had not known you had a son.’

‘Two sons and three daughters.’ Ada nodded at Margaret’s expression of surprise. ‘And how could you know?’ In her voice Margaret heard a weary resignation. ‘I’ve regretted having to give them up to the Montagu family to wed well. I am not complaining about Simon – he has been generous.’ She gave a silken shrug. ‘Though it would have inconvenienced him little to have been kinder about our children. I thought surely he would relent and let me see them from time to time. But eventually I understood that he would not bend. I returned to Perth, wealthy and alone.’ She gave a bitter little laugh. ‘My kin did not know what to do about me. They told the impressionable young ones that I was a childless widow.’

‘Is Simon the father of all your children?’

‘The four living, yes. My third daughter was not so fortunate.’ Ada bowed her head for a moment,
then rose with a sigh. ‘I must see to Maus,’ she said with unconvincing energy. ‘She can be quite contrary when she does not like her orders.’ Ada looked older than usual, tired, defeated.

‘I’ll take my leave of Ma,’ said Margaret. She waited a few moments, allowing Ada her solitude, then made her own way up to the gallery and on towards her mother’s chamber, preparing herself for a difficult time. It would be easier simply to depart without a farewell, but she felt it important to take leave of her mother.

From the partially opened door Margaret heard her father bragging about her commitment to King John. She cursed under her breath as he noticed her and waved her into the room, where she was relieved to see that he had been talking to Marion, not her mother. She prayed her mother had not yet heard of her departure – she would prefer to tell her herself.

‘Maggie, lass, your mother is praying with the holy sister,’ said Malcolm. ‘I’ve been telling Marion about your mission.’

‘Da, you must talk of this no more. You’ll do naught but harm if you go on so about what should be a secret.’

‘I’m not simple, lass,’ he snapped.

No, she thought, just a braggart.

‘Young Margaret? Is that you?’ Bethag stepped out from behind the screen. She smiled when she saw she’d guessed correctly. ‘Come, your mother is anxious to speak with you.’