CHAPTER VI
IN THE MATTER OF A KISS
It may be guessed that the music of the gray morn when we started found aready echo in my heart. The whistle of a plover cut the breaking day, themeadow larks piped clear above us in chorus with the trilling of thethrush, the wimpling burn tinkled its song, and the joy that took mefairly by the throat was in tune with all of them. For what does a loverask but to be one and twenty, to be astride a willing horse, and to bebeside the one woman in the world for him? Sure 'tis heaven enough towatch the colour come and go in her face, to hear the lilt of her voice,and to see the changing light in her eye. What though at times we were shyas the wild rabbit, we were none the less happy for that. In our heartsthere bubbled a childlike gaiety; we skipped upon the sunlit hilltops oflife.
And here was the one drop of poison in the honey of my cup: that I waswearing an abominable misfit of a drab-coloured suit of homespun moreadapted to some village tradesman than to a young cavalier of fashion, foron account of the hue and cry against me I had pocketed my pride and wastravelling under an incognito. Nor did it comfort me one whit that Aileenalso was furbished up in sombre gray to represent my sister, for shelooked so taking in it that I vow 'twas more becoming than her finery. YetI made the best of it, and many a good laugh we got from rehearsing ourparts.
I can make no hand at remembering what we had to say to each other, nordoes it matter; in cold type 'twould lose much of its charm. The merryprattle of her pretty broken English was set to music for me, and the verysilences were eloquent of thrill. Early I discovered that I had notappreciated fully her mental powers, on account of a habit she had offalling into a shy silence when several were present. She had a nimblewit, an alert fancy, and a zest for life as earnest as it was refreshing.A score of times that day she was out of the shabby chaise to pick thewild flowers or to chat with the children by the wayside. The memory ofher warm friendliness to me stands out the more clear contrasted with thefrigid days that followed.
It may be thought by some that our course in travelling together borderedon the edge of the proprieties, but it must be remembered that thesituation was a difficult one for us both. Besides which my sister Cloewas always inclined to be independent, of a romantical disposition, andherself young; as for Aileen, I doubt whether any thought of theconventions crossed her mind. Her people would be wearying to see her; herfriend Kenneth Montagu had offered his services to conduct her home;Hamish Gorm was a jealous enough chaperone for any girl, and the maid thatCloe had supplied would serve to keep the tongues of the gossips fromclacking.
We put up that first evening at The King's Arms, a great rambling inn oftwo stories which caught the trade of many of the fashionable world ontheir way to and from London. Aileen and I dined together at a table inthe far end of the large dining-room. As I remember we were still uncommonmerry, she showing herself very clever at odd quips and turns ofexpression. We found matter for jest in a large placard on the wall, withwhat purported to be a picture of me, the printed matter containing theusual description and offer of reward. Watching her, I was thinking that Ihad never known a girl more in love with life or with so mobile a facewhen a large company of arrivals from London poured gaily into the room.
They were patched and powdered as if prepared for a ball rather than forthe dust of the road. Dowagers, frigid and stately as marble, murmuredracy gossip to each other behind their fans. Famous beauties flittedhither and thither, beckoning languid fops with their alluring eyes. Witsand beaux sauntered about elegantly even as at White's. 'Twas plain thatthis was a party _en route_ for one of the great county houses near.
Aileen stared with wide-open eyes and parted lips at these great damesfrom the fashionable world about which she knew nothing. They wereprominent members of the leading school for backbiting in England, and inten minutes they had talked more scandal than the Highland lass had heardbefore in a lifetime. But the worst of the situation was that there wasnot one of them but would cry "Montagu!" when they clapped eyes on me.Here were Lord March, George Selwyn, Sir James Craven, Topham Beauclerc,and young Winton Westerleigh; Lady Di Davenport and the Countess Dowagerof Rocksboro; the Hon. Isabel Stanford, Mistress Antoinette Westerleigh,and others as well known to me. They had taken us at unawares, and asCreagh would have put it in an Irish bull the only retreat possible for uswas an advance through the enemy. At present they paid no more attentionto us than they would to the wooden negro in front of a tobacco shop, butat any moment detection might confront me. Faith, here was a predicament!Conceive me, with a hundred guineas set upon my head, thrust into the verycompany in all England I would most have avoided.
And of all the people in the world they chanced on me as a topic ofconversation. George Selwyn, strolling up and down the room, for want ofsomething better to do, stopped in front of that confounded placard andbegan reading it aloud. Now I don't mind being described as "Tall, strong,well-built, and extremely good-looking; brown eyes and waving hair likeilk; carries himself with distinction;" but I grue at being set down as acommon cutpurse, especially when I had taken the trouble to send back SirRobert's jewelry at some risk to myself.
"Wonder what Montagu has done with himself," queried Beauclerc afterSelwyn had finished.
"Or what Volney has done with him," muttered March behind his hand. "I'lllay two to one in ponies he never lives to cross another man."
"You're wrong, March, if you think Volney finished him. He's alive allright. I heard it from Denman that he got safe across to France. PityVolney didn't pink the fellow through the heart for his d----d impudencein interfering; not that I can stand Volney either, curse the popinjay!"snarled Craven sourly.
"If Montagu reaches the continent, 'twill be a passover the Jews who holdhis notes will not relish," suggested Selwyn in his sleepy way.
A pink-and-white-faced youth shimmering in cream satin was the animatedheart of another group. His love for scandal and his facility foracquiring the latest tidbit made him the delight of many an old tabby cat.Now his eyes shone with the joy of imparting a delicious morsel.
"Egad, then, you're all wrong," he was saying in a shrill falsetto. "Stapme, the way of it was this! I have it on the best of authority and itcomes direct, rot me if it doesn't! Sir Robert's man, Watkins, told MadameBellevue's maid, from whom it came straight to Lord Pam's fellow andthrough him to old Methuselah, who mentioned it to----"
"You needn't finish tracing the lineage of the misinformation. We'llassume it began with Adam and ended with a dam--with a descendant of his,"interrupted Craven with his usual insolence. "Now out with the lie!"
"'Pon honour, Craven, 'tis gospel truth," gasped Pink-and-White.
"Better send for a doctor then. If he tries to tell the truth for oncehe'll strangle," suggested Selwyn whimsically to March.
"Spit it out then!" bullied Craven coarsely.
"Oh, Lard! Your roughness gives me the flutters, Sir James. I'm all of atremble. Split me, I can't abide to be scolded! Er-- Well, then, 'twas aWelsh widow they fought about--name of Gwynne and rich as Croesus--oldenough to be a grandmother of either of 'em, begad! Volney had first claimand Montagu cut in; swore he'd marry her if she went off the hooks nextminute. They fought and Montagu fell at the first shot. Next day the oldBegum ran off with her footman. That's the story, you may depend on't.Lud, yes!"
"You may depend on its being wrong in every particular," agreed Lady Dicoolly. "You'd better tell the story, 'Toinette. They'll have it a hundredtimes worse."
"Oh Lard! Gossip about my future husband. Not I!" giggled that livelyyoung woman.
"Don't be a prude, miss!" commanded the Dowager Countess sharply. "'Tis tostifle false reports you tell it."
"Slidikins! An you put it as a duty," simpered the young beauty. "'Twouldseem that--it would appear--the story goes that-- Do I blush?--that SirRobert-- Oh, let Lady Di tell it!"
Lady Di came to scratch with the best will in the world.
"To correct a false impression then; for no other reason I tell it save tokill w
orse rumours. Everybody knows I hate scandal."
"'Slife, yes! Everybody knows that," agreed Craven, leering over atMarch.
"Sir Robert Volney then was much taken with a Scotch girl who was visitingin London, and of course she dreamed air castles and fell in love withhim. 'Twas Joan and Darby all the livelong day, but alack! the maiddiscovered, as maids will, that Sir Robert's intentions were--not of thebest, and straightway the blushing rose becomes a frigid icicle. Well,this Northern icicle was not to be melted, and Sir Robert was for tryingthe effect of a Surrey hothouse. In her brother's absence he had the maidabducted and carried to a house of his in town."
"'Slife! A story for a play. And what then?" cried Pink-and-White.
"Why then--enter Mr. Montagu with a 'Stay, villain!' It chanced that youngDon Quixote was walking through the streets for the cooling of his bloodmayhap, much overheated by reason of deep play. He saw, he followed, at afitting time he broke into the apartment of the lady. Here Sir Robertdiscovered them----"
"The lady all unready, alackaday!" put in the Honourable Isabel, frombehind a fan to hide imaginary blushes.
"Well, something easy of attire to say the least," admitted Lady Diplacidly.
"I' faith then, Montagu must make a better lover than Sir Robert," criedMarch.
"Every lady to her taste. And later they fought on the way to Surrey. Bothwounded, no graves needed. The girl nursed Montagu back to health, andthey fled to France together," concluded the narrator.
"And the lady--is she such a beauty?" queried Beauclerc.
"Slidikins! I don't know. She must have points. No Scotch mawkin woulddraw Sir Robert's eye."
You are to imagine with what a burning face I sat listening to thisdevil's brew of small talk. What their eyes said to each other ofinnuendo, what their lifted brows implied, and what they whispered behindwhite elegant hands, was more maddening than the open speech. For myself,I did not value the talk of the cats at one jack straw, but for this younggirl sitting so still beside me-- By Heaven, I dared not look at her. Nordid I know what to do, how to stop them without making the matter worsefor her, and I continued to sit in an agony grizzling on the gridiron oftheir calumnies. Had they been talking lies outright it might have beeneasily borne, but there was enough of truth mixed in the gossip to burnthe girl with the fires of shame.
At the touch of a hand I turned to look into a face grown white and chill,all the joy of life struck out of it. The girl's timorous eyes implored meto spare her more of this scene.
"Oh Kenneth, get me away from here. I will be dying of shame. Let us begoing at once," she asked in a low cry.
"There is no way out except through the crowd of them. Will you dare makethe attempt? Should I be recognized it may be worse for you."
"I am not fearing if you go with me. And at all events anything iss betterthan this."
There was a chance that we might pass through unobserved, and I took it;but I was white-hot with rage and I dare say my aggressive bearingbewrayed me. In threading our way to the door I brushed accidentallyagainst Mistress Westerleigh. She drew aside haughtily, then gave a littlescream of recognition.
"Kenn Montagu, of all men in the world--and turned Quaker, too. Gog'slife, 'tis mine, 'tis mine! The hundred guineas are mine. I call you allto witness I have taken the desperate highwayman. 'Tall, strong, andextremely well-looking; carries himself like a gentleman.' This way, sir,"she cried merrily, and laying hold of my coat-tails began to drag metoward the men.
There was a roar of laughter at this, and the pink-white youth loungedforward to offer me a hand of welcome I took pains not to see.
"Faith, the lady has the right of it, Montagu. That big body of yours isworth a hundred guineas now if it never was before," laughed Selwyn.
"Sorry to disappoint the lady, but unfortunately my business carries me inanother direction," I said stiffly.
"But Lud! 'Tis not fair. You're mine. I took you, and I want the reward,"cries the little lady with the sparkling eyes.
Aileen stood by my side like a queen cut out of marble, turning neither tothe right nor to the left, her head poised regally on her fine shouldersas if she saw none in the room worthy a look.
"This must be the baggage about which they fought. Faith, as fine a pieceas I have seen," said Craven to March in an audible aside, his bold eyesfixed insolently on the Highland girl.
Aileen heard him, and her face flamed. I set my teeth and swore to pay himfor that some day, but I knew this to be no fitting time for a brawl.Despite me the fellow forced my hand. He planted himself squarely in ourway and ogled my charge with impudent effrontery. Me he quite ignored,while his insulting eyes raked her fore and aft. My anger seethed, boiledover. Forward slid my foot behind his heel, my forearm under his chin. Ithrew my weight forward in a push. His head went back as though shot froma catapult, and next moment Sir James Craven measured his length on theground. With the girl on my arm I pushed through the company to the door.They cackled after me like solan-geese, but I shut and locked the door intheir faces and led Aileen to her room. She marched up the stairs like agoddess, beautiful in her anger as one could desire. The Gaelic heart is agood hater, and 'twas quite plain that Miss Macleod had inherited acapacity for anger.
"How dare they? How dare they? What have I done that they should talk so?There are three hundred claymores would be leaping from the scabbard forthis. My grief! That they would talk so of my father's daughter."
She was superbly beautiful in her wrath. It was the black fury of theHighland loch in storm that leaped now from her eyes. Like a caged andwounded tigress she strode up and down the room, her hands clenched andher breast heaving, an impetuous flood of Gaelic pouring from her mouth.
For most strange logic commend me to a woman's reasoning, I had been in noway responsible for the scene down-stairs, but somehow she lumped meblindly with the others in her mind, at least so far as to punish mebecause I had seen and heard. Apparently 'twas enough that I was of theirrace and class, for when during a pause I slipped in my word of soothingexplanation the uncorked vials of her rage showered down on me. Faith, Ibegan to think that old Jack Falstaff had the right of it in his rating ofdiscretion, and the maid appearing at that moment I showed a clean pair ofheels and left her alone with her mistress.
As I was descending the stairs a flunky in the livery of the Westerleighshanded me a note. It was from Antoinette, and in a line requested me tomeet her at once in the summer-house of the garden. In days past I hadcoquetted many an hour away with her. Indeed, years before we had beenlovers in half-earnest boy and girl fashion, and after that the best offriends. Grimly I resolved to keep the appointment and to tell this littleworldling some things she needed much to know.
I found her waiting. Her back was turned, and though she must have heardme coming she gave no sign. I was still angry at her for her share in whathad just happened and I waited coldly for her to begin. She joined me inthe eloquent silence of a Quaker meeting.
"Well, I am here," I said at last.
"Oh, it's you." She turned on me, mighty cold and haughty. "Sir, I take itas a great presumption that you dare to stay at the same inn with me afterattempting to murder my husband that is to be."
"Murder!" I gasped, giving ground in dismay at this unexpected charge.
"Murder was the word I used, sir. Do you not like it?"
"'Twas a fair fight," I muttered.
"Was it not you that challenged? Did you not force it on him?"
"Yes, but----"
"And then you dare to come philandering here after me. Do you think I canchange lovers as often as gloves, sir? Or as often as you?"
"Madam, I protest----"
"La! You protest! Did you not come here to see me? Answer me that, sir!"With an angry stamp of her foot.
"Yes, Mistress Westerleigh, your note----"
"And to philander? Do you deny it?"
"Deny it. Odzooks, yes! 'Tis the last thing I have in my mind," I rappedout mighty short. "I have done with women and their f
ollies. I begin tosee why men of sense prefer to keep their freedom."
"Do you, Kenn? And was the other lady so hard on you? Did she make you payfor our follies? Poor Kenn!" laughed my mocking tormentor with so sudden achange of front that I was quite nonplussed. "And did you think I did notknow my rakehelly lover Sir Robert better than to blame you for hisquarrels?"
I breathed freer. She had taken the wind out of my sails, for I had comepurposing to give her a large piece of my mind. Divining my intention,womanlike she had created a diversion by carrying the war into the countryof the enemy.
She looked winsome in the extreme. Little dimples ran in and out herpeach-bloom cheeks. In her eyes danced a kind of innocent devilry, and thealluring mouth was the sweetest Cupid's bow imaginable. Laughter rippledover her face like the wind in golden grain. Mayhap my eyes told what Iwas thinking, for she asked in a pretty, audacious imitation of the Scotchdialect Aileen was supposed to speak,
"Am I no' bonny, Kenneth?"
"You are that, 'Toinette."
"But you love her better?" she said softly.
I told her yes.
"And yet----" She turned and began to pull a honeysuckle to pieces,pouting in the prettiest fashion conceivable.
The graceful curves of the lithe figure provoked me. There was a challengein her manner, and my blood beat with a surge. I made a step or two towardher.
"And yet?" I repeated, over her shoulder.
One by one the petals floated away.
"There was a time----" She spoke so softly I had to bend over to hear.
I sighed. "A thousand years ago, 'Toinette."
"But love is eternal, and in eternity a thousand years are but as a day."
The long curving lashes were lifted for a moment, and the dancing browneyes flashed into mine. While mine held them they began to dim. On my soulthe little witch contrived to let the dew of tears glisten there. Now awoman's tears are just the one thing Kenneth Montagu cannot resist. Afterall I am not the first man that has come to make war and stayed to makelove.
"'Toinette! 'Toinette!" I chided, resolution melting fast.
"And y'are commanded to love your neighbours, Kenn."
I vow she was the takingest madcap in all England, and not the worst heartneither. I am no Puritan, and youth has its day in which it will beserved. My scruples took wing.
"Faith, one might travel far and not do better," I told her. "When thegods send their best to a man he were a sorry knave to complain."
Yet I stood helpless, in longing desire and yet afraid to dare. No nicetyof conscience held me now, rather apprehension. I had not lived my one andtwenty years without learning that a young woman may be free of speech andyet discreet of action, that alluring eyes are oft mismated with primmaiden conscience. 'Tis in the blood of some of them to throw down thegauntlet to a man's courage and then to trample on him for daring toaccept the challenge.
Her eyes derided me. A scoffing smile crept into that mocking face ofhers. No longer I shilly-shallied. She had brought me to dance, and shemust pay the piper.
"Modesty is a sweet virtue, but it doesn't butter any bread," I criedgaily. "Egad, I embrace my temptation."
Which same I did, and the temptress too.
"Am I your temptation, Adam?" quoth the lady presently.
"I vow y'are the fairest enticement, Eve, that ever trod the earth sincethe days of the first Garden. For this heaven of your lips I'll pay anyprice in reason. A year in purgatory were cheap----"
I stopped, my florid eloquence nipped in bud, for the lady had suddenlybegun to disengage herself. Her glance shot straight over my shoulder tothe entrance of the summer-house. Divining the presence of an intruder, Iturned.
Aileen was standing in the doorway looking at us with an acrid, scornfulsmile that went to my heart like a knife.