A Trust Betrayed Read Free Page B

greeting neighbors.
     
    Margaret’s good mantle was suddenly placed on her shoulders. Fergus squeezed her shoulders and whispered, “No need for you to freeze, Maggie. Jack is on his own now, doing his own penance.”
     
    “What do you mean?” Margaret asked rather sharply.
     
    Fergus moved beside her. “Surely he has not become a saint in your mind now he’s dead? If ever there was an unsaintly man it was Jack with his schemes and his small lies, his flirtation with all females younger than Mother. But no, I recall he even flirted with Mother for a time, until she had a damning dream about him.”
     
    Margaret blushed at the memory.
     
    “Look at all the females in this crowd, eh?”
     
    “Aye,” Margaret whispered.
     
    “Well?” Fergus asked. “Why did you snap at me?”
     
    “I am tired, that is all. And I do mourn him, Fergus. He was a great help to me and a good man.”
     
    “Oh, aye, I know that. But he was a knave as well.”
     
    “I’m much better since you joined me. And warmer.”
     
    “Your goodmother should have thought of the mantle.”
     
    Folk came up to speak with them, but Margaret responded with only half her attention. She kept looking for Roger’s arrival at the edge of the crowd. Had he heard about Jack’s death, he would have come. So he did not know. She would not let herself think of the other possibilities, that he was prevented from coming by illness or death.
     
    The tolling bell stilled the voices, calling the mourners to the kirk. It kept the pallbearers’ steps slow and steady. The priest’s incense spiced the wintry air.
     
    In the kirk Margaret’s breath rose in frosty clouds as she prayed, steadying her goodmother beside her.
     
    Once more the pallbearers lifted Jack. Katherine straightened, shook her head at Margaret’s offer of support. For this last walk with her nephew she would be strong.
     
    The hard clods of frozen earth dropping on the coffin sounded like hoofbeats in the quiet kirkyard. How they must thunder within Jack’s coffin. Margaret shivered. Fergus put an arm round her.
     
    It should have been Roger who comforted her.
     
    2
     
    THE CROSSING
     
    Monday brought iron gray clouds, winds that found every crack in the walls, every loose shingle, and a chill that threatened to turn the rain to snow. It was not a day to travel. But Andrew, having wasted Sunday in Dunfermline, was determined to lose no more time in returning to Edinburgh, and Margaret was not about to be shaken off by his haste.
     
    As she had walked back to the house from Jack’s grave on Saturday she had decided what she must do. Once the guests had departed she had urged Katherine to retire to her chamber, then gathered her brothers round the fire circle in the main room. She warned Andrew and Fergus to speak softly, that the elderly woman’s hearing was quite sharp.
     
    “What do you not wish her to hear?” Fergus had asked, glancing uneasily at Andrew.
     
    “She will know on the morn, but for now I would have her sleep.” Margaret took a deep breath. “I am accompanying Andrew to Edinburgh.”
     
    “What?” Andrew came to attention.
     
    “I must find Roger.”
     
    “You don’t know when he was last there,” Fergus said.
     
    “If you do not mean to support me, hold your tongue,” Margaret snapped.
     
    Andrew shook his head. “Edinburgh Castle is crowded with Edward Longshanks’s soldiers, Maggie. The town is no place for a young woman.”
     
    “There is no other way. No one else will search for him with English soldiers about.”
     
    “Aye. Nor should you.”
     
    “You are on good terms with the English.”
     
    “Why do you say that?” Andrew looked offended by the comment.
     
    “They let you have Jack’s body. You said you knew the sheriff.”
     
    “Do you?” Fergus asked.
     
    “It is true I studied at Oxford with Sir Walter Huntercombe’s son. His son, mind you,” Andrew said. “I cannot protect you, Maggie. And what will you