CHAPTER LXI
LEAP YEAR IN GALLOWAY
Morning dawned fair over the wide strath of Dee. Cairnsmuir and BenGairn stood out south and north like blue, round-shouldered sentinels.Castle Thrieve rose grey in the midst of the water-meadows, massiveand sombre in the early sunrise.
Andro the Penman and his brother John, with the taciturnity natural toearly risers, were silently hoisting the flag which denoted thepresence of the noble young chatelaine of the great fortress.
Sholto also was early astir, for the affairs of the castle and of thehost were in his hand, and there was much business to be despatchedthat morning. The young Avondale Douglases were riding away fromThrieve, for word had come that James the Gross, seventh Earl ofDouglas, was surely at death's door.
"Besides," said William Douglas, "wherefore should we stay--our workis done. No one will molest our cousin in her heritages now! We fivehave stood about her while there was need. But for the present SirSholto and his men can keep count and reckoning with any from theback-shore of Leswalt to Berwick bound."
"Aye, indeed," cried James Douglas, "we will go till the time comewhen the suitors gather, like corbies about a dead lamb!"
"That is not a savoury comparison," cried Margaret of Douglas, nowgrown older, and already giving more than a mere promise of thatwondrous beauty which afterwards made her celebrated in all lands,"but after all, you, cousin James, have some right to make it. For,but for you and our good Sholto there, this little ewe lamb would havebeen carrion indeed!"
"Good-by!" cried James of Avondale. "Haste thee and grow up, sweetcoz. Then will I come back with the rest of the corbies and take mychance of the feast. I will keep myself for that day."
But William Douglas sat square and silent on his charger.
The Maid of Galloway waved her hand gaily to the younger of theknights.
"You shall have your chance with the rest," she cried; "but you willnot care about me then. Very likely I may have to fleech and cozenwith you like a sweetie-wife at a fair before either of you will marryme. And you know I have sworn on the bones of Saint Bride to marrynone but a Douglas of the Douglases!"
Then William Douglas saluted without a word, and turning hisbridle-rein rode away with his face steadfastly set to the north. ButJames ever cried back farewells and jovial words long after he was outof hearing. And even on the heights of Keltonmuir he still fluttered agay kerchief in his left hand.
Then Margaret Douglas went back within the gates, where her eyes fellupon Maud Lindesay, coming through the castle yard to meet her. Forthat morning she had not wished to encounter Sholto--at least notamong so many. The two maidens walked on together, and which was thefairer, the black or the nut-brown, none could say who beheld them.
After a while Margaret Douglas sighed.
"I wonder which of them I like the best," she said.
Maud laughed a merry, scornful laugh in which was a world of superiorknowledge.
"You do not like either of them very much yet, or you would have nodifficulty about the matter!" said this wise woman.
"Well, I wonder which of them loves me best," she went on; "Jamestells me of it a hundred times every day and all day. But William saysnothing. He only looks at me often, as if he disapproved of me. I amover light for him, I trow. He thinks not of me."
Then after a pause she said, again with her finger on her lip, "Iwonder which of them would do most for my sake?"
"I know!" said Maud Lindesay, promptly.
* * * * *
With the young Avondales there had ridden forth Malise and his sonLaurence on their way to the Abbey of Dulce Cor. Sholto went also withthem to convoy them to the fords of Urr.
For Laurence was to be a clerk after all.
And this is the way he explained it.
"The Abbot cannot live long, and there is no Douglas to succeed him.Then your little Maid will make me Abbot, if that Maud of yours doesher duty."
"She is not my Maud yet," sighed Sholto. For, as they say in Scotland,the lady had proved "driech to draw up."
"But she will be in good time," urged Laurence, "and she mustpersuade the Lady Margaret of my many and surprising virtues."
"The Lady Margaret hath doubtless seen these for herself. Were you notbound beside her on the iron altar?" said Sholto.
"Yes, but I dirked the old witch-woman, or so they say. And that wasno clerkly action!" objected his brother.
"Fear not," said Sholto, "you have all of her favour you need withoutworking by means of another's petticoat. But how about marrying? Youcannot wed or woo if you are a clerk. You did not use to be so unfondof a lass in the gloamings along the sweet strand called the Walk ofLovers--you know where!"
"Pshaw," cried Laurence, "I never yet saw the lass I liked better thanmyself. And I never expect to see one that I shall like better thanthe fat revenues of the Abbacy of Dulce Cor!"
He paused a moment as if roguishly considering some point.
"Besides," he went on, "wed I may not, but woo--that is anothermatter! I have never yet heard that an Abbot--"
"Good-day!" cried Sholto, suddenly, at this point, "I will not stay tohear you blaspheme!"
And leaving his father and Laurence to ride westward he turned himback towards Thrieve.
"I will surely return to-morrow," cried Malise; "I must first see thisgay bird safely in mew. Aye, and bid the Abbot William clip his wingstoo!"
So in the gay morning sunshine and with the reflection of the liftglinting dark blue from tarn and lakelet, Sholto MacKim rode towardsthe Castle of Thrieve. He bethought him on all that was bygone. TheAvondales were gone, James the Gross might die any moment--might evennow be dead and William Douglas be Earl in his place!
He thought over William of Avondale's last words to himself, spokenwith deep solemnity and in all the dignity of a great spirit.
"Sholto, you and yours have brought to justice the chief betrayer. Thetime is at hand when, having the power, I will settle with Crichtonand Livingston, the lesser villains. And in that count and reckoningyou must be my right-hand man. Keep your Countess, the sweet youngMargaret, safe for my sake. She is very precious to me--indeed, beyondmy life. And for this time fare you well!"
And he had reached a mailed hand to the captain of the Douglas guard,and when Sholto would have bent his head upon it to kiss it, Williamof Avondale gripped his suddenly as one grasps a comrade's hand whenthe heart is touched, and so was gone.
At the verge of the flowery pastures that ring the isle of Thrieve,Sholto met Maud Lindesay, wandering alone. At sight of her he leapedfrom his horse, and, without salutation of spoken speech, walked byher side.
"How came you here alone?" he asked.
Maud made her little pouting movement of the lips, and kickedviciously at a tuft of grass.
"I forgot," she said hypocritically, "I ought to have asked leave ofthat noble knight the Captain of Thrieve. We poor maids must notbreathe without his permission--no, nor even walk out to meet him whenwe are lonesome."
Maud Lindesay lifted her eyes suddenly and shot at Sholto a glance sodisabling, that, alarmed for the consequences, she veiled her eyesagain circumspectly by dropping her long lashes upon her cheek.
"Did you really come out to meet me, Maud?" cried Sholto, all the lifeflooding back into his cheeks, "in this do you speak truth and nomockery?"
"I only said that we maidens were so much in fear of our CastleGovernor, that we must not walk out even to meet him!"
At this Sholto let his horse go where it would, and, as they werepassing at the time through a coppice of hazel, he caught his saucysweetheart quickly by the wrist.
"Mistress Maud, you shall not play with me!" he said; "you will tellme plainly--do you love me or do you not?"
Maud Lindesay puckered her pretty face as if she had been about tocry.
"You hurt my arm!" she said plaintively, looking up at him with thelong pathetic gaze of a gentle helpless animal undeservedly put inpain.
Shol
to perforce released the pressure on her arm. She instantly putboth hands behind her.
"You did not hurt me at all--hear you that, Master Sholto," she cried,"and I do not love you--not that much, Sir Noble Bully!"
And she snapped her finger and thumb like a flash beneath his nose.
"Not that much!" she repeated viciously, and did it again. Sholtoturned away sternly.
"You are nothing but a silly girl, and not worthy that any true manshould either love or marry you!" he said, walking off in thedirection of the castle.
Maud Lindesay looked after him a moment as if not believing her eyesand ears. Then, so soon as she made sure that he was indeed not comingback, she tripped quickly after him. He was taking long strides, andit required a series of small hops and skips to keep up with him.
"Not really, Sholto?" she said beseechingly, almost running beside himnow. He walked so fast.
"Yes, madam, really!" said that young knight, still more sternly.
She took a little run to get a step in front of him, so that she mightadvantageously look up into his face.
"Then you will not marry me, Sholto?"
Her hands were clasped with the sweetest petitionary grace.
"_No!_"
The monosyllable escaped from his lips with a snort like a puff ofsteam from under the lid of a boiling pot.
"Not even if I ask you very nicely, Sholto?"
"No!"
The negative came again, apparently fiercer than before, almost likean explosion indeed. But still there was a hollow sound about itsomewhere.
At this the girl stopped suddenly and, drawing a little lace kerchieffrom her bosom, she sank her head into it in apparent abandonment ofgrief.
"Oh, what shall I do?" she wailed, "Sholto says he will not marry me,and I have asked him so sweetly. What shall I do? What shall I do? Iwill e'en go and drown me in the Dee water!"
And with her kerchief still held to her eyes--or at least (to bewholly accurate) to one of them--the despised maiden ran towards theriver bank. She did not run very fast, but still she ran.
Now this was more than Sholto had bargained for, and he in turnpursued her light-foot, swifter than he had ever run in his life. Heovertook her just as she reached the little ascent of the rocks by theriver margin.
His hand fell upon her shoulder and he turned her round. She was stillshaking with sobs--or something.
"I will--I will, I _will_ drown myself!" she cried, her kerchiefcloser to her eyes.
"I will marry you--I will do anything. I love you, Maud!"
"You do not--you cannot!" she cried, pushing him fiercely away, "yousaid you would not! That I was not fit to marry."
"I did not mean it--I lied! I did not know what I said! I will dowhatever you bid me!" Sholto was grovelling now.
"Then you will marry me--if I do not drown myself?"
She spoke with a sort of relenting, delicious and tentative.
"Yes--yes! When you will--to-morrow--now!"
She dropped the kerchief and the laughing eyes of naughty MaudLindesay looked suddenly out upon Sholto like sunshine in a darkplace. They were dry and full of merriment. Not a trace of tears wasto be discerned in either of them.
Then she gave another little skip, and, catching him by the arm,forced him to walk with her toward Castle Thrieve.
"Of course you will marry me, silly! You could not help yourself,Sholto--and it shall be when I like too. But now that you have been sostern and crusty with me, I am not sure that I will not take LandlessJock after all!"
* * * * *
This is the end, and yet not the end. For still, say the country folk,when the leaves are greenest by the lakeside, when the white thorn iswhitest and the sun drops most gloriously behind the purpling hills ofthe west, when the children sing like mavises on the clachan greens,you may chance to spy under the Three Thorns of Carlinwark a ladyfairer than mortal eye hath seen. She will be sitting gracefully on awhite palfrey and hearkening to the bairns singing by the watersides.And the tears fall down her cheeks as she listens, in the place wherein the spring-time of the year young William Douglas first met the LadySybilla.
THE END
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