Queen Hereafter (39 page)

“Excellent thought—take these,” he told the others, handing them out.

“But that is stealing.” Margaret looked doubtful.

“Will we quibble sin this night? Replace them later,” Eva said. “What about the sentries?”

“I will tell the guards that I am sending some servants out with urgent messages.”

“Your sins are multiplying,” Eva said.

“As are yours,” Margaret said. “Later we will go to the chapel and pray.”

“Instead of the entrance gate, we should use the postern gate at the back,” one of the men whispered. “We can get away without being seen.”

“But there is a steep drop there,” Eva said.

“We can follow the ledge behind the palisade, and there is a way down the cliff if we go carefully,” the man replied. “I have heard the guards talking about it.”

“Rope,” Margaret said quickly. “At the back of the yard is a byre. There will be rope there.”

“Thank you.” He bowed solemnly. “Queen Margaret, your charity will never be forgotten.” He took her hand and kissed it.

Each man gave the queen a grateful farewell and turned to Eva to thank her also, all in a rush, a few seconds or more. Then they were gone, cloaks whirling away in the darkness.

“So,” Margaret said with satisfaction, folding her hands before her. “It was right to help them. Though I do not know how to explain this to Malcolm,” she added.

“You will find a way,” Eva said, feeling admiration—Margaret was made of more than prayers and pious sin-fretting, and more than sweet and charitable goodness. “That was very courageous, my lady. Best we go to chapel now.” She took Margaret’s arm. “We should be seen there rather than near the dungeons.”

Margaret laughed. “You are a true friend.”

Eva said nothing. If she fulfilled her promise to her grandmother, she would be no friend.

MALCOLM’S ROAR
could be heard throughout the tower, even in the great hall where Eva sat with the queen and others, having just fed a few small children who had been brought up from the front gates. When the king burst through the curtained entrance of the great hall moments later, Eva jumped up, but was hardly surprised to see that the king was not taking the news well. The queen, sitting with a child on her lap, looked up calmly as Malcolm stomped toward her.

“Margaret,” he said in an angry, warning tone. “Where are my prisoners?”

“Hush, sire,” she said. “You will frighten the little ones.”

“A word with you,” he growled as he stood over her, a fist at his waist, his face red. “
Now.
”

The child in Margaret’s lap began to cry, staring up at Malcolm. Handing the little girl to Eva, Margaret stood and walked away with the king. He led her to a far corner and began to talk in a low, angry rumble accompanied by swift jabbing gestures toward the doorway and outside.

Eva jiggled the child on her lap and dipped a spoon into the porridge as she watched the queen and king. Margaret smiled at her husband and
set a hand on his arm as if to calm him. Then she rested a hand on her stomach. Under the long, layered draping of the queen’s garments, the burgeoning curve of her body was obvious, and Margaret used that.

When Malcolm subsided quickly, Eva smiled to herself, silently applauding the queen’s cleverness. The king took his wife’s hand, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. He left the hall, and Margaret returned to sit once more.

She smiled at Eva. “He saw that the key in our bedchamber had been moved, and he realized I had taken it. I confessed that the prisoners’ escape was all my doing. He thinks he will lose a good deal of income from this, and that is why he is angry. He says that I am coming into my own ever since I learned thievery.” Margaret grimaced slightly.

Eva laughed. “And I am your accomplice.”

“M
Y LADY!”
Robert De Lauder approached Margaret as she and her mother and sister walked across the bailey on another morning. “The king rode out early, but left this word for you. He implores you to order your servants to pack whatever is necessary. The household must leave very soon.”

“What is wrong?” Margaret set a hand to her throat, heart surging with fear.

“Dun Edin is no longer safe for you. Malcolm wants you to depart for the north before nightfall.”

“But we would need days to pack!” Astonished, she stared at him, and felt fear growing as she recalled fleeing other places. “Is it the Normans?”

“Malcolm had a message from the south—a carrier rode into the bailey at first light. William is gathering troops and preparing to cross into Scottish territory. Cospatric sent word that Saxon boats are being constructed at Berwick, and once they are ready, it will take William no time to reach Scotland with thousands of warriors.
When that will be we cannot say, but Malcolm wants you to leave Dun Edin immediately.”

Margaret crossed herself, head and heart. “God protect us. What of Malcolm?”

“He and Edgar, too, will remain here for now. Brother Tor will accompany you to Dunfermline.”

“Is that place even safe, if William has ships?”

“You may need to move farther north,” De Lauder replied somberly.

With a child due soon that might prove impossible, she thought. “I will order the servants to begin packing.”

“Only what is most essential. Other things can be sent later. The ship departs Leith this afternoon. The king bids me tell you that you will be aboard, or he will throw you on the boat himself and tie you to the mast.
Pardonnez-moi, ma reine
,” he finished.

MALCOLM HIMSELF CARRIED
his wife in his arms through the shallows to the longship, and though Eva could see Margaret was not happy about it, the queen did not protest. Edgar lifted Eva, too, and she rode lightly in his arms, clasping her hands about his neck. He was stronger than his lankiness suggested, and when he set her down he thanked her gallantly for the privilege.

“Sir, I am honored to be carried by a prince who should be a king,” she had said, playing the little game of courtliness that he had begun. She preferred honesty over flattery, but smiled at the flirtation. He blushed red to the ears and wished her a good voyage.

“I will see you in Dunfermline later, as soon as we can join you there,” he said, and his long fingers lingered over hers, tightened, then let go. He leaped down into the water and waded back.

“Husband,” Margaret said as the king set her down beside Eva. “This ferry reminds me—there are so many people in need of transportation to complete their pilgrimages. I want to sponsor a ferry that would cross the firth to Dunfermline and Fife for no fee for pilgrims.”

“Not now, Margaret,” he said. “We will talk of this later.”

“If I must travel over water, then you must hear me out. Quickly, now—”

“Your ferryman would have plenty of customers for his free ferry but no supper on his table.”

“I would pay his yearly fee from my own coffers. I have dowry funds and rental incomes, and even a portion of that would keep a ferryman and his family. We could also provide a hostel on the other side of the firth for pilgrims, so they can rest before continuing their journey.”

“Such a bargain would attract more than just pilgrims. Everyone would want to ride free.”

“We would provide the ferry for free to pilgrims and others—and charge only the bishops. They can afford it, and their fees could help pay for the pilgrims.”

He laughed. “Clever Margaret. I will ask Sir Robert to look into the arrangements when he can. I must leave you now—but I will see you soon, I promise.”

Eva saw them exchange a quick, tender embrace, and Malcolm looked her way as he left.

“Lady Eva,” he spoke, “take good care of her.” She nodded.

Later, as Eva watched the frothy, white-capped waves of the firth stream past, she savored the freedom of salt wind on her face as the longboat slipped along, surging and cresting in a whippy wind. The queen’s kin and retainers were crammed between crates and chests and the ride was bumpy that day, but took only an hour or so.

Margaret sat in silence, pale face lifted to the wind, her hands fisted. When they landed, she was quick to request that two housecarls carry her, sling-like, to shore. When Eva joined her, Margaret looked very pale, and Eva took her arm in sudden concern.

“I have not been very good about keeping the vow I made,” Margaret said.

“But your new ferry will do a great deal of good. That will out-last any vow.”

“May it counter my shortcomings,” Margaret said.

Walking with her toward the cart that would carry the queen the rest of the way to the royal tower, Eva sighed to herself. No matter the good Margaret did, it was never enough in the queen’s regard. “Lady,” she said then, “I think I shall compose a praise poem for you.”

“A new melody would be lovely to hear,” Margaret said, “but there is no reason for a queen’s poem. Write one for the king instead—that is the tradition for a court bard, is it not?”

“Only if the king is one the bard admires. Otherwise, it is best to keep silent.”

“Eva, that grudge will outlast you,” Margaret said.

It might indeed, Eva thought.

W
ithin days, the queen became quiet, pale, and drawn, though she had been confident and glowing recently at Dun Edin. Eva assumed she had exhausted herself while supervising the unpacking of the household and the settling of the children at Dunfermline.

“You have Dame Agnes for that, and Gertruda and Mirren for the children,” Eva reminded her. “Trust them to see to all, and rest.”

But Margaret rarely rested body or mind for long; her devotional routine alone could make a lesser soul quail. Concerned, Eva rose even earlier each day to accompany Margaret to prayers, and she played music while Margaret went to bed each night. But a week after their return, seeing the queen walk slowly and stiffly, then pause with a hand pressed to her back, Eva knew.

“Margaret, has this endured all day?” she asked. “You said no word of it.”

“It is too soon for the birth,” Margaret said, looking weary. “I hoped it would stop.”

Taking her arm and guiding her to the bedchamber, Eva sent Finola to find the housekeeper and the queen’s mother, then sent a housecarl for Mother Annot, hoping she would arrive soon.

“Please, fetch your harp,” Margaret told Eva when she returned to find the queen tucked in the bed wearing a linen shift, while Dame Agnes went about the room untying any knot she found in garments, shoes, curtain ties, to ease the babe’s arrival. “The music will help to play this little one out of me, though it is too soon for him to come—this will not take long, I think.”

Not long at all, Eva discovered. Dame Agnes barely had time to tuck rowan branches at the threshold and stow a knife under the bed to cut the pain when the midwife appeared and Margaret strived to push. Fingers shaking, Eva played a tranquil song as Margaret’s third son slipped, small and slightly blue, into the world.