The Fire in the Flint Read Free

midden.’
    ‘Then what’s the worry?’ Mary Brewster asked, chuckling at her own wit.
    ‘It’s no matter now,’ Angus said. ‘Will’s gone.’
    James shook his head at Margaret’s sigh. ‘I’ll go after him.’
    Angus laughed as his friend walked out into the night. ‘Now you’ll have two men cursing you, lass. Och but you’re a match for your uncle. Blood shows.’
    Mary, grunting as she slid along the bench, rose a little unsteadily. ‘I’ll see to Will.’
    Margaret looked at Angus, who grinned but said nothing until Mary had departed.
    ‘She fancies him, so they say.’ He nodded as James stepped back inside. ‘I see the Comyn has left the old boller to Mary’s care.’
    James shook his head. ‘I did not find him.’
    In the morning Margaret and her maid Celia climbed High Street for Mass at St Giles. The fog that lay over the town was chilly on Margaret’s face, but she knew it to be a sign of a warm, sunny afternoon and looked forward to taking her mending out into the sunlight. She wrapped herself with the promise of warmth as she entered the drafty nave.
    A priest stepped into her path. ‘Father Francis,’ she said with a little bow. He should have been in the sacristy preparing for the service. ‘Is there no Mass today?’
    ‘I would speak to you first.’ He drew her aside into a corner well away from the arriving parishioners. ‘You should hear this before the gossips spread the word. Mary Brewster sent for me early this morning after finding Old Will lying in his rooms in a faint, beaten about the head. He reeked of ale and vomit. I thought you might know something of his last evening.’
    Margaret hugged her stomach, recalling the state the old man had been in when he left the tavern. ‘I sent James Comyn after Will when he left the tavern, but he’d disappeared,’ she whispered. ‘What was Mary doing in Old Will’s chamber?’ She had not believed Angus MacLaren’s claim thatMary fancied the old man.
    ‘She says it had been her habit to take him bread and ale after such an evening.’ The nave was filling. ‘I must be quick,’ said the priest. ‘He said something to Mary about an open door and crawling inside for warmth, that he’d lusted after other men’s women and other men’s wealth, particularly Murdoch Kerr’s wealth, and swore that he’d meant no harm.’
    ‘Had he stolen something?’ Margaret asked.
    ‘I don’t know. He said much the same thing to me. Part of it seemed a vague confession of his chief sins. But the open door … And he said, “I emptied my belly without and crawled in for the warmth. I saw naught.” Murdoch might wish to check his undercroft.’
    Margaret nodded. ‘I’ll tell him. And when Old Will recovers—’
    Father Francis shook his head. ‘He passed as I was blessing him. At least he died shriven, may he rest in peace.’ The priest crossed himself, as did Margaret. ‘Now I must leave you.’
    Expectations of a sunlit afternoon’s work no longer cheered Margaret and in a solemn mood she turned to Celia, who had stood by near enough to overhear.
    Tiny Celia shook her head and drew her dark brows even more closely together than usual in a worried frown. ‘He named only your uncle?’
    ‘Yes. I pray Mary does not spread that about.’
    ‘But it can’t be Master Murdoch who killed him. I won’t believe it.’
    ‘I don’t think it was my uncle. In faith, I can’t think who would commit such an act against Old Will.’
    They moved forward to join the others.
    ‘Poor old man,’ Margaret said under her breath. ‘He harmed only himself with his drink, no others.’
    ‘Sim said Will had angered some at the tavern last night.’ Celia did not look up from her paternoster beads as she spoke.
    ‘He upset a bench. They were happy with fresh drinks.’
    ‘Was your uncle there last night?’
    ‘No. God help us, Uncle was always kind to Old Will. He never sent him home until he had slept off some of the ale.’
    ‘I only wondered