The Fire in the Flint Read Online Free

needed at home. At least he might have been of use there.
    Margaret had gone over the letter many times since Father Francis had read it to her, picking out the words she had learned to read over the summer. She feared she’d been wrong to remain in Edinburgh, that perhaps she had left Fergus with too much responsibility. He sounded frightened. And with the inn so little used as a hostelry of late, Murdoch could manage without her. Still, the countryside was dangerous, full of men with bloodlust and little to do, so she might not have found an escort to Perth.
    She closed the door to the undercroft, secured the lock, and then headed for Janet Webster’s house.

2
     

A V ISITOR
     
    Leaving Janet’s, Murdoch hurried along beside Margaret in his smuggler’s rolling, ship-born gait, barking questions to which she had no answers and would not have responded to in public even if she did have them. By now all in the town would know of Old Will’s death and they would be eager to overhear anything concerning it, even Murdoch’s litany of questions. His foolhardiness in speaking so loudly did more to convince Margaret that his shock was genuine than did all his protestations that he had been far more patient with Old Will than anyone else in town had been, or Janet’s assurances that Murdoch had been with her all night. Janet often lied for him.
    Once in the undercroft, Murdoch slammed the door, then commanded Margaret to open wide the shutter on the lantern. That he did not order her toleave was even more telling.
    The light picked out the scar that split Murdoch’s thick eyebrows off-centre. ‘It was a brave thing you did, Maggie, opening this door.’
    She basked for a moment in her uncle’s praise but as she surveyed the chaos in the aisled chamber, fear stole her breath. Barrels, caskets, chests, usually stacked in rows, some on trestles, were turned over, spilling their contents on the packed earth floor. Wine pooled nearby. What she had seen earlier in the light from the doorway had been nothing compared with this.
    ‘They spent a good long while here,’ Murdoch said, sounding weary. Most of the treasures in the undercroft were booty from his years as a smuggler. ‘They took a risk in staying so long, with folk passing down the wynd to the tavern all evening.’ He began to pick his way through the overturned barrels and chests.
    ‘Anyone passing by would think it was you they heard in here,’ Margaret said.
    ‘That may be, but it was still a risk, and someone thought it worth taking. I doubt they hesitated before cracking Old Will’s head open. It’s a wonder they let him crawl away.’
    Margaret did not want to think about Old Will at the moment. When fear overtook her she was of use to no one, particularly herself. She watched Murdoch crouch to set a casket upright and scoop the spilled contents back in. The ring of the coinsand trinkets sounded incongruously cheerful.
    ‘How will you ever tell what they took?’ Margaret wondered.
    ‘I can see already that a few costly items small enough to fit in a man’s palm are missing. But they left much of value, so it’s not trinkets and coins they were after.’ He set the refilled casket aside and waded further into the room. ‘Follow me with the lantern.’
    Margaret tucked one end of her skirt into her girdle so that she could step over the tumbled items with the lantern in hand. Murdoch had paused to wait for her. When she began to move, he continued. He swung his head back and forth surveying the damage, but stopped for nothing, heading steadily towards the furthest corner.
    Margaret knew what he kept back there. ‘You are thinking they were after the casket Da left in your care.’ Malcolm Kerr had left the casket of documents with his brother when he departed for Bruges the previous year.
    Murdoch set a barrel upright to clear a path. ‘Or your husband’s. Or both.’ Roger had also entrusted to Murdoch the small document casket that he usually