Lord and Master mog-1

by Nigel Tranter

  Patrick glanced down at himself with no indication of shame or dissatisfaction. 'An honest penny may always be earned in St Andrews town, at a pinch,' he said. 'Learning, I have found, does not always damp out lesser delights. Even ministers of your Kirk, sir, can be generous, on occasion – and their ladies still more so, Heaven be praised!'

  'Lord – what d'you mean, boy?' his father spluttered. 'What is this, now? Do not tell me that…'

  'I shall tell you nothing, my lord, that would distress you – God forbid! Indeed, there is little to tell. Is there, Davy? My lord of Gray's son is inevitably welcome in many a house. You would not have him churlishly reject such… hospitality?'

  The older man swallowed, all but choked, and almost thankfully, if viciously, turned back to David. "This… this, then, is how you guided and looked after your brother! You'll pay for

  this – both of you! I'll not be used thus. To drag my name in the dirt…!'

  'Never that, Father,' Patrick assured. 'The reverse, rather. Indeed, always your name meant a great deal to us, I vow. Is that not so, Davy? And your honour, sir, of value above, h'mm, rubies!'

  The Lord Gray opened his mouth to speak, shut it again almost with a snap, and went limping over to a desk. He picked up a paper there, and brought it back to them, and waved it under the boys' faces.

  'Here is how you valued my name and honour,' he exclaimed. 'A letter from Principal Davidson apprising me… me… that he must banish you from his University by reason of your filthy lewdness, naming you as father of his daughter's unborn bairn, and hinting at a marriage. God's death – marriage! With Gray!'

  Even Patrick faltered at that cri de coeur. 'Marriage…?' he repeated. 'With Mariota? The old turkey-cock talks of marriage, i' faith! Lord – here is madness!'

  'Madness? Aye, by the sweet Christ! But whose madness? With all the other trollops of St Andrews to sport with, you had to go begetting a bastard on the worthy Principal's daughter! Why, man? Why?'

  Patrick mustered a one-shouldered shrug. 'I have it on good authority, sir, that the daughter herself was a bastard of the worthy Principal, until a few years syne – when he was the holy Lord Abbot of Inchaffray.'

  'What of it, boy? Can we no' all make mistakes?' my lord asked, and then coughed.

  'Quite, Father.'

  'Aye – but there are mistakes and mistakes, Patrick. Mistakes o' the flesh can come upon us all unawares, at times. But mistakes o' the wits and the mind are another matter, boy.'

  'Which was good Master Davidson's, Father?' Patrick wondered innocently.

  'Tush – his mistakes are by with. Yours are not. Principal Davidson saw the bright light o' Reform in good time… and so wed a decent woman in place o' the Harlot o' Rome. So he now can decently own his lass, and call her legitimate. Moreover, he is a coming man in the Kirk, and wi' the ear o' the Regent and o' Master Buchanan, the King's Tutor. He is no' a man to offend, I tell you.'

  'Must Gray go in fear and respect, then, of a jumped-up coat-turned cleric, my lord?'

  'God's Splendour – no! But… laddie, you ken not what you say. My position is no' that secure. The country is in a steer, and Morton the Regent loves me not, He and the Kirk rule the land – and I am known as a friend o' Mary the Queen, whom the Kirk loves not. Where the Kirk is concerned, I maun watch my step…'

  'But you yourself are one of the leaders of the Kirk party, are you not?'

  'Aye… but I have my unfriends. In the same Kirk. Why did you bring the Kirk into this cantrip, boy? I'm no' so sure o' Davidson. You heard – the man hints at marriage. And if he talks that gait loud enough, it will surely come to the ear o' my lord of Glamis. And how will you fare then, jackanapes?'

  'Glamis?'

  'Aye, Glamis. I have, God aiding me, arranged a marriage contract between yoursel' and the Lady Elizabeth Lyon o' Glamis. After much labour, and but a few days past. What will my lord say when he hears o' this, then? Glamis is strong in the Kirk party. None shall shake him. 'Twas the best match in the land for you. And, now…'

  Patrick was not listening. 'Glamis!' he repeated. 'Elizabeth Lyon of Glamis.' Those fine eyes had narrowed. The speaker leaned forward, suddenly urgent, his voice altered – indeed all of him altered, as in a moment 'This…this is different, I think,' he said slowly. 'My lord -I knew nothing of this.'

  Think you I must inform you, a stripling of all I plan…?'

  'I am old enough for the injury of your plans, sir, it seems – so old enough to be told of them when they concern myself, surely? Old enough for marriage, too…'

  'Aye. Marriage to a cleric's mischance in a college backyard -or marriage to the daughter of the Chancellor, one of the greatest lords of the land… and the richest!'

  Patrick smiled, and swiftly, as in a flash, was all light and cheer and attraction again. 'Elizabeth Lyon, as I mind her, is very fair' he said. 'And notably well endowered… in more than just her dowry |' And he laughed.

  'Aye – she has big breasts, if that is what you like,' his forthright father agreed. 'A pity that you ha' thrown them away, and what goes wi' them, for this strumpet o' Davidson's. Devil damn it- I had set my heart on this union between our two houses…'

  'She is no strumpet.' That was quietly, levelly said.

  Both Patricks, senior and junior, turned on David who had so abruptly but simply made that announcement The elder's glance was hot and angry, but the younger's was quick and very keen.

  'Silence, sirrah!' Lord Gray said. 'Speak when you are spoken to.'

  'Davy likes the gentle Mariota well enough, L think,' his brother observed, significantly.

  'I carena who he likes or doesna like – or you, either,' their

  father declared, 'What I care for is the ruin o' my plans, and the welfare o' our house and name. That you have spat upon, and cast aside…'

  'I think you do me wrong, Father,' Patrick said quietly.' 'Eh? Wrong? A pox -you say so? You mincing jackdaw!' Lord Gray took a wrathful step forward.

  Patrick held his ground. 'Only because I judge you to be misinformed, sir. Your plans are not ruined, yet'

  'How mean you…?'

  'I mean that it is not I that should be the object of Master Davidson's ambitions – but Davy, here! Heigho, Davy is the culprit, I fear!'

  There was little of difference between the gasps of breath – drawn by each of his hearers. David turned swiftly – and found Patrick's gaze urgent upon him.

  'Is that not so, Davy? Dear Davy! You have hidden your light under your bushel for long enough, eh? The bairn is yours – faith, all yours!' 'But…!'

  'God be good – what is this?' Lord Gray looked from one to the other. 'Are you telling me, now… Davidson says in his letter…'

  'Master Davidson, no doubt, would liefer have the Master of Gray for possible good-son than just our Davy! But he will be disappointed. Mariota's bairn need not claim me for father.'

  'You mean that it was Davy…?'

  'Just that. We both found her…friendly. But Davy, I swear, found her kindest! You heard him. He is a deep one, Davy. I did not mind bearing the honour of it, or the blame, to save him, when it mattered less than a groat. But now, with the name and honour of our house at stake, in the matter of the Glamis match… '

  'Yes, yes. Aye, so. I ph'mmm. This is… altogether different. I' faith, yes.' The older man looked at David, his shrewd little eyes busy, calculating. As the latter started to speak, his father held up his hand peremptorily. 'Here, now, is a different story, altogether. Why did you not tell me this, earlier? I see it all, now – the rascal Davidson saw his chance. He would catch a fine fish with his little trull. He would hook Gray, would he? We shall teach him different'

  'Ah, but do not name her trull, Father,' Patrick put in quickly, smiling. 'Davy's feelings are to be considered, are they not? He would not have her named strumpet, recollect!'

  'Aye, aye.' The Lord Gray actually chuckled. It was extraordinary the change that has come over the man. 'Davy's feelings shall be considered – houts aye. Dav
y will have his reward -our right lusty eager Davy! Boy – maybe we will make a churchman o' you yet… with Principal o' St Andrews, and like to be one o' Morton's tulchan bishops, for goodfather! We will have two marriages – aye, ye shall both embrace the holy estate o' matrimony. Embrace it right firmly. What could be more suitable? I will write me a letter to Master Davidson. No, better -I will ride and see him tomorrow, myself. I would not miss seeing his godly countenance at the good tidings I bring! Ha!'

  'My lord,' David managed to insert, at last 'Have I no say in this?'

  'None, boy. None,' his father assured promptly, finally, but almost genially. 'You have done your part – and done it right notably, it seems. The rest is my affair.' He actually patted

  David's shoulder. 'Now,. off with you. Away' the pair o' you. There are folk awaiting me, below.'

  'Sir – the lassie. Mariota. She, at the least, must needs have her say…'

  'Houts – off wi' you! The lassie will do what she's told. And lucky to be made into a middling honest woman, by God! Now -off wi' you, I say. And, Patrick – in the fiend's name, get out o' those magpie's clothes before any o' my sainted callers see you!'

  'Yes, Father.'

  As the two young men went down the stairs, David leading, it was the other who spoke first. 'Was that not featly done, Davy?' Patrick asked, laughing softly. 'Was not there the dexterous touch? The storm taken at its crest, and calmed! The bubble burst! I flatter myself I wrought that not unskilfully.'

  The other neither looked at him nor answered.

  'I saved the day for us both, did I not? It got us out of there with smiles instead of tears. You cannot deny that I spared you a horse-whipping, it may be – or worse, man?'

  Still his brother did not reply, but went stolidly on down the winding stairs.,

  'Davy!' Patrick laid an urgent hand on his companion's arm. 'You are not hurt at me? Man, Davy – you did not take it amiss? I acted all for the best. For all of us. You saw how it was. It had to be so. The honour of our name – aye, and the safety of our house, even – demanded it. You heard what my father said. I could do no other.'

  They had come to the bottom of the stairs, and hurried past -the hall. At the little guard-room that flanked the castle doorway they found Gilbert and James, two of Patrick's legitimate brothers, and Barbara his eldest sister, and these, mere bairns of ten and twelve, they brushed aside despite their eager admiration of Patrick's costume. Down the outside timber steps they went Their own room was in one of the smaller corner towers that guarded the enclosing courtyard of the great keep on the landward side. Instead of heading thereto, however, David, still in the lead, made straight across the cobbled yard, past the tethered horses and lounging men-at-arms, to the great arched entrance under its embattled gatehouse, Patrick, still explaining, at his side. At the gateway itself, however, the latter paused.

  'Where are you going, Davy?' he said. 'Not out there – not yet I must be out of these clothes.' later,' the other jerked, and kept on walking.

  'No. You heard what my rather said About taking them off. We have him in kindlier mood, now. We should not offend him more.'

  They were through the gateway now, past the main guardroom, out of which a woman's skirls of laughing protest issued unsuitably. David strode on, unspeaking.

  'You are being foolish, Davy – stupid,' Patrick declared. There was more than a hint of anxiety in his attractively modulated voice now. 'Where… where are you going?'

  His brother had swung off the castle's approach road, to plunge down the gentle grassy slope to the west Below were birch trees, open woodland, reaching round the sides of the towering rock to the level carseland.

  'Down yonder,' David told him briefly. 'Where we can speak our minds.'

  'No!' the other cried. "Not there. We… we can speak in our room. Anywhere, Davy…'

  His brother's hand reached out to grip his arm fiercely, jerking Patrick on. 'Come, you!'

  Patrick looked back at the castle, glancing sidelong at his companion, bit his lip, but followed where he was led, silent now.

  Slanting down through the trees they came presently, to a grassy hollow hidden amongst the birches and the tall bracken, out of sight of castle and road and spreading fields below – a haunt of theirs less popular than their cave and ledge perhaps, but useful in its own way. There, roughly, David unhanded his brother, and faced him.

  'Time we made a reckoning, I think,' he said levelly.

  'No, Davy – no!' Patrick's fine eyes were wide. This is folly. No way to behave. To settle differences. We are men, now – not bairns. See you -I can explain it all. If you will but heed me, Davy. If you will but listen…'

  'I listened,' the other interrupted him, harshly. 'You had your say back yonder; Now, I will have mine! You are a liar, Patrick Gray – a liar, and a cozener, and a cheat! Are you a coward too?'

  His brother had lost a little of his colour. He drew a deep breath. 'No,' he said, and seemed to find difficulty in getting the word out.

  'Good, I was feared you might be – along with the rest. And you can run faster than me, yet!'

  Patrick's head lifted just a degree or two, and his chin with it -and for a moment they looked very much alike. 'No,' he repeated quietly. 'I do not think I am a coward. But, Davy – my fine clothes?'

  'The fiend take your fine clothes! This is for your lies!' And David Gray exploded into action, and hurled himself upon the other, head sunk into wide shoulders, fists flailing.

  Patrick side-stepped agilely, leapt back light-footed, and lashed out in defence. Of the first fierce rain of blows only two grazed his cheek and shoulder. But David was possessed of a swift and rubbery fury of energy that there was no escaping, though the other was taller, with the longer reach, and hit out in return desperately, as hard as he knew. The driving, elementary, relentless savagery of the elder was just not to be withstood. Short of turning and running, there was no escape. Patrick knew it, from of old – and perhaps the knowledge further invalidated his defence. In less time than it takes to tell, his lip was split and his nose bleeding.

  Panting, David leapt back, tossing the hair from his face. That for your lies!' he gasped. "This, for your cozening!' And plunging into the attack again, he drove hard for the other's body in crouching battering-ram style. Despite himself, Patrick yelped with sudden pain, hunched himself up in an effort to protect his softer parts, and was driven staggering back with a great pile-driver, to sink on one knee, groaning.

  That for… the cozening! On your feet, man! This for… your cheating!' David swung a sideways upper-cut at Patrick's chin, which all but lifted the other off his unsteady feet, and sent him tottering back to crash all his length on the greensward, and there lie moaning.

  Swaying over him, grey eyes blazing with a cold fire of their own, David suddenly stooped, and wrenched up a turf of long grass and roots and earth. On to his brother's beautiful face he rubbed and ground and slapped this, back and forth, into mouth and nose and eyes, before casting it from him. 'And that… for Mariota Davidson!' he exclaimed.

  Straightening up, then, he looked down upon the writhing disfigured victim, and the cold fire ebbed from him. Panting he stood there, for long moments, straddling the other, and then slowly he shook his head.

  'Och, Patrick, Patrick!' he said, and turning away abruptly, went striding off through the further trees without a backward glance.

  The Master of Gray lay where he had Men, sobbing for breath.

  Chapter Two

  MY lord of Gray was as good as his word, and allowed no grass to grow under his feet, either. He rode to St. Andrews the next morning, and was home again the same night – and in excellent mood. He made no comment at all on Patrick's battered features and gingerly held frame, nor questioned the young men further on what apparently was now little business of theirs. A busy man of affairs, of course, he was not in the habit of wasting much time on any of his offspring. His orders, however, were explicit and peremptory. He and Patrick would ride on the mo
rrow for Glamis Castle, to fix the date of the wedding, before the Chancellor went off to Stirling for his monthly meeting with the Regent. The other marriage date was already satisfactorily fixed, it seemed – even the disillusioned Principal Davidson agreeing, presumably, as to the need for some haste in this matter. It only remained for David Gray to go and pay his respects to his future father-in-law. The nuptials would be celebrated, if that was the apt word, as discreetly and quickly as possible before the month was out and before the lassie became, mountainous.

  The brothers were to go their different ways, then, for almost the first time in their lives.

  So the day following, early, the two parties rode away from Castle Huntly, in almost opposite directions and contrastingly composed. My lord's jingling company of gentlemen, chaplain, and score of men-at-arms were finely, mounted, their weapons gleaming, plumes tossing, the red lion standard of Gray fluttering bravely in front of father and son; both were soberly clad in dark broadcloth but with rich black half-armour, inlaid with gold, above. They headed north by west for the Newtongray pass of the Sidlaw hills and Strathmore of the Lyons. David, sitting his shaggy long-tailed Highland pony, and dressed still as he had come from St. Andrews two days before, trotted off alone eastwards for Dundee town and the ferry boat at Broughty.