A Cruel Courtship (27 page)

‘At last they join us,’ Father Piers mumbled behind her.

Celia raised her head and in an instant her happy mood dulled as she saw the tension in her mistress’s face and the set of James Comyn’s jaw.

Margaret joined her on the wide prie-dieu before the altar and bowed her head.

‘Have you had darksome news, Mistress?’ Celia whispered.

Margaret took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I am widowed.’ Her voice caught on the sorrow-laden word.

Celia’s first thought was of Roger’s mother Katherine Sinclair, anxiously waiting in Dunfermline for news of her son. Tears filled her eyes as Celia remembered the love between mother and son. She also recalled Margaret’s shy, happy face on her wedding day. Roger Sinclair had proved a disappointing husband, but even so Celia knew that his death would weigh heavily on her mistress’s heart. As she put a comforting arm round Margaret she felt how tense she was, how shallowly she breathed.

‘I am so sorry,’ Celia whispered. ‘How can I help?’

Margaret covered Celia’s hand with hers, pressing it in thanks, but she said nothing, jumping when Father Piers spoke to James in a loud whisper.

‘In the kirk yard?
Deus juva me
. That is too close.’

Celia glanced round as the priest crossed himself. His arched eyebrows almost disappeared in creases his frown made in his forehead as he regarded James.

‘They found Roger below the large rock in the kirk yard,’ Margaret said softly, for Celia’s ears only. ‘He’d fallen. His neck was broken.’

‘Holy Mother of God,’ Celia whispered, trying not to imagine the scene and realising with a shiver that another of Margaret’s visions had come to pass.

‘How do you know the English had not found him there and set a watch to see who would claim him?’ Father Piers asked James.

‘Roger had been dead for at least several days when James’s men found him,’ Margaret said to Celia.

‘Don’t think I haven’t wondered that,’ said James. He was so tired his voice was failing.

‘Where is he now?’ Celia asked, glancing out into the nave.

‘James’s men are taking him to Cambuskenneth Abbey.’ Margaret’s tone was flat.

‘God watch over them,’ Celia said.

Margaret pressed her fingertips to her temples.

Selfishly, Celia wished to leave before so much was said in here that its peace would be lost to her for good. She still had a warm memory of God’s welcoming ear. ‘You need rest, Mistress. There is no need for you to stay here.’

Margaret rose, but instead of the door she turned to the bench against the wall where Father Piers and James were sitting. ‘Will Johanna be buried tomorrow?’ she asked.

Piers seemed to remember himself and relaxed his forehead. ‘Johanna? Yes, God willing and the English permitting, we shall honour her tomorrow,’ he said. Pressing palms to knees he rose, wincing as he straightened. ‘I grow older by leaps and bounds of late. May your husband’s soul rest in peace, Dame Maggie. I grieve for you in your sorrow.’ He blessed her.

Bowing her head, Margaret crossed herself. ‘I shall attend Johanna’s funeral Mass.’

‘I do not think that wise,’ James said gently.

Hearing the affection and concern in his voice, Celia considered the possibility that he truly loved her mistress. She wondered how that might colour his judgment – and Margaret’s, for that matter, for to be loved by a man must surely be as heady as brandywine.

‘Are you worried about Peter Fitzsimon?’ Margaret asked, still speaking in a voice so devoid of emotion that Celia thought she might be feeling faint.

She was about to coax her mistress into departing when she remembered who Peter Fitzsimon was. ‘What does Dame Ada’s son have to do with all this?’

‘He was my captor,’ said James.

Celia glanced at Father Piers. He, too, was listening with growing concern.

‘He is also the captain who had me identify Johanna,’ said Margaret.

‘He cannot be.’ Celia realised her words came out like a whine. She realised that all had grown quiet and all three were staring at her. ‘Forgive me.’

‘Tell me about Peter Fitzsimon,’ James said. ‘Tell me where you’ve seen him, what you’ve observed about him.’

Knowing that this would dispel any lingering calm, Celia hesitated, but of course she must share with them all that had occurred. She gathered her thoughts and related her encounters with the man as completely as possible.

James’s expression was grave as he thanked her.

‘I pray that Roger is safely buried in Cambuskenneth by now,’ Margaret said with a catch in her voice.

Father Piers said nothing.

‘We should go home, Mistress,’ said Celia. ‘Can someone escort us?’ she asked the priest.

He nodded. ‘Come. We will fetch my clerk.’

James reached out to Margaret, but she did not go to him.

‘Sleep if you can,’ she said.

In a few strides he reached Margaret and embraced her. ‘I am sorrier than I can say that I involved you in this. I failed you, I failed my king.’

Celia averted her eyes, but she couldn’t help but hear his words.

‘It has been my choice, and I have no regrets. You have not failed your king. We shall find a way to disappoint Peter Fitzsimon.’

‘Have you already forgotten what I told you? Stay hidden. It’s too dangerous.’

Father Piers stepped back into the chapel. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Yes,’ said Margaret. ‘Do not worry about me.’ She moved away from James. ‘Come, Celia.’

Celia was startled by James’s shattered expression. She almost wished her mistress were in love with him.

A soft rain fell outside their bower, lulling Ada and Simon to sleep for a while after their lovemaking. When Ada woke, Simon was no longer beside her and had apparently taken the lamp away with him. The twilight in the chamber felt ominous and disorienting, for Ada could not tell whether it was evening or morning. Lying quietly, she heard Simon’s voice outside the door, and another voice that she guessed to be Peter’s. That did nothing to calm her. As she sat up her pounding head informed her that it was evening, for she’d not yet slept off the wine.

Knowing from experience that a mouthful of wine would ease the headache, Ada wrapped a blanket round her and searched for the flask of wine they’d brought with them. Simon had moved it to another table and taken one of the mazers, but there was enough wine left in the flask for her purpose. She’d drunk little wine and almost no ale since the English had taken Perth, finding the lengths one needed to go to for such luxuries too much bother. Relative abstinence meant the wine affected her more quickly, and she should have known better than to drink so much this evening. She knew why she had – the murder of the soldier’s mistress, James’s capture and the uncertainty about how much Simon and Peter knew of her activities as well as Maggie’s had frightened her; but dulling her fear with drink was irresponsible in the circumstances.

She dressed, braiding and winding her hair about her head as best she could with her shaking hands and in the half light that provided only a ghostly shade in the silvered glass. The voices rose and fell, and now she detected more then two; perhaps she should not join Simon. He seemed determined not to introduce her to others at the castle, which she imagined meant he was unsure how they would react to his dallying with a Scotswoman. But it grew darker by the moment and she felt as if she would suffocate in the room despite the small window. The scent of their lovemaking sickened her now. It
was unfortunate that she’d awakened and found herself alone, for without the need to play-act for Simon she had too much time to judge herself for playing the whore. There was no longer any love between them; their mating was lust, nothing else.
God forgive me
. Yet she could not stop now without risking everything.

It had grown quiet in the next room. Ada put her ear to the flimsy door in case it masked sound more than she imagined, but all was quiet. Just as she began to move away, she caught the sound of footsteps. Pressing back to the door she recognised the sound of someone pacing in a rhythm that echoed the rain, and she knew it to be Simon. She’d forgotten how he fell into a rhythm with the sounds around him. She’d often teased him about it.

She was relieved to have some activity to dispel her self-loathing. Easing open the door, she watched him for a moment. He held his hands behind his back and thrust forward his pudgy middle as if proud of it, which might be true if he enjoyed playing the wise older man to the soldiers. The light was behind him so she could not make out his expression, but by the downward angle of his head she doubted he was smiling.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the door and called softly to him.

‘How kind of you to let me sleep, my dear Simon.’

He started, and then averted his face for a few
breaths as if framing the expression and words to use with her. He then came forward with an odd smile. ‘Are you rested?’ It was an uncharacteristic response, which did not bode well.

‘In truth I have a headache. Too much wine. I am old enough to know better.’

‘A little more will mend that,’ he said.

‘I’d as lief go home to rest, Simon. I’m sorry if I’m disappointing you, but I would be so grateful if you fetched a servant to escort me.’

‘Not yet, Ada,’ he said with nary a scrap of sympathy in either his tone or expression. Taking her firmly by the arm he led her to the table, assisted her in taking a seat, and then busied himself lighting more lamps until the room was quite cheerful.

Ada’s heart was racing. His mood was all wrong.

At last Simon sat down across from her and poured wine for both of them, handing her a mazer with a smile that looked false to her. ‘I have good news, Ada. There may be no battle for the Forth Bridge.’

Using both hands, Ada had taken a sip of the wine. She took time to set the mazer down before replying. ‘But that
is
good news, Simon.’ She used her smooth, calmly happy voice. ‘Have Wallace and Murray retreated?’

He grunted. ‘I should not trust it if they did. No, we are at last dealing with those who might be considered to have a right to their interest in this
matter – James Stewart and Earl Malcolm of Lennox. They have asked Surrey to give them some time to bring Wallace and Murray round to peace.’

‘And he has agreed?’

‘Of course. Robert Bruce was defeated but a few weeks past, his daughter demanded as hostage – they do not wish to risk so much. He says it was clear to him that Stewart and Lennox are now determined to rid the country of the rebels, which might require them to take arms against their own countrymen.’ Simon sat back in his chair. ‘So much the better for us, eh? Now aren’t you glad you stayed to hear this?’

The wine had soured in Ada’s throat and her stomach burned. Such a promising beginning, now to be aborted. Her countrymen did not know how to unite against their common foe – their pride tripped them every time they began to succeed.

‘Ada?’ Simon had leaned forward to look into her eyes. ‘What is this frown on your face? You are not disappointed?’

She was frightened that she’d forgotten herself and allowed her feelings to show at the worst possible time. ‘I am worried, that is all. So much depends on their ability to unite my countrymen in peace.’

‘It is only now that you begin to worry?’

‘Peace seemed impossible before. What you’ve told me gives me hope.’ She shook her head, feeling the wine, the fear, the lovemaking pulling her down
into such a weariness she could not clearly form her explanation. ‘I am so tired, Simon. I would leave now, if it please you.’

‘It doesn’t please me, Ada. I have more to tell you.’

His tone chilled her with the sudden memory of when she’d encountered this mood in him before – when he presented to her the evidence he’d gathered about her and Godric. He’d played with her that night, given her just enough information to make her fearful, then changed the subject, letting her stew in the juices of her fear, and then returned with more information, attacking and falling back until she’d shouted for him to tell her all, unable to bear the tension, needing to know the worst of it.

‘We spoke of the Comyn earlier, Peter’s escaped quarry,’ Simon began. ‘He was betrayed by a Welsh archer, a cunning archer, it turns out. I’m uncertain whether to reward him or kill him when he’s completed his mission. Traitors don’t make trustworthy allies.’

‘Simon, why are you telling me this?’ She was nauseated by the wine and his mention of James – still assuming that it was he.

‘On orders from his English commander the Welshman pretended to escape from the spital on Soutra Hill, taking a route that sickened him, and then headed for Perth to beg admission to the army of William Wallace – from James Comyn of Edinburgh, who was known by his commanders to
be in Perth, near one of Wallace’s camps. Are you following me, my love?’

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for this sinner
, Ada prayed silently. It
was
James. And now they’d connected him to Perth, and of course Maggie – this must be the Welshman who had brought her news of Andrew.

‘Ada?’

Simon’s eyes taunted her and in that moment she knew that he now understood her treachery; she hated him as she’d done on that other night long ago. Hated and feared him. She knew that in this he would not be ruled by his heart – if he had one. She realised now how like his father Peter was.