"The Courtesan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tranter Nigel)

Chapter Eleven

THE unexpectedly successful embassage arrived back in Scotland on the cold bright last day of October 1589, to a singularly surprising situation, notably altered from that they had left – indeed a situation without parallel in the country's history. The King was gone.

At Berwick-upon-Tweed, when the travellers first heard these tidings, they by no means believed them. But resting overnight at Fast Castle, the eagle's-nest stronghold on the Coldinghamshire cliffs of Patrick's freebooting cousin Robert Logan of Restalrig, they learned the truth of it. James had left Scotland eight days before. Word, it seemed, had eventually reached Leith that the Princess Anne's convoy of eleven ships, buffeted, battered and dispersed by contrary gales, after having been no less than three times within sight of the Scottish coast, had finally put back to Norway, abandoning all hope of reaching Scotland that season. James, quite desperate, had decided that there was nothing for a true lover, chivalrous knight and kingly poet to do, in the circumstances, but to set sail himself, go fetch his bride, and challenge the Devil and all his malign works of witchcraft in a heroic royal gesture that in due course would make the most splendid epic of all. Despite the astonishment, disbelief, alarm and unanimous disapproval of his advisers, the King was adamant – and urgent. He had ordered the most suitable ship in the harbour of Leith to be made ready for sea, and had appointed a Council of Regency to govern the realm during his absence, and on the 22nd of October had set sail for Scandinavia, taking Chancellor Maitland with him, his chaplain Master David Lindsay to perform the marriage ceremony, and sundry others. By now, he might well be in Norway.

Even Patrick Gray was quite overcome by this extraordinary news. Eventually, however, he smiled, he chuckled, he began to laugh – and laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. The Earl of Moray was less amused, especially when Logan could by no means recollect his name amongst those nominated for the Council of Regency.

They set off for Edinburgh without delay next morning.

In the capital city they found a most curious state of affairs prevailing. James, in his delegation of authority, had been more astute than might have been expected. He had, with rather remarkable cunning, selected for various offices of government just those nobles who, because of mutual suspicion and rivalry, could be relied upon to counter-balance each others' influence and thus preclude any probable bid for power by a faction. Ludovick, Duke of Lennox, was to be viceroy and President of the Council of Regency; but lest any should seek to use that very young man too ambitiously, as Vice-President was appointed, of all choices, the madcap Francis, Earl of Bothwell, another cousin of James, whose fiery and unpredictable behaviour could be guaranteed to keep everybody on the alert. The chief military power was put in the hands of the Lord Hamilton, no friend of Bothwell's, and another contender for the heirship to the throne. Sir Robert Melville, a rather dull soldier but incorruptible, was appointed Acting Chancellor; but lest he be not sufficiently Protestant, Master Robert Bruce, chief minister of Edinburgh at St. Giles, was added to the Council with especial responsibility for the Kirk. And so on. Despite his hurried exodus, James undoubtedly had given these dispositions much thought. Perhaps he had been contemplating something of the sort for some time.

There were no special appointments for either the Master of Gray nor the Earl of Moray.

The Lady Marie welcomed Patrick and Mary back warmly. The Master of the Wardrobe's own quarters in the north wing of Holyroodhouse had at last become ready and available while they were in England, and Marie had removed there from her father's crowded establishment nearby. Here was space, privacy, comfort, with even a private stairway from the great courtyard, and a room for Mary's own use. After months and years of making do in cramped and inconvenient lodgings, Marie rejoiced in this domestic bliss, and asked no more than that her little household should settle therein quietly and enjoy it, during this unexpected interval of Court inactivity.

But it was not to be. Patrick Gray was not the man for settled and domestic bliss.

'I am sorry, my dear,' he told her. 'But this is no place for us, meantime. With the King gone, I should be but wasting my time in Edinburgh. There is much to be done elsewhere -especially at Broughty Castle. Many decisions await me there…'

'Not Broughty, Patrick!' his wife protested. 'Not that great gloomy, draughty pile! To dwell in! Winter is almost upon us…'

'It will be less gloomy now, Marie, I promise you. And the draughts somewhat abated, I vow. I love such no more than you do. But it is my house, my inheritance – thrown in my face by my father! I intend that he shall rue the day that he fobbed me off with Broughty!'

'Yes, Patrick – but we need not go to live there. Not yet. In winter. When we have this fine lodging here. You can visit Broughty, yes – to see how the work goes. But that need take only a day or two. We need not all go…'

'I fear that we need so, indeed,' he assured her. 'And get there as quickly and secretly as may be. Do you not realise, my heart, that I have here with me two thousand English pounds in gold? A vast fortune indeed. Half the lords in Scotland, not to mention lesser men, would sell their very souls for a tithe of it! That gold, and my life with it, must be protected, must it not? Once it becomes known that I have it – and Moray, I swear, will not fail to let all know that our mission has been successful – men with long knives and empty purses will be after it, and me. Nothing is more certain. So much ready money has scarce been seen in Scotland before. It must be placed in safety – and swiftly. And I can think of few places safer than in Broughty Castle, where only a few men might guard it against an army.'

'But it is the King's money, Patrick. Bestow it in the royal treasury…'

'A pox, Marie – that is the last place I would place it! Who has the keys of the royal treasury? My Lord Treasurer, the Master of Glamis, one of the biggest rogues in the land! No, that is not a temptation I mean to put in our friend Thomas Lyon's way! Nor in the way of any in the Council, God save me, with the King far in another land!'

'Ludovick would look after it. He is the King's representative, and honest.'

'Ludovick is young, a mere boy. He is honest, yes – but can be cozened. No – it goes to Broughty, and we go with it. Forthwith. This very night I shall go down to Leith to find a boat that may take us there. Safer, more secretly, than the long journey by land…'

'You are sure, Patrick, that you intend that all this gold shall come out of Broughty Castle again, into King James's hands, in due course?'

Patrick frowned. 'If that is a jest, Marie, it is but ill-timed,' he said coldly.

Mary Gray intervened, from the fireside where she had been listening quietly to this exchange. 'It will be good to be back in the Carse again,' she said. 'You will take me with you, Uncle Patrick? I shall go home to my mother and father at Castle Huntly. I am longing to see them again…'

A servant knocked at the door to announce the presence of the Duke of Lennox.

Ludovick came in hurriedly, breathlessly, having run up the stairs. His eyes, shining, turned immediately to Mary, before he recollected his duty to the Master of Gray and his wife.

'I was at Dalkeith, when I heard,' he declared, 'that you were returned. I came at once.'

'Ha – the ruler of Scotland in person!' Patrick exclaimed. 'My lord Duke, we are indeed honoured by your condescension in seeking out our humble abode.'

Ludovick's plain freckled features actually flushed a little. 'I came as soon as I heard,' he said, awkwardly. 'I rejoice to see you back. I… I have missed you greatly.' Once again his glance slid round to Mary.

The Master came across and put an arm around the younger man's shoulders. 'I will not ask, Vicky, which of us you have missed most!' And he laughed.

'Why, I…I…ah… ummm.'

The girl came to his rescue. She rose, and curtsied to him. 'How good to see you, Vicky,' she said. 'It was kind of you to come, and so quickly.'

'Mary!' he got out, and reached for her hand in a grab rather than in any viceregal gesture. 'You are well? So beautiful! I have wearied for you. It has been so long…'

'We have only been gone for a month, Vicky.'

'It has seemed more, much more.' Clearly the young woman's absence in England had had a great effect on the Duke, had served to confirm and crystallise his emotion with regard to her. A new urgency had come into his whole attitude.

Patrick did not fail to perceive it, and stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'I am sure that Mary is flattered, Vicky,' he said. 'But… you must have other matters on your mind, meantime? Matters of state. As President of the Council…'

'It is damnable,' the young man burst out, 'that James should saddle me with this. Men are at me all the time, to consider this and agree to that. It is papers and parchments and charters, every day – signing, always signing and sealing. Ink and sand and sealing-wax…!'

'Poor Vicky!' The Lady Marie smiled at him. 'When all that you want is a good horse between your knees, and hounds baying!'

'Aye. And… and… ' Ludovick looked at the younger woman.

'As well that Mary is going home to Castle Huntly then, perhaps.'

'Eh…? Going…? To Castle Huntly? You are not going away, Mary?'

'Why yes, Vicky. Meantime. It is time. I have not been home for three long months. I long to see my father and mother. And Granlord…'

'But your place is here. At Court. You are one of the Queen's ladies.'

'The Queen will not be needing me for months, to be sure.'

'But… you should not go. You have been away for toe long, as it is. I… I…' The Duke drew himself up. 'I could forbid you to go,' he said, thickly. 'I am Viceroy. I rule here, meantime.'

Mary's trill of laughter was spontaneous, mirthful. 'Do not be daft, Vicky!' she told him.

Immediately abashed, shamefaced, he looked down. 'I am sorry,' he mumbled. 'But… I do not want you to go.'

'I shall come back, never fear.'

'I shall come – come to you, then. To Castle Huntly. Or not to the castle itself, but nearby. You cannot stop me doing that, Mary – none can stop me. I shall leave Bothwell to read the papers and do the signing. He will like it well enough. I shall come to the Carse of Gowrie. Or to Dundee…'

'M'mmm – one moment,' Patrick intervened, carefully. 'I think, Vicky, that would be foolish. To hand over the rule to Bothwell. You owe the realm, and James, better than that. Bothwell is quite irresponsible. He might do anything. There would be trouble with Hamilton, for certain. No – you are Duke of Lennox and the King's lieutenant, and must bear the rule.'

The other set his chin obstinately. 'I go to the Carse if Mary goes,' he said.

'Then… then come to Broughty Castle with us, and bear the rule from there, Vicky.' Even Patrick Gray could scarcely keep the ring of excitement out of his voice. 'It is but a dozen miles from Castle Huntly.'

Quickly, searchingly, the Lady Marie looked at her husband, and then to Mary. She said nothing.

'That I should like very well,' Ludovick agreed.

'Sir Robert Melville's house in Fife is just across Tay from there. He acts Chancellor, they tell me? Nothing could be more convenient.'

'For whom?' his wife asked, somewhat tensely.

'For the Duke, of course, my dear. For the good governance of the realm. For Scotland,' Patrick answered easily. 'We go at once, Vicky – so soon as I can find a vessel to carry us. Secretly. For I fear for the King's siller that I have brought from Elizabeth. But you – you must come to Broughty later, with no undue haste. And not directly. Calling on sundry lords on the way – calling at your own house of Methven. It will look better so. None must consider your visit to Broughty, your sojourn there, to be aught but casual, innocent… '

'Aught but innocent! There we have it!' Marie took him up. 'And if this is not innocent, then – is it guilty, Patrick?'

'Tush!' he exclaimed. 'You have the vapours, my love. You jump at shadows. Come, Vicky – accompany me down to Leith, to enquire of the shipmen. Then, if there is talk of me removing this money, the King's representative himself will be known to be privy to it. The more reason for him to follow it to Broughty, i' faith!'

Reluctantly, after a longing look at Mary, the Duke followed the Master.

When they were gone, Marie went over to the baby in the crib by the window, and stood gazing down at it. 'I do not like it, Mary,' she said, shaking her fair head. 'I know that look in Patrick's eye. I fear more intrigue, more conspiracy. And therefore trouble. I see Patrick reaching out again for power…'

'He was made for power, Lady Marie. There is good in power, as well as ill. You will never stop Uncle Patrick reaching for it, I think. It is for us to be ever near him, to seek where we can that the power works for good. As we have done before.'

'As you have done, Mary. Lord, child – I believe that you were made for this power as much as was Patrick! And delight in it but little the less!'

The younger woman considered that gravely for a moment or two, and then shook her head in turn. But that was as far as her denial went.

And so, with scarcely believable ease and minimum of manoeuvre, Patrick Gray slipped quietly and inconspicuously into the rule of Scotland once again. Only a mere five months after the banished felon's uninvited return from exile, he was, temporarily at least, back in the saddle of supreme authority, operative if not titular – for he held the Viceroy of the realm in the hollow of his hand and took the decisions which Lennox promulgated. Scotland, for so long without a strong king or settled central government, swiftly if cynically recognised and accepted the familiar pattern of power, and all men with favours to seek and causes to further, concessions, exemptions, sanctions, positions, must come to seek them at Broughty Castle. In this Patrick was most effectively aided and advantaged by the very virtues of the acting Chancellor; Sir Robert Melville's unimaginative honesty, lack of ambition, and peaceable disposition, played into the Master's skilful hands. He went out of his way to seem to consult and defer to the older man, making many journeys himself and sending couriers daily over the Tay to the Melville house in Fife. He had his reward.

Moreover, despite his wife's fears, the Master of Gray was very good at the business. As had been the case three years before, when for the best part of a prosperous and peaceful year Patrick had largely controlled the destinies of his native land, so now, for those winter and spring months, Scotland was well-managed, discreetly guided, and comparatively tranquil. Admittedly Bothwell rampaged about the Borders, burning and slaying unchecked – but then, that was ever his habit, and neither James nor Maitland had found any method of stopping him. Huntly was feuding with his neighbours in the north, and taking the opportunity to devastate the Keith lands while the Earl of Marischal was still overseas – but that also was chronic, and at least he kept his activities well north of decent settled country. No doubt the far-flung Highlands seethed with strife and endemic clan warfare, but it was to the advantage of all good men that such barbarians should kill each other off as vigorously as possible. For the rest, a moderate calm prevailed, the grosser corruptions were discouraged, some notorious ill-doers were brought to justice, certain judges brought low, and the campaign against witches came almost to a full stop. There were growlings and snarlings from sundry nobles, inevitably, and carpings from the Kirk that Papistical influence was in the ascendant; but such broke no bones. And although tales were rife that a vast sum in English gold for the King was being salted away shamefully in Broughty Castle instead of in the royal treasury, the presence on the premises of the Viceroy himself largely tied the hands of any who might have sought to do more than talk. The Lord Treasurer, the Master of Glamis, at any rate, kept his distance – even though that was not so very far off, in his castle of Aldbar, near Brechin.

Broughty Castle itself, and the little town that lay under its frowning walls, flourished in consequence as never before. Very considerable improvements had been made to the stern and battle-torn fortalice since the previous July, despite dire lack of funds, but now the place blossomed like the May. Suddenly there was no dearth of money – though whence it came was by no means clear. Broughty would never be a palace nor yet a ladies' bower; but at least it was made habitable, even moderately comfortable, umber outbuildings sprang up within the courtyard, whitewashed harling set the massive masonry gleaming, tapestries and hangings graced the bare interior walls – even a painted picture or two. Servants multiplied about the place, and from Dundee came a steady stream of furnishings, fabrics, provender and wines. And above the topmost tower fluttered proudly in the sea breeze no fewer than three standards – the silver lion on scarlet, of Gray; the fess chequery of Stewart quartered with the golden lilies of D'Aubigny and the red roses of Lennox; and the rampant lion of Scotland itself.

By no means could Patrick Gray force his father to come from Castle Huntly to see it all; but at least each day at noon an old cannon, put into commission for the purpose, thundered out a viceregal salute from the battlements, that must have been heard from one end of the Carse to the other and over half of Fife and Angus, proclaiming for all to hear that here on this barren rocky promontory, was authority, jurisdiction, rule.

There was much coming and going between the two castles, of course, even though Patrick would no more darken the door of the one than would his sire the other. Ludovick seldom let a day pass without covering the dozen miles of coastline. The Lady Marie was a frequent visitor at Castle Huntly, ignoring as best she might her father-in-law's jibes and jeers. Davy Gray went often to Broughty, and Mariota occasionally. As for Mary, she was almost as much in the one house as the other, a laughing lightsome figure, apparently reverted wholly to country ways again.

The trouble that Marie feared did not materialise.

The Duke's pursuit of Mary Gray was now frank, determined in a quiet way, and continuous. Though perhaps pursuit is no accurate description; attendance upon and following after would be more apt, for there was nothing of the hunt, nothing of attack and flight about their relationship. The girl remained wholly, if modestly, inconspicuously, in command of the situation, with Lennox the faithful, humble but persistent suppliant. He was quite without pride or self-esteem in the matter, not pressing his cause other than by displaying his devotion and seeking perpetually to be in her company, content to be her squire, her escort, her constant but undemanding companion.

That the young woman did not object to his company and attentions, she made no attempt to hide. She was kind, suitably respectful in public, not at all so in private, but considerate always. That he much preferred to be with her than to concern himself with affairs of state, she accepted – though not infrequently she gently urged him towards his duty, and sought to discuss with him the problems which he tended to avoid or dismiss.

There was talk, of course – much and scandalous talk. That the Duke should require a mistress was only to be expected; but with all the cream of Scotland to choose from, that he should select the ostensible daughter of a mere land-steward, and moon after her as though she were a princess, caused grave offence. That it was all a disgraceful plot of the Master of Gray's, of course, could be taken for granted; he was using this brat to enthrall Lennox and so control the realm.

If such talk worried none of the three principals, the same could not be said of Davy Gray.

One crisp sunny December afternoon, with rime almost as thick as snow upon the ground, my lord of Gray came riding into his courtyard of Castle Huntly, hoof-beats ringing metallically in the sharp frosty air. Davy Gray was crossing from the keep to his own sanctum in the north-west tower. My lord hailed him over peremptorily.

'You taught the wench this folly o' skating, Davy – this sliding about on ice. Bairn's play. I said it wasna suitable in a lassie, in a woman. I said she'd break a leg, or the like. But you kenned better – ooh, aye, Davy Gray ay kens better! Well, maybe you'll now change your tune…'

'Mary? She is not hurt? Skating? She has not broke…?'

'No' her legs, no – it's mair like her maidenhead's in danger! If it's no' gone already!' the older man returned coarsely. 'She's out there on Sauchie Loch, clutching and hugging her precious duke to her, like any tavern trollop! I wonder we're no' hearing their skirling from here!'

The other eyed his father searchingly. It was not like Lord Gray directly to criticise Mary. 'I think that you are mistaken,' he said evenly. 'Mary behaves not so.'

'You say not? You give me the lie? Then go and look, man. Go to Sauchie Loch. She is sold to yon puppy Lennox. And it is Patrick's doing, God's eternal curse on him! The lassie is ruined, turned into a strumpet. And by yon evil devil in human shape that I had the mischance to beget!'

Davy Gray shook his head wordlessly. There was no profit in arguing.

'Dinna glower and wag your head at me, you ill limmer! It's the truth. I've been to Kinnaird. Going, I went to the smiddy with a loose shoe, and there was the pair o' them sitting by his fire watching yon great dolt o' a cousin o' yours, Don Affleck, fashioning two o' these skating irons for Lennox. God's body, but I gave him better work to do – and a flea in his ear in the by-going! But, coming back, here's them both sliding about the Shauch… Sauchie Loch, clasping and nuzzling each other!' My lord was having some difficulty with his enunciation. Abrupdy his tone changed, and his flushed, florid and dissipated face fell ludicrously, the heavy, purple jowls seeming almost to quiver. 'Och, it's no' right, it's no' decent, Davy. She used to be my ain lass. She was canny and she was kind – my ain fair bit lassie, my ain troutie. You let her awa' to yon Court, to Patrick. You shouldna ha' done it. I told you. And now… now she's nae mair than a toy, any man's toy. Aye, and a broken toy at that, I'll warrant…! A pox on you!' My lord, who had been drinking, was all but in maudlin tears as he stamped off. His son frowned after him.

Yet in only a few minutes that same son was making for the Sauchie Loch. It lay about half-a-mile away, between the castle and the village. It had been ice-bound for days, he knew – all fresh water had been frozen. After the winds and storms of summer and autumn, the winter had so far been one continuous frost, bright and still. King James would have cried witchcraft, indeed.

Sure enough, the man heard laughter ringing in the crisp air long before he reached the loch amongst the birch woods. It sounded clear, uninhibited and innocent enough, certainly.

He halted at the loch shore. They were out in the middle of some five acres of ice. There was some degree of truth in my lord's assertions as to hugging and clutching. The girl was holding the young man round the waist indeed, with both arms. But even as David watched, Ludovick's feet slid from under him and he went down on to the ice with a crash that would have been a deal harder had it not been for those encircling arms. There was much laughter once again, as she aided him to his unsteady feet. It was the Duke's turn to grasp his mentor.

As a turn, largely involuntary, in their erratic but hilarious progress, faced the pair in David's direction, the girl perceived her father standing there and raised a hand to wave. Even such withdrawal of support was enough to upset her pupil's precarious balance, and promptly his skates took the opportunity to slide away in almost opposite directions. Down he went once more, pulling Mary with him.

David was grinning before he recollected the unsuitability of all this, and switched to a frown instead. He paced out on to the ice, but carefully.

'Is not Vicky a fool, father?' Mary called out, as he approached them. 'He will not keep his feet together. I vow the skates should be on his bottom! Then we might do better.'

David did not relax his expression. 'Better still that you should consider my lord Duke's dignity – and your own repute, Mary,' he said sternly. 'Here is no way to behave… making a spectacle of yourself! You are not a child now.'

'No, I am not,' she agreed, but still smiling. 'Nor is Vicky.'

'Then remember it. This is unseemly. The realm's ruler should not be seen thus.'

'Is he being seen, Father? By any but you? And how shall it hurt the realm if its ruler laughs a little?'

'My lord saw you. And who knows what others. You can be heard afar off.'

'And that displeases you?'

He pursed his lips, for he was an honest man 'I… I fear it is unwise,' he said.

The Duke was approximately upright now, but still having to hold on to Mary. 'I thank you, sir, for your concern for my dignity,' he declared jerkily. 'Perhaps I do not esteem it so highly as you do.'

'That may be so, yes. But it is more Mary's name and repute that I think for, my lord Duke. As, I think, should you.'

The younger man, balancing uneasily there, frowned. 'As I do, Master Gray. Indeed… ' – he blinked rapidly -'… indeed, I think of little else. She will scarce let me speak of it, but it is ever in my mind. I think so much of her name that, that…'

'That he would have me to change it!' Mary laughed. 'And I am very well content with it as it is, thank you! Whatever its repute.'

'Change it…?' David repeated.

'I would change it to mine, sir. I would wed her – if she would have me.' 'God be good!'

'Exactiy!' the young woman nodded, quite unabashed. 'So say I. And so would say all…'

'But it is I that ask you to wed me, Mary – not all! Not others. I care not what others say.'

'You must care what I say, Vicky, must you not?'

'To be sure, yes. But all the time you are thinking of others…'

'Myself also, I assure you.'

'See you,' Davy Gray broke in. 'This is madness! You cannot be serious, man – my lord. Such talk is complete folly. You are the Duke of Lennox, second man to the King himself in this land. You cannot wed such as Mary. You are too important a man…'

'If I am so important, may I not choose my own wife?'

'No doubt – but not the daughter of Davy Gray! It must be some great lord's daughter…'

'I do not desire some great lord's daughter. I have seen aplenty. I want only Mary Gray…' In his emotion, Ludovick gestured with his arm – and it was almost his downfall again.

His precarious equilibrium upset, he would have toppled had not Mary tightened her grip and her father grabbed a ducal arm likewise.

The girl's laughter rippled. 'Perhaps Your Excellency should keep your mind on, on matters of immediate moment, sir!' 'Mary…!'

'Come,' David said, urging the younger man towards the shore. 'We cannot discuss such matters thus.'

'There is nothing left to discuss,' Mary declared, sighing.*We have discussed it all overmuch already.' But she helped to steer the Duke towards the bank, nevertheless.

That young man laboured under an obvious handicap in expressing his point of view. 'I will wed none but Mary,' he announced, edging forward between them, with boyish set-jawed obstinacy.

'But… cannot you see my lord? It would not be permitted,' David pointed out. 'The King would not allow it.'

'James is not here. I am Viceroy. None could stop me.' 'Not even I, Vicky?'

'The marriage would be annulled when James came back,' David insisted. 'You are not yet of age. King and Council would invoke your lack of years, for certain. Think what it means. You are next heir to the throne. Should James die -should his ship sink in a storm, coming home from Denmark – you would be King, and your wife Queen! Mary Gray, daughter of a bastard of no account!'

'I care not. And if I am old enough to rule as Viceroy…'

'But others care, my lord Duke, J do! And Mary is not of age, either. She is under my authority…'

'While I am ruler of this realm, my authority is above yours, Master Gray!' the other announced heavily. They had reached the shore now. 'I can do what I will.'

'Vicky – do not be foolish,' Mary said, pleading a little now. 'What father says is true. You might insist on marrying me -but it would be done away with when the King returns.'

'James would heed me. He thinks kindly of me…'

'But he would not, could not, have me as good-sister! As good-sister to his new Queen. Wife to his heir. And consider Elizabeth of England. James is her heir, also – but only if she so directs. Think you that she would for one moment agree to accept James if his heir was married to a commoner? Guid-sakes, Vicky – I might then become Queen of England!' That gave him pause for a moment.

'Elizabeth would insist on King James having the marriage annulled,' she went on. 'He would do it, for certain. And how would that leave me?'

'Then… then I must needs renounce my position. Give up my heirship to the crown. I care naught for it, anyway. That is what I shall do.'

'Dear Vicky – you would so do much, for my sake? You are kind. But… it cannot be. We cannot change the state into which we were born – either of us.'

'You are a peer of this realm, my lord – Scotland's only duke,' David said. 'You cannot renounce your blood. None could accept such a renunciation, since at any time you could change it again. I am sorry, lad. A man may not avoid his destiny, I fear.'

'Some would say that a man can make his destiny!' Ludovick asserted stubbornly. 'That I mean to do.'

Davy Gray shook his head helplessly. 'I am sorry,' he repeated. 'I cannot command your lordship's actions. But I can command my daughter, forbid her to see you…'

'And I can command her presence!' the other returned spiritedly. 'As well as Viceroy, I am Lord Chamberlain. Mary is one of the Queen's ladies, and all such are under my control… '

'And I say that she is not! Mary is under age. Until she is of full years, she is in my care…'

'Oh, a truce, a truce!' the young woman interrupted. 'If you could but hear yourselves! You are like bairns, both of you. I will not be pulled this way and that, like a bone between two dogs! I cannot marry you, Vicky – that is certain. But neither shall I be forbidden to see you, or… or any man! I mean to live my own life. Between you, I declare, you have spoiled a bonny day! I am going home. Alone. I seek my own company, only. If you must squabble thus, you can do it by yourselves.' And tossing her dark head a little, Mary Gray turned and left them there by the frozen lochside. It was seldom indeed that young woman indulged in dramatics of this sort,

The men gazed from her slender back to each other, in sudden silence and discomfort.

It was her father who caught up with her, still some way from Castle Huntly.

'I am sorry, lass,' he said, taking her arm. 'I would not hurt you. That was unseemly, I grant you. Not well done. It is only my concern for you…'

'You need not concern yourself,' she told him. 'I can well look after myself.'

'So you think, Mary. But you are young. Too trusting…'

'Young? Do years matter so, Father? Can we not be young in some things, and old in others? You are older than Uncle Patrick in some things, but in others you are but a child, I think, compared with him. Myself, I do not believe that I am so very young in all things. Nor so trusting.'

'But in this matter of Lennox…?'

'Vicky is the young one – not I! He trusts – not I! Poor Vicky!' She sighed. 'Where has he gone?'

'Back to the smiddy. For his horse. Then he returns to Broughty. Sir Robert Melville is attending him there tonight. With papers.' He looked at her sidelong. 'This is a bad business, Mary. That young man – are you fond of him?'

'I like him very well,' she answered quietly.

'M'mmm.' He frowned.

'He is true. Honest. He seeks little for himself. Save me! Indeed, he is not unlike yourself, Father. And not at all like me!'

Keenly he eyed her, but said nothing.

'Unlike the Grays,' she added, 'Vicky is no schemer.'

David shook his head. 'He has his virtues, no doubt. But better that you should not see him, nevertheless, girl. Further association can only bring you both sorrow.'

'That may be. But think you that not seeing him will spare us sorrow? Besides, I must see him. And frequently.'

'Must…? Why?'

'Because… why, because of our Gray schemings! Because of Uncle Patrick. He uses Vicky. He would involve him in many things. Not all, I fear, to his advantage. I would not wish to see Vicky hurt, wronged.'

'You mean… you think that Patrick intends harm to the Duke?'

'No – for he is fond of him, too. But to Uncle Patrick, schemes, plotting, statecraft as he calls it, is more important than are people. You know that.'

'Aye,' the man agreed heavily. 'I know it.'

'Vicky's position is so important, it is inconceivable that Uncle Patrick would not use him. He has used him much already. I want to know of such things.'

'I see,' David almost groaned. 'This, Mary, is… familiar ground! I faith, it is! What can you do, even knowing?'

'I can perhaps do a little, here and there. Vicky tells me all. He does not see it all, as I do. He does not understand Uncle Patrick as I do. Have I not some responsibility in the matter?'

'Lord knows! But it is not work for such as you, lass. All the dirty, plotting deceit and wickedness of Patrick's statecraft. You are young and fresh and wholesome – a mere girl. I should never have permitted that you go to Court. I blame myself. I should not have allowed you to enter that cesspool of intrigue… '

'And yet it suits me very well,' she told him. 'Perhaps I am not as you think me, Father. I do not find it all so ill.'

'Then I am the more afraid for you,' the man declared. 'I had hoped that the Lady Marie would have guided you, warned you.'

'As she does. We are close. Together we seek to aid the good in Uncle Patrick's works, and to hinder the ill.'

'You do?' They walked under the gatehouse arch. 'God of mercy – innocents! On my soul, d'you think that such as you can clip Patrick's wings? Outwit the nimblest wits in this realm?'

'You sought to do it for long, did you not, Father? With some little success? And we have certain advantages.'

He paced across the cobblestones, silent.

'You are not displeased? You do not think that we do wrong in this?'

'The Lord knows! Who am I to judge? But what can you do? Have you any notion, girl, of what you essay?'

'Why yes, I think so. We have been learning.'

'Learning…? You mean that you have already been pitting yourselves against Patrick?'

'Not against him. Say rather for him. We are his friends.'

'As you will. He would scarcely thank you, nevertheless! What have you discovered? Is it plotting, again? What is he scheming now? He is strongly placed once more, God knows. Have you some knowledge of his intentions?'

They stood in the doorway of David's own small flanking-tower. 'He has schemes a-many, you may be sure,' Mary answered. 'Of some we have little knowledge. Some we believe to be good. But three in especial we fear may be dangerous. These we seek to counter, if we can. And it is through Vicky that we may best do so.'

'Dangerous to whom? Patrick? Or others?'

'Both, we think. One concerns Dunfermline.'

'Aye. He is still hot for that place. It is the sheerest folly. He will never regain Dunfermline Abbey. He talks of suing Huntly before the Court of Session, while he is out of favour. But I do not think that he can win the case – however much he may pay the judges. Too many men covert Dunfermline.'

'He cannot win it,' she agreed.

'He is being stupid about Dunfermline. And Patrick is not usually stupid. I think that some hatred of Huntly must be affecting his judgment.'

'And yet he is in close communication with my lord of Huntly.'

'Patrick is?'

'Messengers travel frequently between Broughty Castle and Strathbogie. Secretly. Jesuits. Priests in disguise.'

'Seize me – are you sure? Catholics again!'

'Yes. And Huntly is not the only earl with whom Uncle Patrick is dealing secretly. Messengers come and go to my lord of Bothwell, also.'

'That firebrand! Bothwell, eh? What should this mean?'

'We cannot be sure. But it is very close, secret.'

'And Lennox?'

'He knows naught of it. And I have not told him.'

The man, eyeing her, stroked his chin. 'Tell me, Mary – since clearly you do not miss much that goes on,' he acknowledged, 'have you heard Bothwell's name linked with Dunfermline? Is he also one who desires that well-fleshed bone of contention?'

'I have heard that he has sworn to add it to his earldom.'

'Aye.' Davy Gray's breath came out on a long sigh. 'So that is it, I warrant! Patrick has not changed! I smell treason and treachery once more. And, God help me – how I hate the stink of it! There is to be another Catholic rising. Or at the least, the beginnings of one. Both earls will be implicated. And who knows how many others, who may be in Patrick's way. They need not all be Catholics. Bothwell is not a Catholic – a man of no religion. It matters not. Find out who are seeking to get hands on Dunfermline, and I wager they will be dragged in somehow. Then, when all is ready, the word of it will by some chance come to the King's ear! Or that of the Council, if before the King's return. Patrick will not seem to be the informer, to be sure – but his rivals for Dunfermline will be arraigned. For rebellion. Treason. The ground will be cleared, and the realm grateful!' The man's sigh was part groan. 'It is so familiar…'

'Yes.' The young woman's nod was quite brisk, and there was no groaning or sighing. 'That is how we conceived it, also. It must be stopped.'

'Stopped!' he repeated. 'Think you Patrick will effect all this and then stop it, on your plea or mine? He will deny all, and continue…'

'If it is as we believe, he will stop it – when he learns that Dunfermline Abbey cannot come to any of them. Or to himself, either.'

'What…? Cannot come…?'

'No. For it is to go to the Princess Anne. To the new Queen. As a wedding-gift.'

David stared at her, seeking ineffectually for words. 'Is… is this true?' he got out, at length; and at her nod, 'Patrick…? He does not know it?'

'None knows it, I think. Yet.'

Her father swallowed. 'Save… save Mary Gray!'

'That is so. I it was who suggested it to the King. He was taken with the notion.'

'You did!'

'Yes. But the King was anxious about Uncle Patrick in the matter. He feared that he would be scunnered at him, he said. And might work harm. So he was to keep it close. Until the

Queen is here. But now – now it is time that Uncle Patrick should know.'

'Lord save us!' the other muttered.

A bellow rang out and echoed across the courtyard. From an upper window of the great keep, my lord of Gray leaned out, gesturing down at Mary. 'Come here, lassie!' he shouted. 'Here, I say. To me. Why stand down there? Where's yon gangling loon Lennox? Ha' you got him in there? I'll no' have it – cosseting and nuzzling in my house…!'

'He is not here, Granlord. He is gone,' Mary called back.

'As well he has! Then come you up here. You never look near me, Mary. A fine thing, in my ain house…'

'I am coming, Granlord. At once…'

'He is concerned for you,' David told her, as the older man withdrew his head. 'He fears that Patrick has sold you to Lennox.'

'And does Granlord believe that I could be sold to any man?' she laughed. 'He should know me better. As should you all, I think.'

'Aye.' Heavily David said it. 'I am doubting if I know you at all, girl, and that's truth! What of Patrick, then? And Dunfermaline. Are you to tell him what you have told me? That the Queen is to have it. And would he believe you?'

'I shall not tell him, no. He would be very angry. He would send me away from him. I could then do no more to serve him. And I would not have him hating me. That will not do. Vicky must tell him. Vicky receives letters from Denmark, from the King – long letters. At the next, he must go to Uncle Patrick. Privily. Tell him, as though he had learned it from the letter, that Dunfermline is now the Queen's property. He will believe that. He will be angry – but he cannot change the King's decree. He will halt this plot, it will no longer serve him. So you see, Father – I must not cease to see Vicky. For this, and for other matters. It is important. Besides, I want to see him. Even though I am not sold to him. I shall tell Granlord as much, also.'

Pressing his arm, she ran off, light-foot, across the frosted cobbles.

Davy Gray stood looking after her long after she had disappeared into the keep of Castle Huntly.