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A Trust Betrayed
opens a riveting
new series of medieval murder mysteries, set in Scotland at the time
of Robert the Bruce.
It is the spring of 1297,
and Margaret Kerr is desperately afraid - her merchant husband Roger
has been missing since Martinmas and Margaret doesn't even know if he
is still alive. When his cousin Jack is brutally murdered in Edinburgh,
she resolves to go there herself to uncover the truth. But Scotland
is a country at war, Edinburgh an occupied city and English soldiers
are patrolling the streets. It is no place for a woman alone. Although
Margaret has the comfort of her brother, Father Andrew, a monk at the
Holyrood nearby, he seems powerless to help her. And as she starts asking
questions in the city, she begins to discover just how little she really
knows her husband…
Father Andrew sat at prayer
in the cloister blowing on his hands frequently. Though the sun shone,
the wind was still chilly. He did not know why he stayed - his mind
was too full to pray. A servant approached, settling his gaze on Andrew
as he spotted him. Perhaps Goodwife Logan had changed her mind about
lodging Margaret. Andrew nodded to the servant.
'Dame Kerr has come to
see you, Father Andrew. She awaits you in the parlour.'
Crossing himself and dusting
off his habit, Andrew made his way to the parlour. How annoying. No
doubt she came alone and he would need to find someone to escort her
back.
Margaret looked agitated.
He could tell by how she tucked her hands beneath her mantle, as if
they could not be trusted. Her eyelids were swollen. Heaven know what
Murdoch had seen fit to tell her.
'Benedicte, Maggie. I did
not think to see you here.'
'Benedicte, Andrew.'
'Did you come without escort?'
'No. A young man led me
into Canongate on an ass. Like the Blessed Virgin entering Bethlehem.'
She smiled, but it was a cold twist of her mouth. Already Edinburgh
poisoned her.
'You are not as content
at uncle's inn as you thought to be?'
'Why didn't you tell me
of Mistress Grey?'
St Columba, Murdoch had
told her of the woman so soon? 'All merchants have mistresses, Maggie.'
'Do they?' she snapped,
then her eyes widened. 'So she was his mistress.'
The mysterious Mistress
Grey was not someone he wished to discuss with Margaret. 'Who told you
about her?'
'What does it matter?'
'Uncle Murdoch?'
'He assured me she was
too grand to be Roger's mistress.'
Andrew would like to know
what Murdoch thought Mistress Grey was to Sinclair if not a mistress.
'I am sorry you heard of her all the same, Maggie.'
'She stayed in the room
I slept in the past three nights.'
Here was safe ground. He
told Margaret he had already discussed her lodging with one of the women
of the parish. She was unable to accommodate Margaret, but there were
others to ask.
'It is a steep climb from
here to Edinburgh,' Margaret said, biting the inside of her cheek, an
unbecoming habit. 'And with a body found in the Tummel nearby, not a
safe one, perhaps.' She nodded to herself. 'All the more reason to stay
in Edinburgh rather than risk walking through both Canongate and Edinburgh
every day.'
'You are better off at
home than in either of them, Maggie. In Perth. Once King Edward departed
the men grew coarser. And you in a tavern. By all that is holy-'
'I have had no trouble,
brother. Not here. It was not so at home when Edward came through with
his men. Roger could tell you.' Her voice broke. She looked away. 'Edward
Longshanks thinks we are beasts, and would treat us so.'
'Maggie.' Andrew reached
for her.
She put on a brave face.
'I'll bide at Uncle Murdoch's for now. Celia, however, is to return
to Dunfermline. If you hear of a company in which she might travel,
I pray you send me word.'
'Idle journeys are not
common these days.'
'Idle maids are ever common.
I need a laundress and a chambermaid. I have too much work and Celia
will be useless.'
'You cannot work there.'
'I have no wish to live
in filth.'
'You should have better
lodgings.'
'I do not need them. I
shall make the inn better lodgings.'
'Promise me you will not
be seen in the tavern.'
'This is not a time for
the manners of a fine lady, Andrew. I am strong and capable, and I cannot
think that any man would risk Murdoch's anger by laying hands on me.
But I do need a laundress and a chambermaid.'
'Is that why you came?
To tell me that? All that way?' She was impossible.
Margaret drew herself up,
her sharp chin thrust out, the hazel eyes beneath the pale red brows
hot with anger. 'Why did I come? I hoped to find solace in my brother.
Why, I cannot say. You have never comforted me. You did not even tell
me what you knew of Roger.'
Perhaps Andrew had been
wrong not to tell her. He could think of nothing to say that would calm
her. He lamely asked, 'What would Roger say about your being here?'
He knew it was a mistake the moment he said it.
She caught her breath.
Her fine eyes glistened. How like their mother Margaret was. Does she
know my secrets?
Softly she said, 'It is
because of my husband that I am here.' Catching her skirts, she swept
out the door. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Such a knot of feelings
washed over Andrew as she departed. Their mother had predicted trouble
for him, but she had not said it would touch every part of his life.
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