[Contents]CHAPTER LIII.The English Lady’s Departure from Tarnawa Castle—The Crafty Son of the Wolfe of Badenoch.Itwas more than a week after the departure of the Earl of Moray and his friends from Tarnawa that Rory Spears was ordered to attend the Countess of Moray to receive her instructions for the duty his master had left him at home to fulfil. He was called into the room, where the lady in whose service he was to be employed was sitting veiled; but the Countess had not more than time to open the matter to him when she was interrupted by a message from her nephew, Sir Andrew Stewart, who, with very opposite feelings to those of Rory, had found some plausible excuse for not going with the Knights to Aberdeen, and now craved a short audience of the Countess. The English lady arose and retired into the recess of a window, where Katherine Spears was plying her needle, and Sir Andrew was admitted.“My gracious aunt,” said he, “I crave thy pardon for pressing my unbidden services; but, I beseech thee, let me not be deprived of the highest privilege that belongs to knighthood; I mean that of being the prop and stay of beauty in distress. Thou knowest that I have some half dozen spears here. Be it my pleasing task, I entreat thee, to protect the lady through those difficulties and dangers that may beset her path. Trust me, she shall pass unscathed while I am with her.”“I am utterly astonished, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “how, I pray thee, art thou possessed of the secret that any such emprise may be in hand?”“Nay, it mattereth but little, I trow, how I know that, my noble aunt,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart with a careless smile; “but, what may be to thee some deal more strange, peraunter, I do know the lady too.—Madam,” said he, gliding gently past[377]his aunt, and going up to the window, “I have only to tell thee that we have met at Lochyndorbe, to convince thee that I do not err; yet be not alarmed at what I have said; trust me, thou shalt find that I have over much delicacy and knightly courtesy about me rudely to withdraw the veil in which thou hast been pleased to shroud thyself. I come but to offer thee mine escort, and I do fondly hope thou wilt not refuse me the gratification of shielding and defending thee with this arm, amid the many perils that may environ thee in thy travel between Tarnawa and Norham.”“’Tis gallantly spoken of thee, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “and albeit I do hope that danger there may be none in this our own country of Scotland, seeing, I have reason to believe, that the tide of war hath already been turned from us; yet will it give me joy to be certiorated of the safety of this sweet lady, who will doubtless most cheerfully accept thy proffered courtesy.”The lady readily made her acknowledgements to Sir Andrew, and gladly availed herself of his protection. Katherine Spears, who was to accompany her as a female companion on the journey, was rejoiced, like all young persons, at the prospect of so speedily seeing a little of the world, especially as her father was to be with her, and she was going in the service of a lady to whom she was already so much attached. But old Rory, who had been standing aloof during the conversation, showed by his countenance that he was ill satisfied with the arrangement which had been made, as well as with every one about him. He turned on his heel to leave the place, brandishing his gaud-clip, and followed by a brace of large wolf-dogs in couples, and began slowly descending the stairs, letting down first one-half of his ponderous person and then the other in succession, each step he took bringing out ahumph, as a break to the continuity of his audible grumble.“Ay, by St. Lowry, wha wad hae thought it, humph—wha wad hae thought that Rory Spears, humph—the Yearl’s henchman, as a body mought say, umph—that Rory Spears, that mought be ca’d as necessar till his back as the hound to his heel, or the falcon to his wrist, humph—that Rory Spears, I say, suld hae been left behind at sike a time as this, umph—like a crazy old destrier, or ane crackit targe, humph—and to be turned ower to be the plaything to a silly bit lassie, umph—and an Englisher quean, too, mair’s the wonder, hugh!—Ay, and to make matters better, she hirsels me off, too, like ane auld pair o’ boots, to put faith in that kestrel, Sir Andrew Stewart, humph[378]—a kite frae an ill nest, umph—ay, and ane that she’ll aiblins find is no that ower mukel to trust till, maugre a’ his havers, umph!—Weel, I maun e’en do the Yearl’s wull, and his leddy’s wull; but, troth, I sall gie mysel no unnecessar trouble wi’ the lass, umph—aboon a’, sith she hath chosen her ain champion, hugh!—And thatfoolishglaikit thing Kate, too, umph,—she’s smiling and smirking, when it wad better set her to be greetin’, hugh!—Och sirs, sirs, it’s a queer warld this. Whiew, whiew, Brand—whiew, whiew, Oscar,” cried he, whistling to his hounds, as he gained the area of the Castle-yard; “come awa, my bairns, ye hae mair sense than half o’ human fouk.”Next morning the beautiful milk-white palfrey, that had been the gift of Sir Patrick Hepborne to his page Maurice de Grey, stood ready caparisoned in the court-yard, along with those of the party who were to form the escort. The lady recognised him as she descended from the terrace, leaning on the arm of Sir Andrew Stewart, and her eyes ran over at sight of the noble animal. She stopped to caress him silently ere she mounted him, her heart being too full to permit her to trust her voice in speaking to him. As Sir Andrew Stewart aided her to rise into her saddle, the generous steed neighed a joyous acknowledgment of the precious burden he was entrusted with. The lady waved her hand to the Countess, who streamed her scarf from a window, in visible token of the prayers she was putting up for her safety; and the cavalcade rode slowly forth, the beauteous eyes of the Englishwoman so dimmed with tears that she saw not aught that was around her. She felt as if, in leaving Tarnawa, the last tie that had bound her heart to the object of its tenderest affections were dissolved, and it seemed to wither within her. She drew her mantle over her head and gave way to her feelings, so that even Sir Andrew Stewart saw that, to break in upon her by conversation, would have been an intrusion too displeasing to be risked by him. He therefore continued to ride by her side in silence; and the example of the knight and lady spreading its influence over the party, not a word was heard among the riders.The lady at last felt that common courtesy required her to exert herself to control her feelings, and with some difficulty she began to enter into conversation with Sir Andrew Stewart, who rode at her side. She was now able to reconnoitre her attendants, which she had not had strength or spirits to do before. Before her rode the minstrel, Adam of Gordon, who no sooner saw that the lady had given his tongue license by breaking the silence she had maintained, than he began to employ the innocent[379]artillery of an old man’s gallantry on the dimpling charms of the lovely Katherine Spears, who, by her merry replies, and her peals of laughter, showed that she enjoyed the well-turned compliments and high-flown speeches of the courteous and fair-spoken bard. Next came the spearmen, and a couple of lacqueys, and one or two other attendants; and last of all, wrapped up in a new fishing-garb of more than ordinarily capacious dimensions, with an otter-skin cap on his head, and his gaud-clip in his hand, rode Rory Spears, sulky and silent, on a strong, active little horse, whose ragged coat, here hanging down in shreds, and there pulled off bare to the skin, showed that he had been just rescued from the briers, brambles, and black thorns of the forest, which had been waging war against his sides for many a day. Rory was followed by a single wolf-hound, and his whole accoutrements were so far from being fitted for the important duty of convoy, to which he had been appointed, that it almost seemed as if he had purposely resolved it should be so from pure spite against his employment.“Be’st thou for the hunts, Master Spears?” cried the wife of a publican, one of the Earl’s dependants, whom curiosity hurried to her door to gaze at the travellers as they passed.“Na, na, Meggy Muirhead,” cried Rory, checking his horse for an instant. “The hunts, quotha! pretty hunts, truly. But hast thou e’er a stoup o’ yill at hand? for thou must know I am bent on a lang and tedisome journey—yea, and I do jalouse a right thirsty and throat-guisening travel, gif I may guess from the dry husk that my craig hath already been afflicted withal?”“Thou shanny want a drap o’ yill, Master Spears,” cried Maggy Muirhead, who ran in and brought out a large wooden stoup, that, as she swung it on her head, foamed over the brim with generous nut-brown, by which she hoped to extract some information from Rory; “and where mayest thou be ganging, I pray thee? to join the Yearl maybe at the wars, I’se warrant?”“Wars,” cried Rory, “wars! Gie me the stoup, woman.” And dropping his reins, and sticking the shaft of his gaud-clip into his enormous boot, he stretched out both hands towards the double-handed stoup, and relieving mine hostess’ head of the weight, he applied its laughing brim to his lips, and slowly drained it so effectually that she had no occasion to replace it there. “Haugh; wars, saidst thou, Mistress Muirhead?” cried Rory again, as he held out the empty vessel, one handle of which the hostess now easily received upon a couple of her fingers, and kept swinging about as he was speaking—“wars! look at me, am I girded for the wars, thinkest thou? Na, I’ve[380]e’en taen on to be tirewoman to yon black-e’ed Englisher leddy, and I’m to get a kirtle, and a coif, and a trotcosy, ere long. What thinkest thou of that, Mistress Muirhead?”“Preserve me, the Virgin have a care o’ us a’!” cried Mistress Muirhead in wonder, as Rory rode away; “wha ever heard tell o’ sike a thing? The man’s gaun clean wud, I rauckon.”Sir Andrew Stewart was unremitting in his attention to the lady, and all his speeches and actions were so cunningly tempered with delicacy, that she neither had the power nor the will to conceal her satisfaction at his treatment of her. He inwardly congratulated himself on the advance he supposed he was making in her good opinion, and with some consummate art began to pave the way for a declaration of the violent passion he had secretly cherished for her, and gradually drawing nearer and nearer to her bridle rein as they rode, whispered the warm language of love in her ear in sentences that grew more and more tender at every step they advanced. Being occupied with her own thoughts, she had the appearance without the reality of listening to all he said, and the enamoured knight, interpreting her silence into a tacit approval, seized the first favourable opportunity of addressing her in plainer language.“Most angelic lady,” said he to her, as he sat beside her alone under an oak, where they had halted for rest and refreshment, “why shouldst thou undertake this tedious journey? Why shouldst thou leave Scotland, where thou mightst be made happy? To permit beauty so divine, and excellence so rare, to quit the Caledonian soil, would be a foul disgrace to the gallantry of its chivalry. Deign, I beseech thee, to listen to my ardent vows; let me be thy faithful knight. The love thou hast kindled in this bosom is unquenchable. Oh, let me——”“Talk not thus besottedly, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, interrupting him hastily and rather sternly; “I may not honestly listen to any such. Gallantry may peraunter come with good grace enow from thy lips, but permit not thyself license with me, whose heart doth already belong to another, and who can allow these words of thine no harbour. I shall ever be grateful to thee for this thy courteous convoy, but I can never return thy love. Stir not then the idle theme again.”“Nay, loveliest of thy sex,” said the silky Sir Andrew Stewart with strange ardour, “to keep thy heart for one who hath so vilely entreated thee, and that after thou didst sacrifice all to yield thee to his service, were neither just to thyself nor to me. Let me occupy that place in thy heart, so unworthily filled by one whose very bearing towards thee (rather that of a[381]master than of a lover) did sufficiently betray how much those matchless charms had ceased to please his palled appetite. Let me then——”“Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the lady with astonishment, mingled with a dignified expression of resentment, “I know not what falsehood may have conspired to conjure up so much unseemly boldness in thee; for I cannot believe that thou, a knight of good report, couldst thus have ventured to insult me, unless on some false credence. What though my love hath been misplaced? My heart can never change. Urge not, then, again a theme that must ever rouse my indignation.”A cloud passed across the smooth brow of Sir Andrew Stewart as he received this resolute rejection of his passion, but it speedily disappeared.“Forgive me, beauteous lady,” said he, after a pause, “mine unhappy passion hath indeed mastered my better reason. Kill me not with thy frowns, but lay my fault to the account of these thy stirring charms. Sith that I dare not hope for more advancement, I shall still be the humblest of thy slaves, for to cease to love thee were impossible.”After this decided repulse, Sir Andrew Stewart confined his attentions to those of mere courtesy. Towards evening, they began to descend into a narrow glen, watered by a clear river. The hills arose on both sides lumpish and vast, and the dense fir forest that covered them rendered the scene as gloomy as imagination could fancy. As they picked their way down the steep paths of the forest, they caught occasional glimpses of the lone tower of a little stronghold that stood on a small green mound, washed by the river on one side, and divided from the abrupt base of the mountain by a natural ravine, that bore the appearance of having been rendered more defensible by art.“Behold the termination of our journey of this day,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to his lady. “Thine accommodation, beauteous damsel, will be but poor; yet, even such as thou mayest find it, it may be welcome after the fatigue thou hast endured.”They reached the bottom, and, crossing the ravine by a frail wooden bridge, climbed a short ascent that led them to the entrance of the little fortalice, that wore the appearance of having been lately demolished in some feudal broil; for the massive iron gate of the court-yard lay upon its side, half buried among the weeds. Many of the outhouses, too, were roofless, and bore recent marks of having been partly consumed by fire.“Alister MacCraw,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to an old man who came crawling forth from the low entrance at the sound of[382]the bugle, “so thine old dwelling yet standeth safe, I see. I trust it may afford us some better harbour than those roofless barns and byres do show?”“In troth, not mokell better, Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the old man; “but stone vauts wunna brenn like thaken roof. Troth, ’tis mokell wonders that the Yearl o’ Buchan wouldna gar mend them up, and put some stout loons to guard them, sith he doth use to lodge here when he doth travel between Buchan and Badenoch; an yon bit gavels were mended, an yon bit breach in the wa’, yonder, and——”“Nay, Alister, spare thy counsel for my father’s ear,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart impatiently, “and forthwith proceed to house us as best thou mayest. Let us see how this lady may be bestowed.”“Thou knowest there be no great choice of chambers,” replied the old man, with a certain leering chuckle, which the lady could not understand.MacCraw had reason for what he said, for the simple plan of the building was of three storeys. That on the ground floor contained one large vaulted kitchen, occupied by the old man, with two small dark chambers. A stair, ascending from a central passage, running directly from the outer door, led to a room occupying the whole of the second floor of the building, from a farther angle of which a small stair wound up, within a hanging turret, to a single apartment in the uppermost storey.The lady was ushered by Sir Andrew Stewart into the kitchen, where MacCraw busied himself in renovating the embers on the hearth, and soon afterwards in preparing some refreshment. The knight spoke little and abstractedly, and rising at last, he mumbled something about orders he had to give, and abruptly left the place.“Erick MacCormick,” said he to his esquire, “I would speak with thee apart.”The esquire followed his master without the walls. “Erick,” said Sir Andrew again, when he judged that they were beyond all risk of being overheard, “I did try to move the lady to give ear to my love, but she hath sternly rejected me, yea, and that with signs of no small displeasure. I burn with shame for the blindness with which my passion did hoodwink mine eyes.”“Hath she indeed refused thee, Sir Knight?” demanded the esquire. “By the mass, but with such as she is I would use smaller ceremony, as a preface to mine own gratification.”“Ay, if we could without detection, Erick,” replied Sir Andrew.[383]“This is a fitting place, meseems,” said the esquire.“’Tis as thou sayest, a fitting place, good Erick,” replied Sir Andrew; “but albeit I may put sicker trust in thee, yea, and peraunter in most of mine own men, yet were it vain to hope that I might effect my purpose without being detected by one of her followers.”“Fear not, Sir Knight,” said the esquire; “I trow we are strong enough to eat them both up.”“Nay, nay—that is not what I mean,” replied Sir Andrew; “but thou knowest, Erick, that I do put value on character and reputation. I have hitherto passed as a miracle of virtue, as a rare exception in the lawless family to the which I belong; nay, even in the ear of my grandfather the King hath my praise been sounded, and my name standeth in godly odour with the very Bishop of Moray himself. I must not sillily wreck the vessel of my fortunes, while ’tis blown on by gales so favouring.”“In sooth, it were vain to hope to have thine actions pass withouten the remark of her followers,” replied the esquire.“Her followers!” said Sir Andrew. “I would not adventure aught with her, unless I were secure that none but the most faithful of mine own instruments should have cause even to guess at my share in the matter. Were but that sly fox, Rory Spears, out of the way, methinks we might contrive to throw dust in the eyes of the maid and the minstrel.”“If Spears be all the hindrance thou seest,” replied MacCormick, “I beseech thee be not afraid of him. By St. Antony, but he cares not the value of a cross-bow bolt for her of whom he hath charge. I have had much talk with him by the way, and I will pledge my life that thou shalt win him to thy purpose with as much ease as thou mayest lure thy best reclaimed falcon. The old allounde is sore offended at being left behind by his master the Earl, to attend upon a damsel; yea, and the damosel herself, too, seemeth to have done little to have overcome the disgust he hath taken at his employment. Trust me, Sir Knight, never hungry trout was more ready to swallow baited hook than old Rory Spears will be to pouch a good bribe, that may be the means of ridding him of so troublesome and vexatious a duty.”“Art thou sicker in thy man?” demanded Sir Andrew Stewart, stopping short, after taking a turn or two in silent thought, with his arms folded across his breast.“Nay, he did so effunde his ill humour to me by the way, that I will venture my life for him,” replied the squire.[384]“Seek him out straightway, and bring him hither,” said the knight.
[Contents]CHAPTER LIII.The English Lady’s Departure from Tarnawa Castle—The Crafty Son of the Wolfe of Badenoch.Itwas more than a week after the departure of the Earl of Moray and his friends from Tarnawa that Rory Spears was ordered to attend the Countess of Moray to receive her instructions for the duty his master had left him at home to fulfil. He was called into the room, where the lady in whose service he was to be employed was sitting veiled; but the Countess had not more than time to open the matter to him when she was interrupted by a message from her nephew, Sir Andrew Stewart, who, with very opposite feelings to those of Rory, had found some plausible excuse for not going with the Knights to Aberdeen, and now craved a short audience of the Countess. The English lady arose and retired into the recess of a window, where Katherine Spears was plying her needle, and Sir Andrew was admitted.“My gracious aunt,” said he, “I crave thy pardon for pressing my unbidden services; but, I beseech thee, let me not be deprived of the highest privilege that belongs to knighthood; I mean that of being the prop and stay of beauty in distress. Thou knowest that I have some half dozen spears here. Be it my pleasing task, I entreat thee, to protect the lady through those difficulties and dangers that may beset her path. Trust me, she shall pass unscathed while I am with her.”“I am utterly astonished, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “how, I pray thee, art thou possessed of the secret that any such emprise may be in hand?”“Nay, it mattereth but little, I trow, how I know that, my noble aunt,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart with a careless smile; “but, what may be to thee some deal more strange, peraunter, I do know the lady too.—Madam,” said he, gliding gently past[377]his aunt, and going up to the window, “I have only to tell thee that we have met at Lochyndorbe, to convince thee that I do not err; yet be not alarmed at what I have said; trust me, thou shalt find that I have over much delicacy and knightly courtesy about me rudely to withdraw the veil in which thou hast been pleased to shroud thyself. I come but to offer thee mine escort, and I do fondly hope thou wilt not refuse me the gratification of shielding and defending thee with this arm, amid the many perils that may environ thee in thy travel between Tarnawa and Norham.”“’Tis gallantly spoken of thee, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “and albeit I do hope that danger there may be none in this our own country of Scotland, seeing, I have reason to believe, that the tide of war hath already been turned from us; yet will it give me joy to be certiorated of the safety of this sweet lady, who will doubtless most cheerfully accept thy proffered courtesy.”The lady readily made her acknowledgements to Sir Andrew, and gladly availed herself of his protection. Katherine Spears, who was to accompany her as a female companion on the journey, was rejoiced, like all young persons, at the prospect of so speedily seeing a little of the world, especially as her father was to be with her, and she was going in the service of a lady to whom she was already so much attached. But old Rory, who had been standing aloof during the conversation, showed by his countenance that he was ill satisfied with the arrangement which had been made, as well as with every one about him. He turned on his heel to leave the place, brandishing his gaud-clip, and followed by a brace of large wolf-dogs in couples, and began slowly descending the stairs, letting down first one-half of his ponderous person and then the other in succession, each step he took bringing out ahumph, as a break to the continuity of his audible grumble.“Ay, by St. Lowry, wha wad hae thought it, humph—wha wad hae thought that Rory Spears, humph—the Yearl’s henchman, as a body mought say, umph—that Rory Spears, that mought be ca’d as necessar till his back as the hound to his heel, or the falcon to his wrist, humph—that Rory Spears, I say, suld hae been left behind at sike a time as this, umph—like a crazy old destrier, or ane crackit targe, humph—and to be turned ower to be the plaything to a silly bit lassie, umph—and an Englisher quean, too, mair’s the wonder, hugh!—Ay, and to make matters better, she hirsels me off, too, like ane auld pair o’ boots, to put faith in that kestrel, Sir Andrew Stewart, humph[378]—a kite frae an ill nest, umph—ay, and ane that she’ll aiblins find is no that ower mukel to trust till, maugre a’ his havers, umph!—Weel, I maun e’en do the Yearl’s wull, and his leddy’s wull; but, troth, I sall gie mysel no unnecessar trouble wi’ the lass, umph—aboon a’, sith she hath chosen her ain champion, hugh!—And thatfoolishglaikit thing Kate, too, umph,—she’s smiling and smirking, when it wad better set her to be greetin’, hugh!—Och sirs, sirs, it’s a queer warld this. Whiew, whiew, Brand—whiew, whiew, Oscar,” cried he, whistling to his hounds, as he gained the area of the Castle-yard; “come awa, my bairns, ye hae mair sense than half o’ human fouk.”Next morning the beautiful milk-white palfrey, that had been the gift of Sir Patrick Hepborne to his page Maurice de Grey, stood ready caparisoned in the court-yard, along with those of the party who were to form the escort. The lady recognised him as she descended from the terrace, leaning on the arm of Sir Andrew Stewart, and her eyes ran over at sight of the noble animal. She stopped to caress him silently ere she mounted him, her heart being too full to permit her to trust her voice in speaking to him. As Sir Andrew Stewart aided her to rise into her saddle, the generous steed neighed a joyous acknowledgment of the precious burden he was entrusted with. The lady waved her hand to the Countess, who streamed her scarf from a window, in visible token of the prayers she was putting up for her safety; and the cavalcade rode slowly forth, the beauteous eyes of the Englishwoman so dimmed with tears that she saw not aught that was around her. She felt as if, in leaving Tarnawa, the last tie that had bound her heart to the object of its tenderest affections were dissolved, and it seemed to wither within her. She drew her mantle over her head and gave way to her feelings, so that even Sir Andrew Stewart saw that, to break in upon her by conversation, would have been an intrusion too displeasing to be risked by him. He therefore continued to ride by her side in silence; and the example of the knight and lady spreading its influence over the party, not a word was heard among the riders.The lady at last felt that common courtesy required her to exert herself to control her feelings, and with some difficulty she began to enter into conversation with Sir Andrew Stewart, who rode at her side. She was now able to reconnoitre her attendants, which she had not had strength or spirits to do before. Before her rode the minstrel, Adam of Gordon, who no sooner saw that the lady had given his tongue license by breaking the silence she had maintained, than he began to employ the innocent[379]artillery of an old man’s gallantry on the dimpling charms of the lovely Katherine Spears, who, by her merry replies, and her peals of laughter, showed that she enjoyed the well-turned compliments and high-flown speeches of the courteous and fair-spoken bard. Next came the spearmen, and a couple of lacqueys, and one or two other attendants; and last of all, wrapped up in a new fishing-garb of more than ordinarily capacious dimensions, with an otter-skin cap on his head, and his gaud-clip in his hand, rode Rory Spears, sulky and silent, on a strong, active little horse, whose ragged coat, here hanging down in shreds, and there pulled off bare to the skin, showed that he had been just rescued from the briers, brambles, and black thorns of the forest, which had been waging war against his sides for many a day. Rory was followed by a single wolf-hound, and his whole accoutrements were so far from being fitted for the important duty of convoy, to which he had been appointed, that it almost seemed as if he had purposely resolved it should be so from pure spite against his employment.“Be’st thou for the hunts, Master Spears?” cried the wife of a publican, one of the Earl’s dependants, whom curiosity hurried to her door to gaze at the travellers as they passed.“Na, na, Meggy Muirhead,” cried Rory, checking his horse for an instant. “The hunts, quotha! pretty hunts, truly. But hast thou e’er a stoup o’ yill at hand? for thou must know I am bent on a lang and tedisome journey—yea, and I do jalouse a right thirsty and throat-guisening travel, gif I may guess from the dry husk that my craig hath already been afflicted withal?”“Thou shanny want a drap o’ yill, Master Spears,” cried Maggy Muirhead, who ran in and brought out a large wooden stoup, that, as she swung it on her head, foamed over the brim with generous nut-brown, by which she hoped to extract some information from Rory; “and where mayest thou be ganging, I pray thee? to join the Yearl maybe at the wars, I’se warrant?”“Wars,” cried Rory, “wars! Gie me the stoup, woman.” And dropping his reins, and sticking the shaft of his gaud-clip into his enormous boot, he stretched out both hands towards the double-handed stoup, and relieving mine hostess’ head of the weight, he applied its laughing brim to his lips, and slowly drained it so effectually that she had no occasion to replace it there. “Haugh; wars, saidst thou, Mistress Muirhead?” cried Rory again, as he held out the empty vessel, one handle of which the hostess now easily received upon a couple of her fingers, and kept swinging about as he was speaking—“wars! look at me, am I girded for the wars, thinkest thou? Na, I’ve[380]e’en taen on to be tirewoman to yon black-e’ed Englisher leddy, and I’m to get a kirtle, and a coif, and a trotcosy, ere long. What thinkest thou of that, Mistress Muirhead?”“Preserve me, the Virgin have a care o’ us a’!” cried Mistress Muirhead in wonder, as Rory rode away; “wha ever heard tell o’ sike a thing? The man’s gaun clean wud, I rauckon.”Sir Andrew Stewart was unremitting in his attention to the lady, and all his speeches and actions were so cunningly tempered with delicacy, that she neither had the power nor the will to conceal her satisfaction at his treatment of her. He inwardly congratulated himself on the advance he supposed he was making in her good opinion, and with some consummate art began to pave the way for a declaration of the violent passion he had secretly cherished for her, and gradually drawing nearer and nearer to her bridle rein as they rode, whispered the warm language of love in her ear in sentences that grew more and more tender at every step they advanced. Being occupied with her own thoughts, she had the appearance without the reality of listening to all he said, and the enamoured knight, interpreting her silence into a tacit approval, seized the first favourable opportunity of addressing her in plainer language.“Most angelic lady,” said he to her, as he sat beside her alone under an oak, where they had halted for rest and refreshment, “why shouldst thou undertake this tedious journey? Why shouldst thou leave Scotland, where thou mightst be made happy? To permit beauty so divine, and excellence so rare, to quit the Caledonian soil, would be a foul disgrace to the gallantry of its chivalry. Deign, I beseech thee, to listen to my ardent vows; let me be thy faithful knight. The love thou hast kindled in this bosom is unquenchable. Oh, let me——”“Talk not thus besottedly, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, interrupting him hastily and rather sternly; “I may not honestly listen to any such. Gallantry may peraunter come with good grace enow from thy lips, but permit not thyself license with me, whose heart doth already belong to another, and who can allow these words of thine no harbour. I shall ever be grateful to thee for this thy courteous convoy, but I can never return thy love. Stir not then the idle theme again.”“Nay, loveliest of thy sex,” said the silky Sir Andrew Stewart with strange ardour, “to keep thy heart for one who hath so vilely entreated thee, and that after thou didst sacrifice all to yield thee to his service, were neither just to thyself nor to me. Let me occupy that place in thy heart, so unworthily filled by one whose very bearing towards thee (rather that of a[381]master than of a lover) did sufficiently betray how much those matchless charms had ceased to please his palled appetite. Let me then——”“Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the lady with astonishment, mingled with a dignified expression of resentment, “I know not what falsehood may have conspired to conjure up so much unseemly boldness in thee; for I cannot believe that thou, a knight of good report, couldst thus have ventured to insult me, unless on some false credence. What though my love hath been misplaced? My heart can never change. Urge not, then, again a theme that must ever rouse my indignation.”A cloud passed across the smooth brow of Sir Andrew Stewart as he received this resolute rejection of his passion, but it speedily disappeared.“Forgive me, beauteous lady,” said he, after a pause, “mine unhappy passion hath indeed mastered my better reason. Kill me not with thy frowns, but lay my fault to the account of these thy stirring charms. Sith that I dare not hope for more advancement, I shall still be the humblest of thy slaves, for to cease to love thee were impossible.”After this decided repulse, Sir Andrew Stewart confined his attentions to those of mere courtesy. Towards evening, they began to descend into a narrow glen, watered by a clear river. The hills arose on both sides lumpish and vast, and the dense fir forest that covered them rendered the scene as gloomy as imagination could fancy. As they picked their way down the steep paths of the forest, they caught occasional glimpses of the lone tower of a little stronghold that stood on a small green mound, washed by the river on one side, and divided from the abrupt base of the mountain by a natural ravine, that bore the appearance of having been rendered more defensible by art.“Behold the termination of our journey of this day,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to his lady. “Thine accommodation, beauteous damsel, will be but poor; yet, even such as thou mayest find it, it may be welcome after the fatigue thou hast endured.”They reached the bottom, and, crossing the ravine by a frail wooden bridge, climbed a short ascent that led them to the entrance of the little fortalice, that wore the appearance of having been lately demolished in some feudal broil; for the massive iron gate of the court-yard lay upon its side, half buried among the weeds. Many of the outhouses, too, were roofless, and bore recent marks of having been partly consumed by fire.“Alister MacCraw,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to an old man who came crawling forth from the low entrance at the sound of[382]the bugle, “so thine old dwelling yet standeth safe, I see. I trust it may afford us some better harbour than those roofless barns and byres do show?”“In troth, not mokell better, Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the old man; “but stone vauts wunna brenn like thaken roof. Troth, ’tis mokell wonders that the Yearl o’ Buchan wouldna gar mend them up, and put some stout loons to guard them, sith he doth use to lodge here when he doth travel between Buchan and Badenoch; an yon bit gavels were mended, an yon bit breach in the wa’, yonder, and——”“Nay, Alister, spare thy counsel for my father’s ear,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart impatiently, “and forthwith proceed to house us as best thou mayest. Let us see how this lady may be bestowed.”“Thou knowest there be no great choice of chambers,” replied the old man, with a certain leering chuckle, which the lady could not understand.MacCraw had reason for what he said, for the simple plan of the building was of three storeys. That on the ground floor contained one large vaulted kitchen, occupied by the old man, with two small dark chambers. A stair, ascending from a central passage, running directly from the outer door, led to a room occupying the whole of the second floor of the building, from a farther angle of which a small stair wound up, within a hanging turret, to a single apartment in the uppermost storey.The lady was ushered by Sir Andrew Stewart into the kitchen, where MacCraw busied himself in renovating the embers on the hearth, and soon afterwards in preparing some refreshment. The knight spoke little and abstractedly, and rising at last, he mumbled something about orders he had to give, and abruptly left the place.“Erick MacCormick,” said he to his esquire, “I would speak with thee apart.”The esquire followed his master without the walls. “Erick,” said Sir Andrew again, when he judged that they were beyond all risk of being overheard, “I did try to move the lady to give ear to my love, but she hath sternly rejected me, yea, and that with signs of no small displeasure. I burn with shame for the blindness with which my passion did hoodwink mine eyes.”“Hath she indeed refused thee, Sir Knight?” demanded the esquire. “By the mass, but with such as she is I would use smaller ceremony, as a preface to mine own gratification.”“Ay, if we could without detection, Erick,” replied Sir Andrew.[383]“This is a fitting place, meseems,” said the esquire.“’Tis as thou sayest, a fitting place, good Erick,” replied Sir Andrew; “but albeit I may put sicker trust in thee, yea, and peraunter in most of mine own men, yet were it vain to hope that I might effect my purpose without being detected by one of her followers.”“Fear not, Sir Knight,” said the esquire; “I trow we are strong enough to eat them both up.”“Nay, nay—that is not what I mean,” replied Sir Andrew; “but thou knowest, Erick, that I do put value on character and reputation. I have hitherto passed as a miracle of virtue, as a rare exception in the lawless family to the which I belong; nay, even in the ear of my grandfather the King hath my praise been sounded, and my name standeth in godly odour with the very Bishop of Moray himself. I must not sillily wreck the vessel of my fortunes, while ’tis blown on by gales so favouring.”“In sooth, it were vain to hope to have thine actions pass withouten the remark of her followers,” replied the esquire.“Her followers!” said Sir Andrew. “I would not adventure aught with her, unless I were secure that none but the most faithful of mine own instruments should have cause even to guess at my share in the matter. Were but that sly fox, Rory Spears, out of the way, methinks we might contrive to throw dust in the eyes of the maid and the minstrel.”“If Spears be all the hindrance thou seest,” replied MacCormick, “I beseech thee be not afraid of him. By St. Antony, but he cares not the value of a cross-bow bolt for her of whom he hath charge. I have had much talk with him by the way, and I will pledge my life that thou shalt win him to thy purpose with as much ease as thou mayest lure thy best reclaimed falcon. The old allounde is sore offended at being left behind by his master the Earl, to attend upon a damsel; yea, and the damosel herself, too, seemeth to have done little to have overcome the disgust he hath taken at his employment. Trust me, Sir Knight, never hungry trout was more ready to swallow baited hook than old Rory Spears will be to pouch a good bribe, that may be the means of ridding him of so troublesome and vexatious a duty.”“Art thou sicker in thy man?” demanded Sir Andrew Stewart, stopping short, after taking a turn or two in silent thought, with his arms folded across his breast.“Nay, he did so effunde his ill humour to me by the way, that I will venture my life for him,” replied the squire.[384]“Seek him out straightway, and bring him hither,” said the knight.
CHAPTER LIII.The English Lady’s Departure from Tarnawa Castle—The Crafty Son of the Wolfe of Badenoch.
The English Lady’s Departure from Tarnawa Castle—The Crafty Son of the Wolfe of Badenoch.
The English Lady’s Departure from Tarnawa Castle—The Crafty Son of the Wolfe of Badenoch.
Itwas more than a week after the departure of the Earl of Moray and his friends from Tarnawa that Rory Spears was ordered to attend the Countess of Moray to receive her instructions for the duty his master had left him at home to fulfil. He was called into the room, where the lady in whose service he was to be employed was sitting veiled; but the Countess had not more than time to open the matter to him when she was interrupted by a message from her nephew, Sir Andrew Stewart, who, with very opposite feelings to those of Rory, had found some plausible excuse for not going with the Knights to Aberdeen, and now craved a short audience of the Countess. The English lady arose and retired into the recess of a window, where Katherine Spears was plying her needle, and Sir Andrew was admitted.“My gracious aunt,” said he, “I crave thy pardon for pressing my unbidden services; but, I beseech thee, let me not be deprived of the highest privilege that belongs to knighthood; I mean that of being the prop and stay of beauty in distress. Thou knowest that I have some half dozen spears here. Be it my pleasing task, I entreat thee, to protect the lady through those difficulties and dangers that may beset her path. Trust me, she shall pass unscathed while I am with her.”“I am utterly astonished, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “how, I pray thee, art thou possessed of the secret that any such emprise may be in hand?”“Nay, it mattereth but little, I trow, how I know that, my noble aunt,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart with a careless smile; “but, what may be to thee some deal more strange, peraunter, I do know the lady too.—Madam,” said he, gliding gently past[377]his aunt, and going up to the window, “I have only to tell thee that we have met at Lochyndorbe, to convince thee that I do not err; yet be not alarmed at what I have said; trust me, thou shalt find that I have over much delicacy and knightly courtesy about me rudely to withdraw the veil in which thou hast been pleased to shroud thyself. I come but to offer thee mine escort, and I do fondly hope thou wilt not refuse me the gratification of shielding and defending thee with this arm, amid the many perils that may environ thee in thy travel between Tarnawa and Norham.”“’Tis gallantly spoken of thee, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “and albeit I do hope that danger there may be none in this our own country of Scotland, seeing, I have reason to believe, that the tide of war hath already been turned from us; yet will it give me joy to be certiorated of the safety of this sweet lady, who will doubtless most cheerfully accept thy proffered courtesy.”The lady readily made her acknowledgements to Sir Andrew, and gladly availed herself of his protection. Katherine Spears, who was to accompany her as a female companion on the journey, was rejoiced, like all young persons, at the prospect of so speedily seeing a little of the world, especially as her father was to be with her, and she was going in the service of a lady to whom she was already so much attached. But old Rory, who had been standing aloof during the conversation, showed by his countenance that he was ill satisfied with the arrangement which had been made, as well as with every one about him. He turned on his heel to leave the place, brandishing his gaud-clip, and followed by a brace of large wolf-dogs in couples, and began slowly descending the stairs, letting down first one-half of his ponderous person and then the other in succession, each step he took bringing out ahumph, as a break to the continuity of his audible grumble.“Ay, by St. Lowry, wha wad hae thought it, humph—wha wad hae thought that Rory Spears, humph—the Yearl’s henchman, as a body mought say, umph—that Rory Spears, that mought be ca’d as necessar till his back as the hound to his heel, or the falcon to his wrist, humph—that Rory Spears, I say, suld hae been left behind at sike a time as this, umph—like a crazy old destrier, or ane crackit targe, humph—and to be turned ower to be the plaything to a silly bit lassie, umph—and an Englisher quean, too, mair’s the wonder, hugh!—Ay, and to make matters better, she hirsels me off, too, like ane auld pair o’ boots, to put faith in that kestrel, Sir Andrew Stewart, humph[378]—a kite frae an ill nest, umph—ay, and ane that she’ll aiblins find is no that ower mukel to trust till, maugre a’ his havers, umph!—Weel, I maun e’en do the Yearl’s wull, and his leddy’s wull; but, troth, I sall gie mysel no unnecessar trouble wi’ the lass, umph—aboon a’, sith she hath chosen her ain champion, hugh!—And thatfoolishglaikit thing Kate, too, umph,—she’s smiling and smirking, when it wad better set her to be greetin’, hugh!—Och sirs, sirs, it’s a queer warld this. Whiew, whiew, Brand—whiew, whiew, Oscar,” cried he, whistling to his hounds, as he gained the area of the Castle-yard; “come awa, my bairns, ye hae mair sense than half o’ human fouk.”Next morning the beautiful milk-white palfrey, that had been the gift of Sir Patrick Hepborne to his page Maurice de Grey, stood ready caparisoned in the court-yard, along with those of the party who were to form the escort. The lady recognised him as she descended from the terrace, leaning on the arm of Sir Andrew Stewart, and her eyes ran over at sight of the noble animal. She stopped to caress him silently ere she mounted him, her heart being too full to permit her to trust her voice in speaking to him. As Sir Andrew Stewart aided her to rise into her saddle, the generous steed neighed a joyous acknowledgment of the precious burden he was entrusted with. The lady waved her hand to the Countess, who streamed her scarf from a window, in visible token of the prayers she was putting up for her safety; and the cavalcade rode slowly forth, the beauteous eyes of the Englishwoman so dimmed with tears that she saw not aught that was around her. She felt as if, in leaving Tarnawa, the last tie that had bound her heart to the object of its tenderest affections were dissolved, and it seemed to wither within her. She drew her mantle over her head and gave way to her feelings, so that even Sir Andrew Stewart saw that, to break in upon her by conversation, would have been an intrusion too displeasing to be risked by him. He therefore continued to ride by her side in silence; and the example of the knight and lady spreading its influence over the party, not a word was heard among the riders.The lady at last felt that common courtesy required her to exert herself to control her feelings, and with some difficulty she began to enter into conversation with Sir Andrew Stewart, who rode at her side. She was now able to reconnoitre her attendants, which she had not had strength or spirits to do before. Before her rode the minstrel, Adam of Gordon, who no sooner saw that the lady had given his tongue license by breaking the silence she had maintained, than he began to employ the innocent[379]artillery of an old man’s gallantry on the dimpling charms of the lovely Katherine Spears, who, by her merry replies, and her peals of laughter, showed that she enjoyed the well-turned compliments and high-flown speeches of the courteous and fair-spoken bard. Next came the spearmen, and a couple of lacqueys, and one or two other attendants; and last of all, wrapped up in a new fishing-garb of more than ordinarily capacious dimensions, with an otter-skin cap on his head, and his gaud-clip in his hand, rode Rory Spears, sulky and silent, on a strong, active little horse, whose ragged coat, here hanging down in shreds, and there pulled off bare to the skin, showed that he had been just rescued from the briers, brambles, and black thorns of the forest, which had been waging war against his sides for many a day. Rory was followed by a single wolf-hound, and his whole accoutrements were so far from being fitted for the important duty of convoy, to which he had been appointed, that it almost seemed as if he had purposely resolved it should be so from pure spite against his employment.“Be’st thou for the hunts, Master Spears?” cried the wife of a publican, one of the Earl’s dependants, whom curiosity hurried to her door to gaze at the travellers as they passed.“Na, na, Meggy Muirhead,” cried Rory, checking his horse for an instant. “The hunts, quotha! pretty hunts, truly. But hast thou e’er a stoup o’ yill at hand? for thou must know I am bent on a lang and tedisome journey—yea, and I do jalouse a right thirsty and throat-guisening travel, gif I may guess from the dry husk that my craig hath already been afflicted withal?”“Thou shanny want a drap o’ yill, Master Spears,” cried Maggy Muirhead, who ran in and brought out a large wooden stoup, that, as she swung it on her head, foamed over the brim with generous nut-brown, by which she hoped to extract some information from Rory; “and where mayest thou be ganging, I pray thee? to join the Yearl maybe at the wars, I’se warrant?”“Wars,” cried Rory, “wars! Gie me the stoup, woman.” And dropping his reins, and sticking the shaft of his gaud-clip into his enormous boot, he stretched out both hands towards the double-handed stoup, and relieving mine hostess’ head of the weight, he applied its laughing brim to his lips, and slowly drained it so effectually that she had no occasion to replace it there. “Haugh; wars, saidst thou, Mistress Muirhead?” cried Rory again, as he held out the empty vessel, one handle of which the hostess now easily received upon a couple of her fingers, and kept swinging about as he was speaking—“wars! look at me, am I girded for the wars, thinkest thou? Na, I’ve[380]e’en taen on to be tirewoman to yon black-e’ed Englisher leddy, and I’m to get a kirtle, and a coif, and a trotcosy, ere long. What thinkest thou of that, Mistress Muirhead?”“Preserve me, the Virgin have a care o’ us a’!” cried Mistress Muirhead in wonder, as Rory rode away; “wha ever heard tell o’ sike a thing? The man’s gaun clean wud, I rauckon.”Sir Andrew Stewart was unremitting in his attention to the lady, and all his speeches and actions were so cunningly tempered with delicacy, that she neither had the power nor the will to conceal her satisfaction at his treatment of her. He inwardly congratulated himself on the advance he supposed he was making in her good opinion, and with some consummate art began to pave the way for a declaration of the violent passion he had secretly cherished for her, and gradually drawing nearer and nearer to her bridle rein as they rode, whispered the warm language of love in her ear in sentences that grew more and more tender at every step they advanced. Being occupied with her own thoughts, she had the appearance without the reality of listening to all he said, and the enamoured knight, interpreting her silence into a tacit approval, seized the first favourable opportunity of addressing her in plainer language.“Most angelic lady,” said he to her, as he sat beside her alone under an oak, where they had halted for rest and refreshment, “why shouldst thou undertake this tedious journey? Why shouldst thou leave Scotland, where thou mightst be made happy? To permit beauty so divine, and excellence so rare, to quit the Caledonian soil, would be a foul disgrace to the gallantry of its chivalry. Deign, I beseech thee, to listen to my ardent vows; let me be thy faithful knight. The love thou hast kindled in this bosom is unquenchable. Oh, let me——”“Talk not thus besottedly, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, interrupting him hastily and rather sternly; “I may not honestly listen to any such. Gallantry may peraunter come with good grace enow from thy lips, but permit not thyself license with me, whose heart doth already belong to another, and who can allow these words of thine no harbour. I shall ever be grateful to thee for this thy courteous convoy, but I can never return thy love. Stir not then the idle theme again.”“Nay, loveliest of thy sex,” said the silky Sir Andrew Stewart with strange ardour, “to keep thy heart for one who hath so vilely entreated thee, and that after thou didst sacrifice all to yield thee to his service, were neither just to thyself nor to me. Let me occupy that place in thy heart, so unworthily filled by one whose very bearing towards thee (rather that of a[381]master than of a lover) did sufficiently betray how much those matchless charms had ceased to please his palled appetite. Let me then——”“Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the lady with astonishment, mingled with a dignified expression of resentment, “I know not what falsehood may have conspired to conjure up so much unseemly boldness in thee; for I cannot believe that thou, a knight of good report, couldst thus have ventured to insult me, unless on some false credence. What though my love hath been misplaced? My heart can never change. Urge not, then, again a theme that must ever rouse my indignation.”A cloud passed across the smooth brow of Sir Andrew Stewart as he received this resolute rejection of his passion, but it speedily disappeared.“Forgive me, beauteous lady,” said he, after a pause, “mine unhappy passion hath indeed mastered my better reason. Kill me not with thy frowns, but lay my fault to the account of these thy stirring charms. Sith that I dare not hope for more advancement, I shall still be the humblest of thy slaves, for to cease to love thee were impossible.”After this decided repulse, Sir Andrew Stewart confined his attentions to those of mere courtesy. Towards evening, they began to descend into a narrow glen, watered by a clear river. The hills arose on both sides lumpish and vast, and the dense fir forest that covered them rendered the scene as gloomy as imagination could fancy. As they picked their way down the steep paths of the forest, they caught occasional glimpses of the lone tower of a little stronghold that stood on a small green mound, washed by the river on one side, and divided from the abrupt base of the mountain by a natural ravine, that bore the appearance of having been rendered more defensible by art.“Behold the termination of our journey of this day,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to his lady. “Thine accommodation, beauteous damsel, will be but poor; yet, even such as thou mayest find it, it may be welcome after the fatigue thou hast endured.”They reached the bottom, and, crossing the ravine by a frail wooden bridge, climbed a short ascent that led them to the entrance of the little fortalice, that wore the appearance of having been lately demolished in some feudal broil; for the massive iron gate of the court-yard lay upon its side, half buried among the weeds. Many of the outhouses, too, were roofless, and bore recent marks of having been partly consumed by fire.“Alister MacCraw,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to an old man who came crawling forth from the low entrance at the sound of[382]the bugle, “so thine old dwelling yet standeth safe, I see. I trust it may afford us some better harbour than those roofless barns and byres do show?”“In troth, not mokell better, Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the old man; “but stone vauts wunna brenn like thaken roof. Troth, ’tis mokell wonders that the Yearl o’ Buchan wouldna gar mend them up, and put some stout loons to guard them, sith he doth use to lodge here when he doth travel between Buchan and Badenoch; an yon bit gavels were mended, an yon bit breach in the wa’, yonder, and——”“Nay, Alister, spare thy counsel for my father’s ear,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart impatiently, “and forthwith proceed to house us as best thou mayest. Let us see how this lady may be bestowed.”“Thou knowest there be no great choice of chambers,” replied the old man, with a certain leering chuckle, which the lady could not understand.MacCraw had reason for what he said, for the simple plan of the building was of three storeys. That on the ground floor contained one large vaulted kitchen, occupied by the old man, with two small dark chambers. A stair, ascending from a central passage, running directly from the outer door, led to a room occupying the whole of the second floor of the building, from a farther angle of which a small stair wound up, within a hanging turret, to a single apartment in the uppermost storey.The lady was ushered by Sir Andrew Stewart into the kitchen, where MacCraw busied himself in renovating the embers on the hearth, and soon afterwards in preparing some refreshment. The knight spoke little and abstractedly, and rising at last, he mumbled something about orders he had to give, and abruptly left the place.“Erick MacCormick,” said he to his esquire, “I would speak with thee apart.”The esquire followed his master without the walls. “Erick,” said Sir Andrew again, when he judged that they were beyond all risk of being overheard, “I did try to move the lady to give ear to my love, but she hath sternly rejected me, yea, and that with signs of no small displeasure. I burn with shame for the blindness with which my passion did hoodwink mine eyes.”“Hath she indeed refused thee, Sir Knight?” demanded the esquire. “By the mass, but with such as she is I would use smaller ceremony, as a preface to mine own gratification.”“Ay, if we could without detection, Erick,” replied Sir Andrew.[383]“This is a fitting place, meseems,” said the esquire.“’Tis as thou sayest, a fitting place, good Erick,” replied Sir Andrew; “but albeit I may put sicker trust in thee, yea, and peraunter in most of mine own men, yet were it vain to hope that I might effect my purpose without being detected by one of her followers.”“Fear not, Sir Knight,” said the esquire; “I trow we are strong enough to eat them both up.”“Nay, nay—that is not what I mean,” replied Sir Andrew; “but thou knowest, Erick, that I do put value on character and reputation. I have hitherto passed as a miracle of virtue, as a rare exception in the lawless family to the which I belong; nay, even in the ear of my grandfather the King hath my praise been sounded, and my name standeth in godly odour with the very Bishop of Moray himself. I must not sillily wreck the vessel of my fortunes, while ’tis blown on by gales so favouring.”“In sooth, it were vain to hope to have thine actions pass withouten the remark of her followers,” replied the esquire.“Her followers!” said Sir Andrew. “I would not adventure aught with her, unless I were secure that none but the most faithful of mine own instruments should have cause even to guess at my share in the matter. Were but that sly fox, Rory Spears, out of the way, methinks we might contrive to throw dust in the eyes of the maid and the minstrel.”“If Spears be all the hindrance thou seest,” replied MacCormick, “I beseech thee be not afraid of him. By St. Antony, but he cares not the value of a cross-bow bolt for her of whom he hath charge. I have had much talk with him by the way, and I will pledge my life that thou shalt win him to thy purpose with as much ease as thou mayest lure thy best reclaimed falcon. The old allounde is sore offended at being left behind by his master the Earl, to attend upon a damsel; yea, and the damosel herself, too, seemeth to have done little to have overcome the disgust he hath taken at his employment. Trust me, Sir Knight, never hungry trout was more ready to swallow baited hook than old Rory Spears will be to pouch a good bribe, that may be the means of ridding him of so troublesome and vexatious a duty.”“Art thou sicker in thy man?” demanded Sir Andrew Stewart, stopping short, after taking a turn or two in silent thought, with his arms folded across his breast.“Nay, he did so effunde his ill humour to me by the way, that I will venture my life for him,” replied the squire.[384]“Seek him out straightway, and bring him hither,” said the knight.
Itwas more than a week after the departure of the Earl of Moray and his friends from Tarnawa that Rory Spears was ordered to attend the Countess of Moray to receive her instructions for the duty his master had left him at home to fulfil. He was called into the room, where the lady in whose service he was to be employed was sitting veiled; but the Countess had not more than time to open the matter to him when she was interrupted by a message from her nephew, Sir Andrew Stewart, who, with very opposite feelings to those of Rory, had found some plausible excuse for not going with the Knights to Aberdeen, and now craved a short audience of the Countess. The English lady arose and retired into the recess of a window, where Katherine Spears was plying her needle, and Sir Andrew was admitted.
“My gracious aunt,” said he, “I crave thy pardon for pressing my unbidden services; but, I beseech thee, let me not be deprived of the highest privilege that belongs to knighthood; I mean that of being the prop and stay of beauty in distress. Thou knowest that I have some half dozen spears here. Be it my pleasing task, I entreat thee, to protect the lady through those difficulties and dangers that may beset her path. Trust me, she shall pass unscathed while I am with her.”
“I am utterly astonished, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “how, I pray thee, art thou possessed of the secret that any such emprise may be in hand?”
“Nay, it mattereth but little, I trow, how I know that, my noble aunt,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart with a careless smile; “but, what may be to thee some deal more strange, peraunter, I do know the lady too.—Madam,” said he, gliding gently past[377]his aunt, and going up to the window, “I have only to tell thee that we have met at Lochyndorbe, to convince thee that I do not err; yet be not alarmed at what I have said; trust me, thou shalt find that I have over much delicacy and knightly courtesy about me rudely to withdraw the veil in which thou hast been pleased to shroud thyself. I come but to offer thee mine escort, and I do fondly hope thou wilt not refuse me the gratification of shielding and defending thee with this arm, amid the many perils that may environ thee in thy travel between Tarnawa and Norham.”
“’Tis gallantly spoken of thee, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “and albeit I do hope that danger there may be none in this our own country of Scotland, seeing, I have reason to believe, that the tide of war hath already been turned from us; yet will it give me joy to be certiorated of the safety of this sweet lady, who will doubtless most cheerfully accept thy proffered courtesy.”
The lady readily made her acknowledgements to Sir Andrew, and gladly availed herself of his protection. Katherine Spears, who was to accompany her as a female companion on the journey, was rejoiced, like all young persons, at the prospect of so speedily seeing a little of the world, especially as her father was to be with her, and she was going in the service of a lady to whom she was already so much attached. But old Rory, who had been standing aloof during the conversation, showed by his countenance that he was ill satisfied with the arrangement which had been made, as well as with every one about him. He turned on his heel to leave the place, brandishing his gaud-clip, and followed by a brace of large wolf-dogs in couples, and began slowly descending the stairs, letting down first one-half of his ponderous person and then the other in succession, each step he took bringing out ahumph, as a break to the continuity of his audible grumble.
“Ay, by St. Lowry, wha wad hae thought it, humph—wha wad hae thought that Rory Spears, humph—the Yearl’s henchman, as a body mought say, umph—that Rory Spears, that mought be ca’d as necessar till his back as the hound to his heel, or the falcon to his wrist, humph—that Rory Spears, I say, suld hae been left behind at sike a time as this, umph—like a crazy old destrier, or ane crackit targe, humph—and to be turned ower to be the plaything to a silly bit lassie, umph—and an Englisher quean, too, mair’s the wonder, hugh!—Ay, and to make matters better, she hirsels me off, too, like ane auld pair o’ boots, to put faith in that kestrel, Sir Andrew Stewart, humph[378]—a kite frae an ill nest, umph—ay, and ane that she’ll aiblins find is no that ower mukel to trust till, maugre a’ his havers, umph!—Weel, I maun e’en do the Yearl’s wull, and his leddy’s wull; but, troth, I sall gie mysel no unnecessar trouble wi’ the lass, umph—aboon a’, sith she hath chosen her ain champion, hugh!—And thatfoolishglaikit thing Kate, too, umph,—she’s smiling and smirking, when it wad better set her to be greetin’, hugh!—Och sirs, sirs, it’s a queer warld this. Whiew, whiew, Brand—whiew, whiew, Oscar,” cried he, whistling to his hounds, as he gained the area of the Castle-yard; “come awa, my bairns, ye hae mair sense than half o’ human fouk.”
Next morning the beautiful milk-white palfrey, that had been the gift of Sir Patrick Hepborne to his page Maurice de Grey, stood ready caparisoned in the court-yard, along with those of the party who were to form the escort. The lady recognised him as she descended from the terrace, leaning on the arm of Sir Andrew Stewart, and her eyes ran over at sight of the noble animal. She stopped to caress him silently ere she mounted him, her heart being too full to permit her to trust her voice in speaking to him. As Sir Andrew Stewart aided her to rise into her saddle, the generous steed neighed a joyous acknowledgment of the precious burden he was entrusted with. The lady waved her hand to the Countess, who streamed her scarf from a window, in visible token of the prayers she was putting up for her safety; and the cavalcade rode slowly forth, the beauteous eyes of the Englishwoman so dimmed with tears that she saw not aught that was around her. She felt as if, in leaving Tarnawa, the last tie that had bound her heart to the object of its tenderest affections were dissolved, and it seemed to wither within her. She drew her mantle over her head and gave way to her feelings, so that even Sir Andrew Stewart saw that, to break in upon her by conversation, would have been an intrusion too displeasing to be risked by him. He therefore continued to ride by her side in silence; and the example of the knight and lady spreading its influence over the party, not a word was heard among the riders.
The lady at last felt that common courtesy required her to exert herself to control her feelings, and with some difficulty she began to enter into conversation with Sir Andrew Stewart, who rode at her side. She was now able to reconnoitre her attendants, which she had not had strength or spirits to do before. Before her rode the minstrel, Adam of Gordon, who no sooner saw that the lady had given his tongue license by breaking the silence she had maintained, than he began to employ the innocent[379]artillery of an old man’s gallantry on the dimpling charms of the lovely Katherine Spears, who, by her merry replies, and her peals of laughter, showed that she enjoyed the well-turned compliments and high-flown speeches of the courteous and fair-spoken bard. Next came the spearmen, and a couple of lacqueys, and one or two other attendants; and last of all, wrapped up in a new fishing-garb of more than ordinarily capacious dimensions, with an otter-skin cap on his head, and his gaud-clip in his hand, rode Rory Spears, sulky and silent, on a strong, active little horse, whose ragged coat, here hanging down in shreds, and there pulled off bare to the skin, showed that he had been just rescued from the briers, brambles, and black thorns of the forest, which had been waging war against his sides for many a day. Rory was followed by a single wolf-hound, and his whole accoutrements were so far from being fitted for the important duty of convoy, to which he had been appointed, that it almost seemed as if he had purposely resolved it should be so from pure spite against his employment.
“Be’st thou for the hunts, Master Spears?” cried the wife of a publican, one of the Earl’s dependants, whom curiosity hurried to her door to gaze at the travellers as they passed.
“Na, na, Meggy Muirhead,” cried Rory, checking his horse for an instant. “The hunts, quotha! pretty hunts, truly. But hast thou e’er a stoup o’ yill at hand? for thou must know I am bent on a lang and tedisome journey—yea, and I do jalouse a right thirsty and throat-guisening travel, gif I may guess from the dry husk that my craig hath already been afflicted withal?”
“Thou shanny want a drap o’ yill, Master Spears,” cried Maggy Muirhead, who ran in and brought out a large wooden stoup, that, as she swung it on her head, foamed over the brim with generous nut-brown, by which she hoped to extract some information from Rory; “and where mayest thou be ganging, I pray thee? to join the Yearl maybe at the wars, I’se warrant?”
“Wars,” cried Rory, “wars! Gie me the stoup, woman.” And dropping his reins, and sticking the shaft of his gaud-clip into his enormous boot, he stretched out both hands towards the double-handed stoup, and relieving mine hostess’ head of the weight, he applied its laughing brim to his lips, and slowly drained it so effectually that she had no occasion to replace it there. “Haugh; wars, saidst thou, Mistress Muirhead?” cried Rory again, as he held out the empty vessel, one handle of which the hostess now easily received upon a couple of her fingers, and kept swinging about as he was speaking—“wars! look at me, am I girded for the wars, thinkest thou? Na, I’ve[380]e’en taen on to be tirewoman to yon black-e’ed Englisher leddy, and I’m to get a kirtle, and a coif, and a trotcosy, ere long. What thinkest thou of that, Mistress Muirhead?”
“Preserve me, the Virgin have a care o’ us a’!” cried Mistress Muirhead in wonder, as Rory rode away; “wha ever heard tell o’ sike a thing? The man’s gaun clean wud, I rauckon.”
Sir Andrew Stewart was unremitting in his attention to the lady, and all his speeches and actions were so cunningly tempered with delicacy, that she neither had the power nor the will to conceal her satisfaction at his treatment of her. He inwardly congratulated himself on the advance he supposed he was making in her good opinion, and with some consummate art began to pave the way for a declaration of the violent passion he had secretly cherished for her, and gradually drawing nearer and nearer to her bridle rein as they rode, whispered the warm language of love in her ear in sentences that grew more and more tender at every step they advanced. Being occupied with her own thoughts, she had the appearance without the reality of listening to all he said, and the enamoured knight, interpreting her silence into a tacit approval, seized the first favourable opportunity of addressing her in plainer language.
“Most angelic lady,” said he to her, as he sat beside her alone under an oak, where they had halted for rest and refreshment, “why shouldst thou undertake this tedious journey? Why shouldst thou leave Scotland, where thou mightst be made happy? To permit beauty so divine, and excellence so rare, to quit the Caledonian soil, would be a foul disgrace to the gallantry of its chivalry. Deign, I beseech thee, to listen to my ardent vows; let me be thy faithful knight. The love thou hast kindled in this bosom is unquenchable. Oh, let me——”
“Talk not thus besottedly, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, interrupting him hastily and rather sternly; “I may not honestly listen to any such. Gallantry may peraunter come with good grace enow from thy lips, but permit not thyself license with me, whose heart doth already belong to another, and who can allow these words of thine no harbour. I shall ever be grateful to thee for this thy courteous convoy, but I can never return thy love. Stir not then the idle theme again.”
“Nay, loveliest of thy sex,” said the silky Sir Andrew Stewart with strange ardour, “to keep thy heart for one who hath so vilely entreated thee, and that after thou didst sacrifice all to yield thee to his service, were neither just to thyself nor to me. Let me occupy that place in thy heart, so unworthily filled by one whose very bearing towards thee (rather that of a[381]master than of a lover) did sufficiently betray how much those matchless charms had ceased to please his palled appetite. Let me then——”
“Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the lady with astonishment, mingled with a dignified expression of resentment, “I know not what falsehood may have conspired to conjure up so much unseemly boldness in thee; for I cannot believe that thou, a knight of good report, couldst thus have ventured to insult me, unless on some false credence. What though my love hath been misplaced? My heart can never change. Urge not, then, again a theme that must ever rouse my indignation.”
A cloud passed across the smooth brow of Sir Andrew Stewart as he received this resolute rejection of his passion, but it speedily disappeared.
“Forgive me, beauteous lady,” said he, after a pause, “mine unhappy passion hath indeed mastered my better reason. Kill me not with thy frowns, but lay my fault to the account of these thy stirring charms. Sith that I dare not hope for more advancement, I shall still be the humblest of thy slaves, for to cease to love thee were impossible.”
After this decided repulse, Sir Andrew Stewart confined his attentions to those of mere courtesy. Towards evening, they began to descend into a narrow glen, watered by a clear river. The hills arose on both sides lumpish and vast, and the dense fir forest that covered them rendered the scene as gloomy as imagination could fancy. As they picked their way down the steep paths of the forest, they caught occasional glimpses of the lone tower of a little stronghold that stood on a small green mound, washed by the river on one side, and divided from the abrupt base of the mountain by a natural ravine, that bore the appearance of having been rendered more defensible by art.
“Behold the termination of our journey of this day,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to his lady. “Thine accommodation, beauteous damsel, will be but poor; yet, even such as thou mayest find it, it may be welcome after the fatigue thou hast endured.”
They reached the bottom, and, crossing the ravine by a frail wooden bridge, climbed a short ascent that led them to the entrance of the little fortalice, that wore the appearance of having been lately demolished in some feudal broil; for the massive iron gate of the court-yard lay upon its side, half buried among the weeds. Many of the outhouses, too, were roofless, and bore recent marks of having been partly consumed by fire.
“Alister MacCraw,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to an old man who came crawling forth from the low entrance at the sound of[382]the bugle, “so thine old dwelling yet standeth safe, I see. I trust it may afford us some better harbour than those roofless barns and byres do show?”
“In troth, not mokell better, Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the old man; “but stone vauts wunna brenn like thaken roof. Troth, ’tis mokell wonders that the Yearl o’ Buchan wouldna gar mend them up, and put some stout loons to guard them, sith he doth use to lodge here when he doth travel between Buchan and Badenoch; an yon bit gavels were mended, an yon bit breach in the wa’, yonder, and——”
“Nay, Alister, spare thy counsel for my father’s ear,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart impatiently, “and forthwith proceed to house us as best thou mayest. Let us see how this lady may be bestowed.”
“Thou knowest there be no great choice of chambers,” replied the old man, with a certain leering chuckle, which the lady could not understand.
MacCraw had reason for what he said, for the simple plan of the building was of three storeys. That on the ground floor contained one large vaulted kitchen, occupied by the old man, with two small dark chambers. A stair, ascending from a central passage, running directly from the outer door, led to a room occupying the whole of the second floor of the building, from a farther angle of which a small stair wound up, within a hanging turret, to a single apartment in the uppermost storey.
The lady was ushered by Sir Andrew Stewart into the kitchen, where MacCraw busied himself in renovating the embers on the hearth, and soon afterwards in preparing some refreshment. The knight spoke little and abstractedly, and rising at last, he mumbled something about orders he had to give, and abruptly left the place.
“Erick MacCormick,” said he to his esquire, “I would speak with thee apart.”
The esquire followed his master without the walls. “Erick,” said Sir Andrew again, when he judged that they were beyond all risk of being overheard, “I did try to move the lady to give ear to my love, but she hath sternly rejected me, yea, and that with signs of no small displeasure. I burn with shame for the blindness with which my passion did hoodwink mine eyes.”
“Hath she indeed refused thee, Sir Knight?” demanded the esquire. “By the mass, but with such as she is I would use smaller ceremony, as a preface to mine own gratification.”
“Ay, if we could without detection, Erick,” replied Sir Andrew.[383]
“This is a fitting place, meseems,” said the esquire.
“’Tis as thou sayest, a fitting place, good Erick,” replied Sir Andrew; “but albeit I may put sicker trust in thee, yea, and peraunter in most of mine own men, yet were it vain to hope that I might effect my purpose without being detected by one of her followers.”
“Fear not, Sir Knight,” said the esquire; “I trow we are strong enough to eat them both up.”
“Nay, nay—that is not what I mean,” replied Sir Andrew; “but thou knowest, Erick, that I do put value on character and reputation. I have hitherto passed as a miracle of virtue, as a rare exception in the lawless family to the which I belong; nay, even in the ear of my grandfather the King hath my praise been sounded, and my name standeth in godly odour with the very Bishop of Moray himself. I must not sillily wreck the vessel of my fortunes, while ’tis blown on by gales so favouring.”
“In sooth, it were vain to hope to have thine actions pass withouten the remark of her followers,” replied the esquire.
“Her followers!” said Sir Andrew. “I would not adventure aught with her, unless I were secure that none but the most faithful of mine own instruments should have cause even to guess at my share in the matter. Were but that sly fox, Rory Spears, out of the way, methinks we might contrive to throw dust in the eyes of the maid and the minstrel.”
“If Spears be all the hindrance thou seest,” replied MacCormick, “I beseech thee be not afraid of him. By St. Antony, but he cares not the value of a cross-bow bolt for her of whom he hath charge. I have had much talk with him by the way, and I will pledge my life that thou shalt win him to thy purpose with as much ease as thou mayest lure thy best reclaimed falcon. The old allounde is sore offended at being left behind by his master the Earl, to attend upon a damsel; yea, and the damosel herself, too, seemeth to have done little to have overcome the disgust he hath taken at his employment. Trust me, Sir Knight, never hungry trout was more ready to swallow baited hook than old Rory Spears will be to pouch a good bribe, that may be the means of ridding him of so troublesome and vexatious a duty.”
“Art thou sicker in thy man?” demanded Sir Andrew Stewart, stopping short, after taking a turn or two in silent thought, with his arms folded across his breast.
“Nay, he did so effunde his ill humour to me by the way, that I will venture my life for him,” replied the squire.[384]
“Seek him out straightway, and bring him hither,” said the knight.