A Trust Betrayed Read Free

had seized the ports the previous summer, the coffers were almost empty, and hiring a horse for such a journey was out of the question. Margaret needed her mare here.
     
    Still, she had been puzzled. She had worried about Roger all this time, but all the while Jack had assured her Roger was not headstrong and he could take care of himself. “Why now?”
     
    “I did not want— God help us, Roger is home.” Jack had just noticed the hanging clothes. “No wonder I confuse you.”
     
    “No, Roger is not home. Tell me more about your plan.” Easter was upon them. Perhaps she might ride south with him to Roger’s mother in Dunfermline for the holy day.
     
    But Jack said he must leave at once, and Margaret had much to do for the household before she could depart.
     
    “Why this haste?” she asked.
     
    “Seize the opportunity.” He had glanced round, then lifted her hand and kissed it. She pulled away from him, her face burning, and Jack grinned. “I cannot kiss my cousin?”
     
    “It is good you take such an interest in searching for Roger,” she said rather more loudly than necessary, “but why search for him in Edinburgh? He would not ship from there.” His purpose in setting out had been to find an alternative port now that Berwick was in English hands. He had said he would begin with Dundee.
     
    Jack still teased her with his eyes. “It was from Edinburgh he wrote to you. I may find a trace of him.”
     
    It was true—she had received one letter from Roger in late November saying he would be home by Yuletide. The messenger had come from Edinburgh. “And if his trail leads you beyond Edinburgh, will Alan Fletcher approve your continuing with his horse?” Her father and Fletcher had long ago fallen out over the man’s miserly ways. He would expect a full accounting from Jack.
     
    “Such a fuss! Do you not wish to find Roger?”
     
    “Sweet heaven, you know that is not why I ask.”
     
    But it had been the way of arguments with Jack. Teasing, playful. He had been such a vital presence.
     
    And now here he lay.
     
    Margaret’s vigil began in tears. But as the hours slipped by her eyes dried, her sorrow replaced by a more selfish emotion. Fear. For herself, for Roger. Whoever had so savagely murdered Jack might be after Roger. After all, Jack’s business had been Roger’s business, Jack’s kin were Roger’s kin.
     
    *        *         *
     
    In the early morning Margaret’s brother Father Andrew relieved her at the watch. After Celia took her leave, Margaret watched Andrew for a sign that he noticed the shroud had been opened and resewn.
     
    He knelt beside it, said a prayer, then settled on the stool Celia had vacated, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t need to tell you it’s a cold morn. You must have frozen in here all the night.”
     
    “I preferred that to warming the lyke. Jack is four days gone.”
     
    “Aye.” Andrew ran his hands through the dark hair that curled round his tonsure. He could be handsome if his mouth did not have such a downward curve, if his deep brown eyes met one’s own more often.
     
    Margaret was relieved he noticed nothing untoward. He had grown into such a humorless and judgmental man. She did not know whether she could have explained herself to his satisfaction. And she did not have the stomach for a sermon.
     
    “Be off with you,” Andrew said. “Fergus awaits you in the house.”
     
    Fergus was Margaret’s younger brother, whom she had left in Perth to see to the business and take care of her house. “How can that be? It is at least a day’s ride here.”
     
    “I sent word with a messenger from Edinburgh before I began the journey.”
     
    “It was good of you, Andrew.” If anyone could empathize and in doing so cheer her, it would be Fergus. The brothers were perfect examples of the melancholic and the choleric— Andrew cold, Fergus hot, Andrew dark in mood and appearance, Fergus aglow in all things.
     
    “He can