It was evening when this pleasant interval of accord was interrupted. A sudden great hullabaloo and outcry from outside, from the direction of the gatehouse and drawbridge, sent David striding to the nearest window. Quite a large company of horsemen were milling about just beyond the artificial ditch spanned by the drawbridge, which separated the promontory from the mainland, many of them with blazing torches held high, while two of their shadowy number held a shouted exchange with the porters on the gatehouse parapet.
'Ah – company!' Patrick's voice sounded softly at his brother's shoulder. 'A pity, perhaps, that they could not wait until morning. We were so… well content.' He turned back into the great vaulted hall. 'You will excuse me, my dears? It seems that I must go play host.'
'Who is it, Patrick?' Marie asked, tension coming back into her voice. 'At this hour? What can it be?'
'That remains to be seen,' he told her easily. 'Nothing for you to distress yourself over, at least. And there is victual enough here to feed a host.' He closed the door behind him.
Marie looked from Mary to David. 'So short a time,' she sighed. 'It is not… your father?'
'No,' David perked. 'It is a large company. But whoever it is, my lord it is not! He will never darken this door, I fear. Patrick has fulfilled the rest of his vow, yes – that he would make this rickle of stones a palace that the King might envy. But he will never bring his father here to his gate, begging admittance, as he swore. Some tasks are beyond even Patrick.'
'I would not be so sure,' Marie said, shaking her head. 'Do not underestimate him, Davy. But a few days ago he won from the King the appointment of Sheriff of Forfar – in place of his father. So that he is now justiciar of all this region. Why? Why should he saddle himself with all this duty and responsibility? It is not like Patrick to take on such tasks. He will require to pay a deputy, since I swear he has no intention of dwelling always here in the sheriffdom. So that he will make little out of it.'
David whisded soundlessly. 'My lord was much hurt at being dismissed the office. He has held it long – and is moreover an Extra Lord of Session. But… he does not know that it is Patrick who succeeds him. That will be the sorer blow.'
'Yes. But that is the least of it, Davy. Do you not see? What it means? He is now the law in this sheriffdom, the voice of the King. If any transgress that law, or the King's will, Patrick can summon the same to him. Here, to Broughty. To judgment. And they must come, or suffer oudawry, banishment. Including my lord of Gray – should some transgression be suggested!'
'God's mercy! This is… this is…'
'This is Patrick! He has not told me that this is his purpose. But I think that I know his mind.'
Mary spoke. 'If we could but bring them together. In love, not in hurt.' Her dark eyes were pools of trouble. 'Deep in his heart I believe that Granlord aches for his son. And Patrick does not hate his father – only what he stands for, I think. He must beat all who oppose him.'
'Perhaps,' David sighed. 'Think you that I have not tried? All my life I have tried. There is that between them neither will yield…'
He stopped. Plain for all to hear came the thin wailing of bagpipes.
They stared at each other.
'Dear Lord!' David exclaimed. 'I know only one man who so loves that sound that he must have it even here and now! Huntly!'
'Huntly – here!' Marie looked startled. 'But, why? What could bring him here? So far from Strathbogie. That man…!'
'I do not know. But this I do know – that wherever that turkey-cock gobbles there is trouble.'
'This… this could be construed as treason! Harbouring Huntly, who is banished to his own North…' Marie faltered.
'This may be why we are here, nevertheless,' Mary suggested quietly. 'We came here to Broughty. So that Patrick might meet Huntly. Secretly.'
'I thought of it,' Marie admitted. 'But why bring us, then? Better without us, surely?'
'Patrick knew that he was coming,' Mary insisted. 'Or that someone would come.'
In doubt they eyed each other.
A moment or two later the door was flung open, and on a gale of sound Huntly strode in, a moving mountain of flesh, tartans, armour, jewellery and eagles' feathers, with Patrick behind him. He had not doffed his bonnet. Even Marie rose to her feet.
'Greetings, my lord of Huntly, to this house,' she said, somewhat thickly. 'In this season of goodwill and peace. We… we wish you well. You have not brought your lady wife?'
'Wife…? God – no! I do not travel the passes in winter on women's work, Lady!' Huntly boomed. 'A blessing on your house.' His choleric eye lighted on David Gray, and he looked as though he might retract that benediction. 'You!' he barked.
'Aye, my lord,' that man gave back evenly. 'It is a far cry from Strathbogie.'
'My lord of Huntly has come south on important business,' Patrick interposed, pleasantly. 'On the King's business, indeed. He heard in Dundee that we were at Broughty, and came, assured of a welcome in any house of mine.'
'Young Jamie Stewart needs my services,' the Earl amplified, chuckling. 'He'll no' long manage this realm without Gordon!'
'But… only north of Dee, is it not, my lord?' Marie said. 'Coming south, thus, do you not endanger yourself? And… and others?'
'Wait you!' the other advised her shortly, cryptically. 'You will see.'
Marie inclined her fair head. 'No doubt.' She swallowed. 'Now, my lord – you will be weary, and hungered. If you will come with me, I shall see to your comfort. And your people also. How many…?'
'There is no need, my dear,' the Master mentioned. 'I have already given orders. All is in train. If you will come with me, my lord…?'
When the door closed behind her visitor again, Marie sat down abruptly. 'There is villainy here!' she exclaimed. 'I smell it. I hate and fear that man.'
'And yet, if such there is, then it would be Patrick who conceived it, not the Earl of Huntly.'
Surprised, the other two looked at Mary. It had always been the girl's part to uphold Patrick, to speak for him, to find excuse. This was a notable change.
'That is true,' David nodded. 'Huntly is a vain and stupid man, with not a tithe of Patrick's wits. If he is here, it is because Patrick moved him to come:'
*Yes. So that, if there is danger in it, hurt, Huntly himself is in more danger than are any of us whom Patrick loves,' Mary pointed out. 'We should, perhaps, be sorry for my lord.'
Marie suddenly buried her face in her hands.
Both of them went to her, Mary to kneel beside her chair, David to stand behind her, his hand on her bowed shoulder.
'Do not be downcast, lassie,' he said thickly. 'Naught may come of it – naught of harm. You have faced much worse than this – and smiled through it.'
'Oh, Davy! Davy!' she mumbled brokenly, reaching out to clutch his arm. But she kept her head down.
'My dear,' he said.
Mary looked from one to the other, but said nothing.
'I am foolish, Davy – oh, I know that I am foolish,' Marie declared. 'But I am tired, weary of it all. Weary of struggling, of fighting against shadows, of fearing what each day may bring, of living a lie…'
'You never lived or thought or told a lie, all your days, woman!' the man declared, deep-voiced, set-faced. 'I know you.'
'Do you, Daw? Do you? Even so?' She looked up at him, now, urgently. 'Oh, I wish that it was true! You do not know that even now I am living a lie – and to you. To vou both. And endangering you, it may be, because of it. For there was danger, treason itself perhaps, in this house before Huntly came to it – and I did not tell you. There are Jesuits living here secretly – priests, emissaries, spies from France and Spain, sheltered here by Patrick…'
'Jesuits! Here?' David looked startled.
'Yes. It seems that they have been here for months. Coming and going. They use this house as a centre for their journeys and missions. They are thought of here as but foreign artists and craftsmen, employed by Patrick in the building and plenishing of this ca
stle, working in paint and plaster and glass and tapestry. Some indeed do so. They can come and go secretly by boat, at night. None can observe them, on this seagirt headland. They could scarce have it better arranged.'
'Aye, that I see,' David sighed. 'So Patrick still paddles in that mire! I had thought that in this, at least, he would have learned his lesson. What does it mean? That still he hopes to restore the Catholics to power in Scotland? Is that why Huntly is here – the greatest Catholic of the realm? Is Patrick truly a Catholic himself, at heart, Marie?'
'God knows – for I do not!' she cried. 'Patrick's heart lies well buried. I know not what he is, or what he believes, deep down. Or where his heart lies. Even after these years… '
'Save that he loves you. Lady Marie,' Mary put in quietly. 'That you know.'
Slowly, steadily, the older woman turned to look at the younger. 'Do I so, Mary?' she asked, at length. 'Do I know that, if driven to it, he would not sacrifice me also, to his scheming? Use me, like all others, as but a pawn in his game. Has he not done so, indeed?'
Mary shook her head. 'Not to your hurt. Not of intention. He loves you. Indeed he loves all three here. Each differently. That we do know, if naught else.'
'He has used me full often, for his gain and my risk,' her father jerked. 'And you also, girl, I think. Let us not cozen ourselves. Enough to have Patrick ever cozening us… '
More shouting from the gatehouse stopped him. There was no such outcry as formerly, but clearly some new visitor was demanding admittance this busy Yuletide night, against the gate-porters' doubts. David stepped over to the window again.
'But the one man, I think,' he reported, peering out into the dark. 'It is hard to see. Only the gatehouse torches to light him. Some messenger for Patrick, no doubt. Aye – there clank the drawbridge chains. They are letting him in.'
'Wherever Patrick may be, messengers come day and night,' Marie said, shrugging. 'At least, this one comes openly at the gate, and does not slip in at a secret postern, from the sea.'
It was a little time before voices sounded from the echoing stone-vaulted passage without, one of them urgent, excited. The door opened to reveal a travel-stained, mud-spattered and dishevelled young man, blinking in the light, with Patrick behind him.
'Vicky!' Mary exclaimed, and started forward, before she recollected herself.
Lennox came to her without hesitation or ceremony, and undoubtedly would have embraced her before them all had she not drawn back. Only perfunctorily, then, at her warning gesture, did he pay his respects to his hostess and nod to David.
'Vicky has strange tidings. From Edinburgh,' Patrick mentioned easily. 'Most… interesting.'
'I faith, I'd call it more than that!' the young man burst out. 'It was treason. Rebellion! Only by a mercy was the King saved.'
'Precisely,' Patrick nodded. 'As I said – distressing.'
'The King? Rebellion? Not… not Huntly?' Marie gasped.
'Huntly…? No. How should it be? It was Bothwell. He struck yesterday. On Christmas Day. At Holyroodhouse. With many men. They came at darkening. Wild mosstroopers and broken men. How many I do not know – but they swarmed like rats over the palace. We were all at the Queen's revels, in the banqueting hall. Save James. And Maitland. James had gone back to his books and papers, tiring of the Danish play. The Guard was keeping Yule in my lord of Orkney's quarters. Mar, the new Captain, was with the Queen. As was I. We found ourselves to be locked in the banqueting hall, with Bothwell's bullyrooks guarding the doors. I won out through a window, to reach the Guard. But they were for the most part drunken, or… or…'
'Aye – we know how it would be!' That was Davy, briefly, as the other paused, partly for breath. 'What of the King?' 'Aye – what of the King, Vicky?'
'He was locked in his room. In his own tower. The guards on the stairs had the wit to lock the great double doors at the foot of the tower, when they heard the din and clash. They shouted to the guard on Maitland's tower, across the court, to do the same. Bothwell had not considered that – or else his men were slow. No doubt he thought to find James with the Queen and the rest at the revels in the hall. The great doors held. One is a yett of iron. So they could not get at James. So little a thing saved the King.'
'Saved the King…?' Marie echoed, appalled. 'But, what would Bothwell have done, Vicky? What was his purpose? You do not think that he would have harmed the King? Done him a hurt?'
'I do not know. Some said that he would have slain him. In revenge for imprisoning him, and naming him devilpossessed. All know that Bothwell is half-crazed…!'
'Nonsense!' Patrick intervened. 'Whoever so said is equally crazed. How would it serve Bothwell to kill the King? He would turn all against him. It is but the old game. He who holds the King holds the power.'
'He may have thought to make himself king in James's place,' Ludovick claimed. 'He is of the royal house. Closer than am I, save for the illegitimacy…'
'But that is all-important. And others are closer still, but with the same taint. Marie's father. Moray. No, no – he would but hold the King. Get rid of Maitland and the others. Be assured of that.'
'James feared for his life, nevertheless. Still does.'
'James always does that! Bothwell is not so great a fool. He would have all against him if he slew the King. Including Elizabeth, who presently aids him. But… how stands the position now, Vicky? How do they, now?'
'James is in Edinburgh Castle, safe. Bothwell's Borderers could not gain entry to his tower. I roused such of the Guard as I might. There was much fighting.' Ludovick flushed slighdy, stumbling over his words. 'I… I killed a man! It was him or me. He had a whinger. Swording. He near had me. I could not get my sword out of him. It was fast held. He had a black beard. Blood running down it… ' His voice tailed away.
'Vicky!' Mary came to his side, to hold his arm. 'Dear Vicky -1 am sorry!'
With an obvious effort die young man recovered himself. 'They were too many. We could not hold them,' he went on, jerkily. 'We were driven back. I got away. Took one of their horses. I won past their picquets. Into the town. I went to the Tolbooth. Roused them there. Had the bells rung – to summon the lieges. To bring out the Blue Blanket. Turned out the Town Guard. We had the church bells ringing. The burghers took long about it – but the apprentices rallied quickly. With them, and the Town Guard, I went back to the palace. And with some lords lodging in the town. Four score of us, perhaps – or a hundred. At first we could do little, against Bothwell's men who held the gates. But when the burghers and the crafts came, with their Blue Blanket, to save the King – then they could not hold us. They came in thousands – half the town. Shouting for the King. We forced the gates. The mosstroopers could not stand against so many. They fled. But I heard Bothwell shouting that he would be back. That he would burn the city, and hang the provost and bailies. So the provost hanged eight of the Borderers that they had caught. In front of the palace. As a warning…'
Panting, the Duke took the glass of wine that Mary was holding out to him, and gulped it down unsteadily. His features, under the grime of long and hard riding, were lined with weariness.
'You would seem, Vicky, to have been most… adequate,' Patrick murmured. 'Quite the paladin! And Bothwell notably ineffective. A bungler. So the town mob saved James, did it? I had scarce thought that he was so popular! Or is it just that they mislike Bothwell more?'
Lennox raised his brows. 'They but did their duty to their liege lord, as leal citizens, did they not?'
'Ah, yes. Of course, bless them!' The Master, though he spoke lightly, was clearly somewhat preoccupied, his mind not wholly on this exchange. 'And now the position is…?'
'The townsfolk carried James up to the Castle. He was in great alarm. He could scarce speak. I saw him safe bedded there. Then I took horse forthwith. To ride here. To tell you.'
'Vicky! You did not sleep first? You have not rested, since that evil fighting? You rode through the night? And all day…?' Mary was shocked.
'It w
as necessary. It is a long ride. I have worn out three horses. I had to come, Mary. All is confusion at Court. Bothwell is not far away. Only at Crichton, they say. Gathering more men. He can raise thousands, from the Border valleys and Lothian and the Merse. He said that he would be back. None knows what to do. James is safe for the nonce – but all the realm is endangered. I could think only of coming here, to you…'
'What of the Chancellor? My lord Maitland? Is not all in his capable hands?' Patrick wondered.
'He is a clerk, no more! As you know. He blames all, but does nothing. Save pray! He is at the Castle likewise, but helpless. None need him, anyway. Mar talks loud enough, but knows not what to do. You, Patrick, I thought… you always know what to do…'
'I am flattered by your faith and confidence, Vicky. We must see what can be done, yes.' The Master laughed. 'Heigho – is it not most fortunate, most convenient, that we have here at Broughty, by purest chance, the one man in this peculiar realm who can out-man Bothwell! In the circumstances, my lord of Huntly might be described as a God-send, might he not?'
'Huntly? He is… he is not here? At Broughty? Huntly himself…?' Ludovick stared.
'Huntly, yes – your own potent good-brother! He is indeed. He arrived but an hour ago. Did you not see his troop's horses thronging the courtyard? Huntly has honoured us at an auspicious moment, it seems.'
'But he is banished! In disgrace!'
'Whom the King has banished, he can unbamsh! Especially if the disgraced one can produce five thousand armed men to counter Bothwell's mosstroopers and rievers!' Patrick smiled, and patted the younger man's shoulder. 'Tomorrow I shall ride for Edinburgh – though in not quite such haste as you have ridden here, Vicky. I shall acquaint our liege lord of his great good fortune! All shall be well, for the best, never fear. I warrant that Jamie Stewart will fall upon my undeserving neck – and summon Huntly back to favour and the Court instanter!'
Mary Gray was considering Patrick long and thoughtfully. So much that had been unexplained now fitted neatly into place. She turned her head, to catch the grey eye of Lady Marie. Then she found David looking from one to the other of them. None spoke, nor required to speak.
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