‘No, no! His name is Roger and yes, he’s English. He’s been my bodyguard, assigned to me by the Duke of Gloucester, ever since we left London.’
Master Sinclair was obviously puzzled, a frown creasing his high, wide forehead.
‘Your bodyguard? But surely Donald and Murdo and the others …’
Albany broke in tetchily, ‘Leave that for now. I’ll explain later. As I said, your affairs are more pressing than mine, and Roger, here, has a reputation as a solver of mysteries. A fine reputation,’ he insisted as the other man would once again have interrupted with a question. ‘He has solved problems for my Cousin Gloucester himself. Now, what higher recommendation could there be than that?’ He eased his buttocks where the edge of the two boards that comprised the bed’s base cut into him. ‘So, my dear friend, tell us the story. From what we have heard, there seems no doubt that you were found with Aline’s body. Rumour goes that you were discovered with the knife in your hand.’
His companion shuddered. ‘Rumour doesn’t lie.’
I decided it was time that I took a part in the conversation. I was tired of being ignored and treated as though I were in truth nothing more than a lantern-bearer.
‘Rumour also goes that you claim to be innocent, Master Sinclair. In the circumstances, how is that possible?’
He glanced at me in surprise as though a cockroach had crawled out of the wall and spoken, then looked a query at the duke.
Albany said impatiently, ‘You must trust Roger, Rab. He’s no ordinary serving man.’
‘I’m not even a serving man,’ I informed him shortly. ‘I’m a chapman by trade and my own master.’
‘A pedlar?’ Master Sinclair visibly reeled.
Albany gripped his friend’s wrist and gave it a shake.
‘You have to trust us both, Rab. Now, for the sake of sweet heaven and all its saints, tell us why you are innocent. Did someone else kill Aline, is that it? Did you stumble across her body and pick up the knife?’
Master Sinclair shook his head. ‘No. I killed her.’ He drew a deep breath, gave me another leery glance and from then on, addressed himself exclusively to the duke. ‘It was self-defence,’ he said. ‘I thought she was going to kill me.’
‘Aline?’ Albany was frankly incredulous. ‘Rab, she adored you. You adored one another. And she was one of the gentlest creatures alive.’
Master Sinclair made a wry mouth. ‘That’s what everyone thought. It’s what I thought myself. Oh, you’re right about one thing. I adored her. From the first moment I saw her I thought her the most perfect woman I’d ever met. But there!’ he heaved a deep sigh. ‘Better men than I have been deceived by a beautiful face.’
‘But … But why, by all that’s holy, should she want you dead?’
The other man grimaced. ‘Surely that’s not difficult to fathom, my lord. It might have been greed for my fortune, but it wasn’t that …’
‘I should hope not,’ Albany interrupted. ‘You were the most generous husband alive. I have never seen another woman so bedecked with tokens of her husband’s affection than Aline was. You gave her everything her heart desired.’
Again came that rueful twist of the lips. ‘Not everything, my lord. You forget, I am twelve years older than she is — was — and therefore perhaps not always as virile as she would have wished.’
‘Pooh! What nonsense! Why, I’ve known you satisfy eight or nine whores in the Golden Horn in a single evening. Come, come, man! In our younger days, you were known as the biggest ram in Edinburgh. You can’t have changed that much. I’ve only been away three years.’
‘Long enough, my lord. Three years can take their toll on even the most virile of us. But no, I must admit I wasn’t conscious of neglecting Aline. Not in that way. Not in any way, if it comes to that. If anything, I would have said I was even more attentive since giving up my wilder habits and settling down as a sober married man.’
Albany picked his nose reflectively, then wiped his finger on his purple velvet sleeve.
‘Are you saying,’ he asked, but on a note of disbelief, ‘that there was another man? That Aline had taken a lover?’ Master Sinclair nodded his head. ‘Then who was he, for heaven’s sake?’
‘Now that I’m afraid I do not know.’
I decided it was time to make my voice heard again, so I asked the obvious question before Albany had time to do so.
‘Then how do you know that what you’re claiming is the truth?’
‘Besides,’ the duke chimed in, suddenly shifting and scratching as something nasty in the bed’s scanty straw mattress bit him, ‘if it’s the truth, and Aline was indeed cuckolding you with someone else, no jury in the country would convict you. For Christ’s sweet sake, Rab, if this is what you really think, you must have some idea of who it was.’
The man beside him gave a sob. ‘That’s the trouble, I don’t. She never mentioned him by name.’
‘Mentioned him?’ Albany was incredulous. ‘Do you mean to say that Aline — Aline of all women — was brazen enough to boast to you that she was bedding with a lover? No, no, my dear friend! I find that very hard to believe.’
Rab Sinclair moved impatiently, jangling the chain that shackled him to the wall.
‘No, of course she didn’t! What woman in her right senses would?’ He saw Albany’s eyebrows lift in hauteur and immediately apologized. ‘Forgive me, my dear lord, for speaking so sharply. A very few days in this place makes a man forget his manners.’ The duke nodded understandingly and signed to him to continue, which he did after a moment to draw breath. ‘No, no! Aline gave me no indication by either look or word or deed that she loved me any the less. Looking back, I can acknowledge that it was the most perfect performance. I suspected nothing — nothing, that is, until, quite by chance, I discovered the book.’
‘What book?’ Albany and I asked almost in chorus.
‘Some leaves of parchment with a couple of holes skewered through each page and the lot bound together with ribbon. Scarlet ribbon,’ Master Sinclair added, as though the colour had some relevance (which I suppose it might have done in his eyes).
‘So? What of this … this book, as you call it?’ Albany was growing a trifle impatient as more and more uninvited guests decided to sample the royal blood. I could feel them hopping over my own skin as I tried to shift the little beasts with a vigorous scratch. Master Sinclair seemed indifferent to the creatures’ bite.
He went on, ‘The leaves were covered in Aline’s writing, which I recognized at once. She had a very small and delicate hand, as though a spider had walked across the page.’
‘And?’ I asked with an impatience that outstripped Albany’s, as Rab Sinclair seemed inclined to dwell with a lingering fondness on his wife’s fine script. My belly was reminding me it must be well past ten o’clock and that it was empty. It was a thought that also seemed to have occurred to the duke as he patted his stomach, belched up some wind and remarked that it was a long time since breakfast at the abbey.
Master Sinclair apologized once more; to Albany, of course, not to me. So I urged again, ‘What had Mistress Sinclair written? Are we permitted to know?’
‘Naturally you’re permitted to know! It’s the whole point of the story.’ I had at last managed to capture his attention and he had actually turned his head and spoken directly to me.
‘Well?’
By this time my legs were aching and, my eyes having become adjusted to the gloom, I noticed a small, three-legged stool in another corner of the cell, so I dragged it forward and sat myself down. It was low for my height and my knees were uncomfortably close to my chin, but at least it removed the weight from my feet. Albany regarded me thoughtfully, but made no remark, silencing his friend, who was goggling at me as though I had taken leave of my senses, with a quick motion of his hand.