A Cruel Courtship (18 page)

Simon must have also perceived Maggie’s discomfort, for he left Ada’s side and suggested that they sit by the fire circle and tell him what brought them to Stirling just ahead of Percy and Clifford’s thousand cavalry and many thousand foot soldiers.

‘Just ahead?’ Ada whispered, pretending ignorance. She worried that the explanation she had rehearsed required Simon to find her much changed, a little forgetful – she would not have used such a ploy fourteen years past. She caught Maggie’s eye and saw her doubt mirrored there, and her fear – so many thousands. But Ada had no time to think up something more appropriate, and so she focused on the fire, reaching out to it to warm her suddenly cold hands.

Maggie, too, was leaning towards the fire, her hands trembling. ‘It is chillier up here than down below,’ Maggie said. ‘This fire is very welcome.’

‘It is,’ said Ada. ‘I’ve come to a time of life when my hands are chilled by the slightest draught.’

Simon took her hands in his. ‘Quite cold, indeed. That is a change. So, my love, why come you to Stirling?’ he asked, and she saw how closely he regarded her.

‘Well might you wonder,’ she said, ‘for I see I have chosen a most dangerous time for my return. God must have been watching over us.’ She withdrew her hands and delicately pressed her temples. ‘I do not like to admit it, but age must have addled my wits for I thought Stirling would be less astir than Perth, being protected by its position high above the bridge. We did see encampments, but we were permitted to cross the bridge.’ She turned to gaze on Maggie. ‘Still, those men who accosted us when we entered the town yesterday have made me very uneasy about my niece’s safety.’

‘Aunt Ada,’ Maggie murmured in convincing embarrassment, ‘I’m not a child.’

Ada took more than a sip of wine.

Simon grunted as he rose to pour more. ‘That is the point, my dear. You are all too obviously no longer a child amidst a crowd of men long away from their women.’

Ada could not deny that Maggie was right in saying, ‘That is little different from Perth.’ But she
knew that they’d been safer in Perth. Fortunately, Simon seemed willing to believe that Ada had made a mistake. She felt perversely irritated by that.

He resumed his seat. ‘I am here to advise and keep the peace in the town, not to lead men into battle, and for that I am grateful – though I had resented that when it was first made known to me. I felt old and ridiculed. But King Edward has depleted our supply of men of fighting age with all of his wars and now he has gathered felons, rapists, rogues, and cut-throats, men who should not be serving in his name, men impossible to control. They fight amongst themselves, sometimes to the death, over petty issues. The captains are at wits’ end to discipline them. And here in Stirling they are short of food, of all supplies, and trapped on this great rock with only the townspeople to steal from. As happy as I am to see you, I am sad you are here. Yet I cannot in good conscience send you back to Perth. It is a miracle you made it here unscathed. Did you have an escort?’

‘A friend escorted us to Elcho Nunnery. From there we joined various companies of farmers and tradesmen on the way, anyone journeying along our path.’

‘No doubt most of them were spies,’ Simon said wearily. ‘You are fortunate to have arrived safely.’

6

Maus’s endless chatter about fabrics, fashions, beauty preparations had Celia seething with envy, and leaving the tittering maid she headed out to the privy in the backland to think how to lift her mood. She needed some occupation that would remind her that she was far more valuable to Margaret than a mere lady’s maid. Despite the delicacy of her activity in the backland, she spied a neighbour peering at her as she emerged from the flimsy shed shaking out her skirts. The gawker was a woman, which was a relief, but the invasion of privacy put Celia in an even fouler mood than before.

‘Have you never seen a woman relieve herself before?’ she called out, angrily flouncing past the woman who had at least blushed quite vividly.

She needed occupation. Perhaps a walk would clear her mind. She had never experienced such a thing in
Dunfermline or Perth, or even Edinburgh, where she’d been living in an inn where drunks were always tottering into the backlands for a piss. But as she walked she thought how the English occupation of the castle, the crowd of armed men, the battle everyone expected at the foot of the outcrop on which they lived had changed the lives of the townsfolk. No wonder they watched strangers so closely.

She discovered she had retraced her earlier steps to Evota the alewife’s house. And who should be just stepping out into the lane but the English soldier who had been there yesterday. Fortunately he had not yet caught sight of her. Withdrawing into the shadows Celia watched him walk past. He was a handsome man, no doubt about it; studying him now she was reminded of someone – there was something in his eyes, and his colouring – pale hair and dark brows and lashes.

But this was no time for idle comparisons. She wondered why he’d returned to Evota’s house. It was impossible for her to have replenished her stock of ale already. So the man had other truck with her. She supposed Evota might be selling sexual favours – or perhaps her daughter was – she had seen the suggestion of breasts in the young woman despite her small stature. Keeping close to house fronts and therefore in shadow, Celia followed the man.

Sir Simon’s comment about spies made Margaret anxious for James. Had they been noted, then
followed? Was one of Ada’s servants too talkative? She was also very uneasy about Ada’s behaviour. She was clearly still in love with Sir Simon – or at least sexually aroused by him. And the feeling was mutual. Margaret feared that Ada would forget herself and say something to compromise them, or worse she would decide she was better off supporting her English lover’s king. She had never seen Ada exhibit such nervousness.

While they ate, the topic of their journey was revisited several times, Sir Simon disturbingly keen to learn more about their escorts. Ada was quite convincingly vague and disinterested, busy asking about her children. It seemed they were all well wed but for Peter.

‘And that is my surprise for you,’ said Simon.

‘He is to be wed?’ Ada asked.

Margaret silently applauded Ada’s believable confusion.

‘Wed?’ Simon frowned, then caught her drift and nodded. ‘I’ve confused you. No, he has no time to devote to courting at present, not while he is serving King Edward.’ He smiled, obviously eager for her to guess.

‘Peter is in Scotland?’ Ada held a hand to her heart.

Simon nodded. ‘I should like to introduce him to you.’

‘He is here?’ Her voice quavered.

‘He is.’ Simon looked quite satisfied with himself.

Tears and stammering expressed how overcome Ada was with the news that one of her children was so near.

But that was the last of the act to which Margaret was witness. For suddenly Sir Simon produced the soldier who had escorted them to the castle and suggested that Margaret return to the town while he and Ada enjoyed some time alone.

As she wound her way through the crowd in the castle yard Margaret tried to calm herself with memories of Ada’s strength of character. She must not lose faith in her. Ada was merely playing her role and was not a silly young woman in the first flush of love. She had been quite convincingly surprised by the news of Peter’s presence.

Once outside the castle gates Margaret looked round at the few people abroad despite the sunny afternoon. In this Stirling was much like Edinburgh, lives lived behind shuttered windows, folk hoping unseen was forgotten. In the marketplace on Broad Street she spied Celia hurrying towards Ada’s house.

‘There is my maidservant,’ she told her escort. ‘I’ll join her.’

The soldier bowed to her and took his leave, and Margaret caught Celia before she’d reached the door. Her maid was flushed and out of breath.

‘What have you been doing to be so exhausted?’ Margaret asked.

‘Following the soldier who seems to be wherever I am. He was at the alewife’s again.’

Margaret felt as if her stomach had risen to her throat and she crossed herself. ‘That does not bode well.’

‘No.’ Celia took a deep breath. ‘But I learned nothing. He went straight to the castle gate.’

‘Come. Father Piers might recognise him from your description.’ As they walked she told Celia about the host of men forming down below. ‘I fear for James.’

‘I fear for us all,’ said Celia.

As Margaret stood to one side of Castle Wynd waiting for a troop of foot soldiers to go past so that she and Celia might cross over to the kirk, she only partly listened to her companion’s complaints about Maus and the nosey neighbour; she was going over all that Sir Simon had said in search of evidence that he’d had news from someone who’d followed them on their approach to Stirling, but she could find nothing specific except for his comment about all travellers being spies, and that was something he might have said quite innocently. Her fear left little room in her head for Celia’s complaints, and she dismissed them as her maid’s way of putting the massing army out of her head. However, when she realised what Celia was confessing she was alarmed by the risk she’d taken.

‘Father Piers advised we leave Evota alone for a day. I thought I’d told you that,’ Margaret said.

‘I hadn’t intended to go there,’ Celia said in a peevish tone.

Margaret regretted her sharp response, appreciating Celia’s help. She paused to apologise. ‘I don’t question your intentions, Celia, forgive my temper. I’m worried about Ada, and I confess I haven’t been listening with care.’

Only now did she notice the chill of the late afternoon, the long shadows and how the streets had emptied. She wondered whether this late afternoon trip to the kirk was wise – they were the only women about. She resumed walking, quickening her pace.

‘Why worry about Dame Ada?’ Celia asked breathlessly as she hurried to catch up. ‘She has a lover to protect her.’

‘That
is
the matter,’ said Margaret. Once they reached the relative safety of the kirk yard she expected to feel calmer, but a chilling flash of her vision of Roger’s fall startled and frightened her. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for the spell to pass.

‘Mistress?’ Celia touched Margaret’s arm. ‘What is it?’

Waving off Celia’s concern – she did not trust her voice – Margaret lifted her face to the sun and took several deep breaths. ‘Just a spell of dizziness,’ she said when she finally felt herself again. ‘I hadn’t realised how frightened I’d been up at the castle.’ The kirk yard seemed peaceful once more, until she glimpsed the edge of a steep outcropping to one side of the graves, then glanced up to the castle
on its height. She’d found the site of her visions of Roger’s death.
Dear God, keep Roger from this place, I pray you
.

‘I was frightened for you,’ said Celia.

Margaret forced a smile. Celia need not know what she’d just realised. ‘Ada is quite the player, God be thanked.’ She described the tenor of Ada and Simon’s reunion – quietly, for she felt exposed even in the kirk yard.

‘They might become lovers again,’ Celia said. ‘That is unwelcome.’ With her dark brows knit together, she looked as if she were ready to take on the worry for both of them. ‘Do you think she knew she still held him in her heart?’

‘You put it so prettily,’ said Margaret, amused despite the eerie silence. ‘I doubt she knew she still lusted after him.’ She recalled her own unexpectedly passionate reunion with Roger and felt herself blush.