A Trust Betrayed Read Online Free PDF Page A

merchants, fat-bellied and well-dressed—no ostentation in their garb, of course, no need to call attention to themselves in such times; an elderly couple, with a boy of ten or so who complained loudly that his boots were wet, all three wrapped in fine mantles held shut with silver brooches; two servants who accompanied the three; two clerics, both quite humble, one a lay priest in patched clothing, the other a Dominican friar; several young men with the stony expressions of soldiers—Scots, but, as they were heading south, perhaps hoping to join the English.
     
    The friar stood beside Andrew. They had talked a little, as strangers do in such places, discussing the weather, the crossing. The friar’s hood was so wet it clung to his head, and it and the rest of his black habit was mud-stained and much mended. He was unshaven and encrusted with more dirt than the rain could rinse away.
     
    “You have journeyed far, Brother?” Andrew said now.
     
    “What is far to one of my order, Father? Dominicans travel everywhere there are souls to save.”
     
    One of the seven crew members stepped out onto the dock, eyed the waiting crowd, and shouted for attention—he had to shout to be heard above the wind, the crashing waves, the shrieking gulls.
     
    “All you who would board this ferry beware. This is a treacherous water.”
     
    One of   those disembarking said to the friar as he passed, “Some might find the English soldiers at Dalmeny a greater danger than the sea.”
     
    “Soldiers at Dalmeny?” a woman moaned.
     
    Had she no sense? Of course the English would guard the ferry—they would be fools not to.
     
    A man armed with a broadsword withdrew from the cluster waiting at the dock. Margaret had noted the weapon when the wind caught the man’s cloak. It had been covered quickly. Now one of the men who had disembarked bowed slightly toward the armed man and joined him. A murmur went through the crowd.
     
    “The man with the broadsword is William, the younger son of Malcolm Wallace,” said Andrew, speaking softly. “He has been at St. Andrews. Bishop Wishart and James the Steward have had words with him.”
     
    Margaret followed the man’s progress through the small crowd, saw yet another man join him. It was a moment before she registered her surprise. “The Bishop of Glasgow and the Steward of Scotland? What would they want with a thief like William Wallace?”
     
    “Thief ?” Andrew looked down at Margaret, droplets of rain falling from the edge of his hood to his beaked nose. “You have confused him with someone else,” he said.
     
    Margaret thought it rewarding to know something Andrew did not for once. “He robbed a wealthy widow of Perth of food and ale. His slow companion was caught. He named his accomplice as William Wallace.”
     
    Andrew grunted. “Young Wallace a thief ? Foolish talk. I do not believe it.”
     
    Margaret felt the friar’s eyes upon her. He studied her so closely she dropped her head, sorry to have spoken.
     
    Fortunately, they had begun to board the ferry. Andrew and Matthew took charge of the party’s horses, coaxing them aboard and into the enclosed space for beasts, where they could be restrained with harnesses. As they boarded, a wave caught the vessel, panicking Celia’s horse. The friar, leading his horse behind them, called out to the foot passengers to help. One grabbed the reins of the other horse in Matthew’s charge.
     
    Margaret pushed through the crowd, climbed up onto the deck of the bucking vessel. “Matthew, let me have the reins while you cover his eyes.” She took the bridle firmly in hand, talked to the horse, calming him as Matthew blindfolded him with a strip of cloth.
     
    The cold rain stung Margaret’s face and the fierce wind that carried it tore at her breath. She was grateful to have both cloaks and held them close to shield her face, but she lost hold of them whenever a wave tossed the ferry and she was thrown against Celia’s