The bristled jowl quivered. Mr. Waugh, senior, leaned farther out of the window. "Jamie! Are ye sober, lad?.

The glover, who was getting a little tired of the continuing stress on his condition, frowned. He said tartly, "A d.a.m.ned sight too sober to stomach the sicht o' the wagglin' chops on ye muckle longer. Will ye come down?.

But Faither only hung farther out. "Jamie! Tell me! Ye havena had an enc.o.o.nter with a sleekit-spoken chiel . .

Richard, leaning on his pommel, looked up.

"Oh, it's yourself!" said the old man hurriedly. A yellow grin, hastily summoned, jerked into place. "Man, you're a great case. From the Mull tae Dunnet Heid there isna another body could have brought Jamie Waugh to his faither as stone-sober and ill-tempered as the dayhe was weaned." He ducked smartly as a stone, flung by his impatient son, cracked on the woodwork. "Just wait; wait now. I'll be down..

He let them in and watched as Jamie, having lit a candle, opened his ledger and conned it. Richard, looking around the perfumed and ffickering gloom, saw something wink on a table, and strolling across, picked up his dagger. Slipping it back in his belt, he grinned into a lugubrious bloodshot eye. "I'll excuse you the gloves I've won, Mr. Waugh. It's been worth the experience to know you..

The loose mouth wobbled. "Man, I can just say the same: there's many an alehouse would keep you in drink for life for a loan o' your talents." He melted un.o.btrusively into the gloom as his son came forward slowly, the big book spread in his hands. There was a pause, then the man Jamie gave an exclamation, laid down the book and held the glove over to the light. "The deil!" he said. "He's used it as a shooting glove!.

With some grimness Richard replied. "He certainly has..

"Well, it's no meant for a shooting glove!" said Jamie Waugh in righteous indignation. "It's a fancy glove that-one of a pair, and far too much decoration on it for shooting with. I mind it fine, and the chap that bought it..

Richard found a seat and dropped very gently into it. "Do you? Tell me what happened..

"Well; in comes this fellow ordering gloves, and as fussy as a flea in a bathtub over the pattern, and that Patey has to do the gold, and-""What did he look like?.

The glover thought. "Kind of fancy-looking-no offence, sir, if he's any relation. Yellow hair, and an awful tongue in his head..

"In aurum coruscante et crispante capillo," said Richard unexpectedly, and gave a kind of a smile as Waugh stared at him. "Have you ever seen him before, Mr. Waugh?.

"Never. Nor since. He's not a native of these parts..

"No. Go on..

"Well, when it comes to the bit, he hasn't the price of a full pair on him, and we had a bit of an argument. However-as you'll understand, sir-he's riot the sort of person it's just easy to cross. He paid a bit-just some silver, and left his address, and said he'd accommodate me by taking one glove and collecting the other when he sent the money. I knew it was a tale," said Mr. Waugh with some reminiscent anger, "but he had such a manner on him-.

"I know," said Richard. "And has he ever sent the money?.

Jainie Waugh went and rummaged in a cupboard, returning with the twin of the embroidered glove. "No. There it is. No one's come for it..

"Would you permit a man of mine to watch at the back of your shop till this man arrives? I'll pay you, of course..

Surprise showed on Jamie's face. He hesitated, then shrugged. "Just as you like, sir," and was about to shut the book when Richard stopped him. "Just a moment. What address did your yellow-haired man give?.

Waugh peered along the crabbed entry. "It'll be a false one, belike Address . . . Address-oh. Here we are. Aye, it's false, I'mafraid. 'Castle of Midculter, County of Lanark,' it says." Richard got up suddenly. "And the name?.

"Well, now. He didn't give his own name, just the name of the man he was to send to pay for the gloves. Devil, whei'e is it? Oh, here. 'Richard Crawford, third Baron Culter.' How's that for impudence? A lord, no less. Man, you can't trust a soul nowadays. When did you say your man would be here?.

Whatever bitter self-mockery lay behind the impa.s.sive face, Lord Culter showed none of it. He said coolly, "I shan't require now to send anyone . . . I have made the mistake of underrating my friend," and, laying a gold piece on the table, added, "No one will come for the gloves now. Keep them both, and look on the sale as discharged. Now: there was some talk of ham . . .

But with all that, the man was only human. He didn't return to Stirling that night, but buried anger and disappointment in the Skinnergate, under rashers and eggs and ale and good company; and Jock Merton said, sotto voce, that gentleman or no, he was d.a.m.ned if the fellow wasn't good value at a party and could hold his liquor like a fisherman: a statement that Mariotta, and perhaps even the Dowager, would have been astonished to hear.

It was late when ~e left. They were loth to let him go, and he might have been overpersuaded to stay but for Jamie, who had spent the evening making up for lost ground and achieved the full cycle, as Culter mounted his horse, by descending the stairs in one airborne step. Richard waited only to make sure the glover was unhurt, then waved and set oft.

He had no notion of arriving at any of the houses known to him at Perth with a thick head in the middle of Christmas. After a littlethought, he directed the mare to the castle where he could command a bed for a few hours and set out for Stirling at the crack of dawn next day.

It was no fault of his that the English army at Broughty Fort also set out that night, with malicious intent, on a punishing raid of the neighbourhood. He was wakened at five in the morning by the crash of emergency and, driven by duty, set out to pa.s.s the day not at Stirling but by the side of the Provost and Constable of Perth at Balmerino.

He rode to the fighting in no cheerful mood. "I thought," said Richard wearily, "there was only one man playing h.e.l.l with my life. But by G.o.d! Ruthven, it's become a national pastime..

* * *At midday-and with still no sign of Richard-Sybilla exercised her native wit and, putting on furs and boots and refusing escort, plodded down the street to Patey Liddell's.

"Well, now-your ladyship's all wet- This is a pleasure, but- Come away over to the furnace- You know Lord Culter went off with the picture- That's a comfortable chair, now: sit you downHe's not here," said Patey, who under the forcible blue eye seemed a little upset.

"I guessed that," said Sybilla. "Where did he take the glove, Patey?" The goldsmith eyed her and decided evidently that only truth would serve. "To Perth," he said simply.

"Oh, Richard!" exclaimed Sybilla in extreme exasperation. She turned the blue eyes on Patey again. "Is that where the glove was made?.

He nodded, hesitated, then volunteered, "No one'll lay a' finger on him, your ladyship: I warrant you that. Jamie Waugh's a terrible man, but there's not a drop of harm in him, and he'll treat his lordship as kind as a maid with her rich new joe. . . . You'll take some spirits?" added Patey, at a speed suggesting a desire to efface his own conjecture.

"No, I must go back." Rising, Lady Culter bent to look at a small nugget lying on the smith's bench in a drift of sparkling dust. She lifted it to examine it more closely. "It was a pretty glove. That pale yellow gold is from Crawfordmuir, isn't it? You use a lot of it, Patey..

"What?" said Liddell. He grinned vaguely. "It's a bonny wee nugget, that. Gold..

"I wasn't talking about the nugget," said Sybilla, "particularly. What's the tax on Scottish-mined gold these days, Patey? Fairly high? And isn't it all supposed to go straight to the Mint?.

"Scottish gold?" said the smith, and shook his white head. "It's well enough; well enough; but a wee thing soft, and there's them that prefers a good brosy yellow to yon pale stuff. No. Whatever it is you're wanting, you come to me and I'll show you gold that'd make crowns for angels..

"Well, that'd be a change," said the Dowager sourly, "from making crowns for Patey Liddell. You're a perverse, deaf old man, and I don't know why I come to you..

"Do you not?" said Patey, exerting to the full his highly selective aural powers. "Then I'll tell you: it's to get a good bargain; and you can be sure of this: whatever Patey Liddell's got a hand in'll never hurt a Crawford..

"Then I suggest," said Sybilla, making for the door, "you steer clear of my daughter-in-law; or something Patey Liddell had a hand in this day is going to be a sore affliction to Patey Liddell." And she went home.

* * *So Christmas, unappalled at Lord Culter's absence, came cantily to Stirling.

It was a French Christmas; a debonair Christmas full of frolic and folly; a spry, Gallic unctuous Christmas. Henry of France, at last roused to boldness and the cunning exercise of spite, had sent a small fleet to Scotland, and in it money for the Queen Dowager, and French military experts for her guidance and the better security of her fortresses. The military experts, tricked out in scent and white satin, danced like well-mannered clouds and talked in the Council Chamber of chests of money and major landings of troops waiting to come with better weather. The Government blew a sigh of relief, eyed the cut of the white satin and, flinging its armour out of the window, bawled for its valet.

The Court danced. The Court played rough games and watched masques. Cardboard c.u.muli, joggling cautiously from ceiling to floor, emitted Spirits of Love, giggling, with siren voices half a tone sharpwith nerves. Forty-two different kinds of main dishes were offered at one sitting, and even the puddings burst asunder and became sweating cherubs released from cardboard confinement and p.r.o.ne to emergency and fits of tears.

Sybilla, animatedly and comfortably at home, found time to watch her small flock. She observed Agnes Herries, graced with a new diffidence and dancing, under the Governor's orders, with the Governor's son. Christian, who did not care to dance in public, had been strategically waylaid by Tom Erskine. Mariotta, who should not have been dancing, was doing so, incessantly. The Dowager breathed a faint prayer for the well-being of the future heir of the Culters and returned her gaze to Lady Herries.

So she saw a tall, stooping figure appear in the distance; saw Agnes Herries hesitate, and then saw her disappear up the turnpike stair which gave access to the wall-walk on the roof. The tall figure followed her.

The Dowager walked over to Christian and sat down. "Hold my hand and talk to me," she demanded. "Something interesting is happening on the tower stairs and I feel nervous and grandmotherly..

Christian turned on the older woman her affectionate grin. "Nothing like practice," said she.

* * *The tall man was dressed in blue silk. Agnes, watching him emerge from the tower, noted the deliberate, light walk and the brome-gra.s.s hair ruffling in the night wind. He came nearer, and she saw yellow peregrine eyes with black, buried pupils.

"Lady Herries?" he asked; and when she nodded, he smiled suddenly.

"You're so small. I have something for you, my lady-but it's like Abbey Craig speaking to Dumyat. Perhaps, if you'll allow me, we should settle our differences first." And before she could object, he put both hands around her waist and swung her easily to the broad parapet. She arrived with a b.u.mp, had a fleeting thought about the state of the ledge, then arranged her skirts and turned again to the gentleman's eyes. They were still very yellow, but kind. He took her hand and put something into it. "From Threave," he said.

Agnes looked down. Between her fingers, dark with melted snow but warm and perfect, was a st.u.r.dy red rose. She said "Oh!" in asurprised delight, and repeated it as his words penetrated. "From Threave?.

"From Jack Maxwell. With his respectful love. Well, Lady Herries:are you disappointed?" asked the Master of Maxwell.

She shook her head. "I think," said Agnes, with a young and tender naYVet~, "you are as handsome as your letters, sir..

* * *Long after the parapet was empty, a clatter of hoofs foretold a latecomer approaching the Castle Wynd, riding alone on a stumbling horse. The captain of the guard admitted him instantly and, soaked and battered with mud, Lord Culter dismounted and walked into the yard.

Richard had come straight from Perth, and brought with him from the Provost of Perth an account of the raid on Balinerino Abbey in which he was notably concerned. This he gave to one of the Queen's officers, being hardly presentable enough to ask for audience himself. On the same grounds, he asked that his wife should be brought to the Palace to speak to him.

Crossing the flying bridge from Hall to Palace, Mariotta was aware of a very creditable sense of relief. At least the bloodhound had taken no actual harm this time; although his behaviour remained erratic, antisocial and evasive. Mariotta marched into the Palace with reconciliation to sell, at a price; Richard rose to welcome her with an expression which the Dowager would have recognized as discomfort and guilt. In the net result, Mariotta looked angry and Richard looked wooden, and the opening round was not one to inspire confidence.

This was because Richard made the mistake of blaming his absence on the fighting outside Perth. Mariotta heard him in silence, and then inquired stonily about the tracing of the glove. Richard's account of this was lamentable. Told in the cold light of reason, the sobering of Jamie Waugh sounded remarkably like a drunken brawl: the exact points of difference were hard to define. He was brought to admitting, austerely, that the entire trip had been a wild-goose chase expressly fabricated by Lymond; he then apologized again for his absence and indicated that, if she would allow him, he would leave for Bogle House and change his clothes.

Mariotta listened to it all, sitting judicially in a whirl of velvet with all the Culter jewels and the emerald necklace for moral support.

She said thoughtfully, "I wonder you didn't tell us where you were going? Were you afraid we should refuse to let you leave?.

Richard looked at her quickly, then studied the floor. "I knew you might be worried. As I said, I expected to be back quite soon..

"We were very worried. You don't think," said Mariotta carefully, "that it might even have been helpful to talk it over beforehand?.

"Oh?" said Richard. "Who with?.

Lady Culter got up and stalked to the door. "The Great Chan of China," said she with awful and unaccustomed sarcasm, and swept out.

At that precise moment, the Dowager Queen sent for him. So he had after all to cross to the Hall in his travel-stained dress, and had a brief interview with Mary of Guise, magnificent on her dais with laughter and French wit for canopy. She had some shrewd questions to ask; then she abandoned business and introduced him to her compatriots and chafled him on his pretty wife. Richard who, when clean, was a presentable as well as a solid person, responded adequately and at length was allowed to go. He got as far as the first door, and was arrested by a vigilant figure which whisked him out of sight around the standpost.

"Stay there while I speak to you. If Wat sees you, he'll burst," said Lady Buccleuch. "What's come over you? You'll be a fat old bigot like Buccleuch if you keep on at this rate. Never mind. Here's the point-Wat's made a rendezvous with the boy..

For a moment, she thdught the man looked at her as if she was talking Hebrew; then his face changed and he sat down, a trifle heavily. "By G.o.d, has he? How did he get in touch? Will Lymond be there?.

"Will sent a message-they met at that cattle raid affair, I think. I don't know if Lymond is involved-officially, I don't know anything: Sybilla is the one in Wat's confidence at the moment. But I got a wee glisk a the note when it came, and it said-.

"Wait a bit." Richard rubbed two fingers and a thumb over his brow, transferring to it a long smear of harness dye. "Before you say any more. Buccleuch and I had words recently. We're not on good terms, and we've got different opinions about how this business of Lymond should be treated. You know all that. The last thing Buccleuch wants is to have this piece of information in my hands..

"What Buccleuch wants and what he gets," said Dame Janet serenely, "don't always coincide in my experience. Don't be a fool,man. You may whinny at the method, but you can't deny we've got motive and provocation enough to defend it to the Pope, if need be. With or without Lymond, Will's engaged to meet Buccleuch in the beech wood at the foot of the Crumhaugh-the hill between Branxholm and Slitrig Water-at dusk on the first Sunday in February." She rose laboriously. "There you are. Do what you like about it..

Richard looked past her into the Hall. A new dance had begun and the Queen-the youngest Queen, aged five-was leading it, cheeks like fruit below a fiercely combed and shining head, one arm erect as a flag in her partner's grasp. The lines of long, slow sleeves marched and swayed with the music; coloured limbs were pleached and latticed in pattern. The music, piping, thudding, nasal, escorted the murmur of voices. Somewhere in one of the ranks Mariotta was dancing, and behind her, Agnes Herries with the Master of Maxwell.Richard looked down at his own muddy clothes and rubbed his face again. "Yes." He added abruptly, "You understand, I'm not interested in Will. I want to take my brother..

"Do that, and the boy will come back of his own accord," said Janet. "Look, there's Wat hunting for me. Goodbye. If you've a grain of sense you'll go straight home to bed..

"Good night-and thank you. I'll take care Buccleuch doesn't hear where my information came from," said Culter.

"Och, I'll tell him myself," said Dame Janet. "Just so soon as it's all over. He'll be all the better of a good row after mincing away with Kincurd and his morals. Wicked Wat of Buccleuch! Saints preserve us." She turned back into the Hall~ and Richard went home.

3.

Another Royal Lady Enters the GaMeTo Lord Grey of Wilton, the Protector's Lord Lieutenant of the North, Gideon Somerville reported in full the incident of the cattle raid and of the a.s.sault on his home and the taking of Sir George Douglas's letter. He was frank and even pointedly detailed with one exception: he held back the name of the interloper. Gideon had no intention of being asked to reopen negotiations with him, should he be known to Lord Grey.

The interview took place in the Castle of Warkworth on the bright, bracing coast of Northumberland.

For domestic reasons, the English Protector urgently needed asplendid success at something, and his first instinct was to put a stop to the squabbling inaction in the north. This he did, characteristically, by ordering his Lords Warden to meet and devise an instant plan for, first, devastating the House of Buccleuch; second, pulverizing the House of Douglas; and third, joining the power of the three Border Marches and burning Scotland up to the eyebrows. The object of this last, as ever, was to wrest the child Queen from these antique and wiry arms and rear her, unequivocably, as the bride of the King of England. The Lords Warden, answering faintly, undertook to excel themselves and arranged to meet on this last Friday in January at the Castle of Warkworth. The Lords Warden detested each other, but they distrusted the Protector more.

Gideon was present at the historic meeting, and with him was Lord Wharton, who had spent a night at Flaw Valleys on his way. The fourth member was Sir Thomas Bowes, a large and silent man who was Warden of the Middle Marches.

As senior commander, Lord Grey chose to open the meeting with a striking list of his activities on the east of Scotland. In the front of his mind was a courteous desire to complete the military picture for his fellow officers. In the back of it marched a procession of letters from the Lord Protector, making concise reference to some aspect of Lord Wharton's energy and initiative on the west. He went on.

"Now, what we have to do most urgently is to break this mood of optimism. This French arrival has done a lot of damage: men and money pouring into Scotland from the French king, and the promise of more-we can't ignore that. And your friend Lennox crawling into Dumfries and home again like a half-drowned kitten, Wharton, hardly had the appearance of a military tour de force..

"The Earl of Lennox, like the baker of Ferrara, thinks he is made of b.u.t.ter," said Wharton dryly. "I am in no position to disabuse him of the idea..

"Well, he's no tactician: that's obvious," said Grey. "Figureheads are dangerous. Would never touch 'em. And if I had to, I should go with them and make d.a.m.n sure they didn't get into mischief..

"I bow to expert opinion, of course. But the gentleman is married to the King's cousin. The effect is to make him touchy about bearleading..

"Tact!" said Lord Grey.

"It is a little difficult," said Lord Wharton, "to convey acceptably to a n.o.ble gentleman that he is an interfering fool." And he let apause develop just sufficiently before going on. "If I might suggest it, we should be better employed in considering just how Lord Lennox might be used-since inescapably he must be used-in the next combined raid. And how he can help us against the Douglases. .

They had got exactly so far when Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox, was announced.

a a *Meg Douglas in girlhood had possessed the gorgeous, leonine sort of beauty that her uncle Henry VIII had frittered away, and of which her father, the Earl of Angus, was the vestigial affidavit. In sixteen years' residence in England, careening at Henry's whim from near-throne to near-block, Margaret had kept her splendour.

Her mother, Margaret Tudor of England, had been married to King James of Scotland nearly fifty years before; and had stayed in Scotland to become Angus's wife when her first husband lost his life at Flodden.

Now Henry was dead; his sister was dead; Angus had married again and Margaret Douglas had become the good-conduct prize which persuaded the Earl of Lennox to abandon his singiehanded bid for the Scottish throne, and throw in his lot with England. She was not an unwilling bride. Once, when Henry was in the throes of illegitimizing his children, the Lady Margaret had been heiress to the throne of England. The royal blood which she and Lennox shared and which ran in their children was a powerful claim to both the English and Scottish thrones. Lennox might be a bad tactician, but his wife was not.

Her entry into the solar at Warkworth was consciously magnificent. Gideon, effacing himself, studied her. Her hair was a dark, lichen-blond and the features strongly marked in a pale skin, the mouth warm and decided, the chin cleft, the eyes observant. His impression was one of natural graces overlaid by years of merciless experience.

She was speaking with perfect composure. "I'm afraid my family have been troubling you greatly. It's never easy for an Englishman to understand all the pressures Scots are subject to..

No one had any illusions that this was a social call. Lord Wharton was blunt. "Saving your presence, Lady Lennox, I have made no secret of my views about the Douglases. I know the difficulties they are under. But until they show themselves friends, we must treatthem as enemies. I have raided Angus's land and Drumlanrig's land on instructions from the Lord Protector, and I regret if Lord Grey feels that his friendship with Sir George and his private promises of immunity are endangered, but further than that I cannot go..

The Lord Lieutenant was taut with temper and the need to preserve the social decencies. "I dislike, as any gentleman would, the appearance of breaking my pledged word," he said. "The damage done, however, I agree that the Douglases have taken unwarrantable revenge and, as you know perfectly, I have pledged my word to punish them..

"We'll be lucky if we get the chance," said Wharton bluntly. "But in case we do, I've asked everyone who is able, to report to me for service as soon as they can. If you will carry out your second raid on Buccleuch, Lord Lieutenant, I shall put all the force I can to shake the Douglases out of their bushes..

"Wait a moment." Lady Lennox spoke, and both Grey and Wharton, intent as circling dogs in their antagonism, showed their surprise. "The Protector told me his intention was that you should enter Scotland again, Lord Grey, and form a new centre of operations at Haddington, just south of Edinburgh. Is that right?.

"The Protector wanted all three armies to invade at once, but that is impossible because of the weather and the ground, Lady Lennox. Quite impossible. In a month's time, I might be in a position to march to Haddington. In the meantime, we are to attack Buccleuch..

"I understand." She looked at her wine. "In that case, it seems a pity for Lord Wharton to draw on himself the undivided attention of the west. Would it not be better to wait a week or two for better weather, and then to synchronize your raids?.

Bowes ventured. "But time is against us, Lady Lennox. The French-.