Free The Fire in the Flint by Candace Robb Page A

– but she had perhaps already found one, and there was the rub. She should be glad to have a commitment from him – James had said only that he would consider it. Even more, she should prefer travelling with her husband to their home. It was what she had come to Edinburgh to do, to find him, to coax him home. Not that she had expected to succeed in drawing him back to Perth, but that hadbeen the end for which she had prayed most fervently. Clearly she had lost the habit of counting on Roger. Indeed she was working against him in the matter of the king; she did not even trust him with the truth of her allegiance. She felt prickly and unable to think clearly.
    Lifting her head, she found herself already past the quiet market place and in the shadow of St Giles. Slipping into the nave, she had a moment of panic such as she had never experienced before in God’s house. The high arching ceilings, the empty vastness that the candles and windows illuminated in such a way as to make the unlit spaces seem darker than the night-time streets, the chill of the stones not kissed by sunlight since placed there, all conspired to disorient her as to season, time of day, even whether she were still on earth or had stepped off its face into another, dark and sinister world. She bowed her head and prayed for the terror to pass, for God to forgive her for whatever trespass had earned her such fear in His house.
    A man and woman brushed past her, moving towards a chapel in the north aisle, arguing in hushed voices that were louder than their normal voices. ‘I did not call you a liar, it’s your brother who tells the tales.’
    The touch of humanity broke the terrifying spell. Was that her sin, the tension between her and Roger? Margaret crossed herself and sought Mary’s altar, kneeling before it with patheticrelief. Feeling like a child who looked to an adult to make everything better, she prayed to the Virgin Mary for peace and joy in her marriage, then amended her prayer to a request for guidance in restoring her marriage. Even as she whispered the words Margaret knew her duty was to go with her husband, to make an effort to heal their rift. Roger’s temporary desertion did not free her from her vows. Her promise to assist James had not been made in the sanctity of a sacrament, but her marriage vows had been. The clarity with which she now saw her duty must be the Blessed Mother’s inspiration, and she was ashamed by the resentment in her heart. She pulled her paternoster beads from the embroidered scrip at her waist and began a rosary for her soul, praying that she might find the strength to follow the Blessed Mother’s advice. Gradually, with the repetition of prayers, her eyes grew heavy and her mind numbed. She must have dozed, for she started with a sudden awareness of James kneeling beside her on the wide prie-dieu. His nearness – they almost touched elbows – was disturbing and yet comforting.
    ‘It is strange to find you here,’ she whispered.
    ‘I wondered whether you are still in need of an escort to Perth,’ said James, ‘or whether your husband’s presence has changed your plans.’
    How quickly he’d learned of Roger’s return. ‘Is there anything you don’t know?’
    ‘What you’ve done to inspire such loyalty in your maid.’ His voice teased.
    ‘She refused to answer prying questions?’
    ‘Not only that, she lied about the identity of Aylmer’s master.’
    Margaret smiled down at her folded hands. Celia was a trustworthy friend.
    ‘None of my servants would do so much for me,’ James added.
    ‘Roger has suggested we go home to Perth,’ Margaret said, answering his original query.
    ‘Ah.’ James nodded. ‘Do you ken his purpose in coming to Edinburgh? Is it for the Bruce?’
    ‘He says he missed me.’ Margaret shoved her beads into her scrip.
    ‘I did not mean to doubt that he has missed you.’
    Margaret felt herself blush. ‘I did not take it so.’
    ‘I am glad of that.’ He sounded