The Courtesan mog-2 Page 7

  'Aye,' he nodded. 'I am happy to see it – happy indeed.' Gravely, unsmiling he said it. 'I was sorry… about the other.' The Mistress of Gray had miscarried in a storm-tossed ship on her way, with her banished husband, to exile.

  She searched his face. 'No doubt,' she said. 'But… there is young Mary. Good lack – she is… she is liker… more than ever she is like…'

  'Aye,' the man agreed briefly. 'How, and where, is Patrick?'

  'Mary, my dear,' the woman called out, and leaving David's side moved over towards the girl. 'On my soul, you are lovely! A child no longer. A woman – and a beauty! Let me kiss you, poppet.'

  Mary curtsied prettily before the other reached her, and then embraced her unreservedly, returning her kisses frankly. 'How nice you are, Lady Marie,' she declared. 'What a splendid surprise! And the baby – how wonderful! She gurgled delightedly. 'Will it be my cousin – or my brother or sister?'

  'Mary…!' David Gray protested, shocked.

  The Lady Marie Stewart, Mistress of Gray, laughed musically, mock-ruefully. 'Lord – I do not know, Mary! I do not. But, I vow, if it is like you at all, then I shall be happy.'

  'Thank you. And how is my Uncle Patrick?'

  'He is well, And sends you his love and devotion. As well he might! I left him at Dieppe, where he put me on a ship…'

  'He put you on a ship?' David demanded, coming up, and dropping his voice needfully, glancing around them for listeners. 'Patrick sent you here? Alone? From France?

  'Yes. I suppose that he sent me. Though I wished to come. I was pining for home. And determined that my son should be born in Scotland. It is a boy, you know – I am sure of it. Do not ask me how I know. But… he will be called Andrew, and he will be heir to Gray. It is only fitting that he should be born here. Wise, too – that there be no doubts, with my lord…!'

  'Even lacking his father?'

  'Even so. Although… who knows, his father may not be so far away by then, God willing. And Patrick scheming!' 'M'mmm,' David said, frowning.

  'But how did you come here, Lady Marie?' Mary asked. 'To Kingoodie?'

  'I shipped on a Scots trading vessel. Bringing wines and flax. To Pittenweem, in Fife. Faugh – the smell of her! Hides she had carried before, from Scotland to France. Do I not stink of them yet? From Pittenweem I bargained with a fishing skipper to bring me round Fife Ness and put me ashore secretly in the Tay, as near to Castle Huntly as might be. I arrived last night, here. And these good folk have treated me full kindly.'

  'Kindly! Dod Rait should have brought you straight to the castle. It is but three miles. Instead of keeping you, wife to the heir of Gray, in this cabin…'

  'Not so, Davy. They know not who I am, for one thing. I could not come to Castle Huntly. My lord would scarce welcome me, I think! Would he? I am the wife of a condemned and exiled felon, banished the realm. I must go warily indeed. It was you that I had to see – you whom I knew would guide and help me.'

  'Aye – that I will, to be sure. But… was it wise to come, my lady?'

  'Wise! Wise! Is Davy Gray doubting already? Is that my welcome? Would you that I had stayed away?'

  'No. But there are hazards – grave hazards. Patrick's credit is low, my lady. The Armada business…'

  'There are hazards in living, Davy – in breathing! And it is to improve Patrick's credit that I am here, see you. But… am I to be my lady to you again? Would you keep me at a distance? Was it not Marie that you named me, Davy when first you beheld me? I thought I heard it. Am I not your good-sister. And before I was that – your friend?'

  'Aye. You are kind.' David Gray could look very grim at times. 'But you are the Lady Marie Stewart, daughter to the Earl of Orkney, and own cousin to the King.' That was true. Her father, the Lord Robert Stewart, former Bishop and now Earl of Orkney, was one of King James Fifth's many bastards, brother on the wrong side of the blanket to the late Mary Queen of Scots. 'You are a great lady. And I am… '

  'Stop! We all know what you are, Davy Gray! The proudest, stiffest-necked man in this kingdom!' She shook her coifed golden head, but smiled at him warmly nevertheless. 'The man who bought my husband's life, when no one else could, at great cost to himself. I have never had opportunity truly to thank you for that, Davy.' She laid a hand on his arm. 'I do now. I do, indeed. And, alas, need your help once more.'

  'It is yours, always.'

  'Yes, Davy dear. I know it. Like, like a warm glow at my heart that thought has been, many a weary day.' She mustered a laugh. 'Patrick says, indeed, that you are the only man who could make him jealous of his wife…!'

  David's face was wiped clean of expression. 'That is no way to talk, your ladyship,' he said evenly. 'Nor this any place to talk, at all. Come – can you mount my beast? In these fine clothes? And in your, your present state? Mary can ride behind you, holding you. And I will walk, leading the beast. It will be quite safe, I think. I will send for your baggage later.'

  'Lord – of course I can ride, Davy! I am not that far gone. But five months. Do I look so monstrous? But… where will you take me?'

  'To Castle Huntly. Where else?'

  'But I cannot go there. Surely you see it? Anywhere but there. My lord always was out of love with Patrick. Now, he will have none of him, or his, I swear. And I will not come begging his charity. Or any man's. Save… save perhaps yours, Davy Gray!' She shook her head again. 'Besides, it would not do. Lord Gray is a notable pillar of the Kirk. Though no Catholic myself, I will be held to be one for Patrick's sake. To harbour me at Castle Huntly could do my lord much harm – you all, perhaps. I thought to go to my half-sister's house – Eupham, that is married to Mark Ogilvie, of Glen Prosen. If you could help me to win that far…'

  'We go to the castle,' David interrupted her bluntly.

  'But, Davy – what of my lord…?'

  'Allow me to deal with my lord! That Patrick's wife, bearing Patrick's child, should seek shelter in her need anywhere but at Castle Huntly is unthinkable. Leave my lord to… to his steward!'

  'And your Mariota?'

  David was a little less definite. 'Mariota will, will rejoice to see you,' he said.

  'I hope so, yes. But… ' She shrugged and sighed. 'She is well? How does she, the fair Mariota?'

  'She is well – and in the same state as you are!'

  'Oh!'

  'Yes. Now – we will take leave of the Raits here. How much of belongings have you…?'

  So presendy the trio were pacing across the flats of the carse, the Lady Marie mounted with Mary Gray behind her and the man leading the garron. Ahead, the great towering mass of Castle Huntly reared its turrets and battlements above the plain like a heavy frown in stone, even in the golden sunlight. To its presumed future mistress it seemed less than beckoning.

  'My lord has been away at Foulis Castle these two days,' David informed her. 'But he will be back tonight.' 'Then I had rather be gone by then,' she said.

  The presence of a number of stamping, shouting men-at-arms in the castle courtyard, when they arrived, indicated that Lord Gray had in fact returned home earlier than anticipated. As David aided the Lady Marie to dismount, young Mary slipped down and ran on ahead, and in at the main door of the keep.

  Mariota came hurrying down the winding stone stairway to welcome them, in consequence, greeting the newcomer with a sort of uneasy kindness, all flustered surprise, bemoaning her own unsuitable attire, that she had had no warning, my lord's untimely arrival, exclaiming how bonny was my lady, how tired she must be coming all that way from France, how sad to be parted from dear Patrick, and was he well, happy? All in a breathless flood.

  Marie kissed her warmly. They made a strange contrast, these two, both so very fair to look upon, but so very different in almost every respect. David considered them thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. Into the chatter of exclamation and half-expressed question and answer, he presently interrupted, gently but firmly.

  'Up with you,' he declared. 'Here is no place for talk. Let the Lady Marie in, at least, my dear. She
will be weary, hungry. She needs seating, comfort, refreshment. Up the stairs with you. Our rooms are on high, but they are at your service…'

  'Indeed!' a hoarse voice challenged heavily. The Lord Gray had appeared on a half-landing just above, a stocky massive figure, a furred robe thrown hastily over and only part-covering his dishabille. At his broad back, a hand tentatively within one of his arms, was his grand-daughter. 'In my house, I say what rooms are at whose service! Bring the lady into my chamber, Davy!'

  Marie sank in a curtsy. 'Greetings, my lord,' she said. 'I hope that I find you well? I am but passing on my way… elsewhere… '

  'Aye,' he answered shordy. 'No doubt.'

  'I think not,' David put in quietly, evenly. 'Patrick's wife does not pass Castle Huntly!'

  'Eh…? Fiend seize me – who are you to speak?'

  'One who esteems the name and honour of Gray, sir. And, since we are privy here, and all of a family as it were – your eldest son!'

  'Damn you, you…!' My lord all but choked, unable to find breath or words.

  Mary found them.*We knew that you would wish to honour the King's own cousin, Granlord.'

  'Ah… ummm.'

  'And very beautiful, is she not?'

  'Wheesht, child – hold your tongue!' her grandfather got out, but in a different tone of voice. 'A pox – but I'll be master in my own house, see you!' He jabbed a thick accusatory finger, but at David. 'Mind it, man – mind it, I say!' He turned on Marie. 'How came you here? And where is yon graceless popinjay that has bairned you? If he it was!'

  'Yes, my lord – he it was,' Marie answered without heat, even smiling a little. 'I carry your heir. I would have thought that you would have rejoiced to see it. I am new come, by ship from Dieppe, secretly – where I left Patrick.'

  'Thank the good God he's no' here, at least! Why are you come, woman?'

  'I have good reasons, sir. One, that you would wish the heir to Gray to be born where you could see it, I believed. Not in some foreign land. Was I wrong?'

  The older man grunted. 'A mercy that you came secretly, at the least,' he said, after a moment. 'None know that you are here, then?'

  'None who know who I am.'

  'My lord – the Lady Marie is tired. Unfit to be standing thus. In her condition. She must have food and wine…'

  'I am very well, Davy. I seek nothing…'

  'I said to bring her into my room, did I no'?' Gray barked. And turning about abruptly, he went stamping back up the stairs.

  As David took Marie's arm, to aid her upstairs, she held back, shaking her head. 'No, Davy,' she declared. 'I had liefer go now. Away. It is as I thought. This house is no place for me. He is set against Patrick, and therefore me… '

  The man did not relax his grip, and propelled her forward willy-nilly. 'You will stay in this house,' he said grimly. 'It is your right. He will do as I say, in the end. For he needs me, does my lord of Gray! I know too much. Come, Marie…'

  'And do not take my lord too sorely,' Mariota advised, biting her lip. 'He has a rough tongue, and proud. But he is not so ill as he sounds. And… I think that he loves Patrick at heart, more than he will say.'

  'Forby, he loves beautiful ladies!' Mary added, with a little laugh. 'So smile at him, Lady Marie – smile much and warmly. And he will not withstand you long!'

  'Tut, girl…!' her father reproved.

  They went upstairs together, three of them turning in at my lord's private chamber just above the great hall of the castle, and Mariota proceeding higher to collect viands and refreshment for the guest.

  The master of the house stood at the window of a comparatively small apartment, the stone floor of which constituted the top of the great hall's vaulted ceiling. It was snug, overwarm indeed, for my lord liked a fire here summer and winter in the fireplace with the elaborate heraldic overmantel showing the Gray arms of rampant red lion on silver, carved in stone. Skins of sheep and deer covered the floor, and the stone walls were hung with arras, again embroidered heraldically. Gray gestured towards one of the two chairs of that room without leaving the window, for Marie to sit down.

  'Patrick?' he jerked, not looking at her. 'Is he well enough?' And lest that might seem too mawkishly solicitous, 'And what follies and mischiefs and schemes is he up to in France or Rome or whatever ill-favoured land he's plaguing with his presence now?'

  'He is well, yes,' Marie answered. 'And as for his schemes… well, Patrick is Patrick, is he not?'

  'Aye!' That came out on an exhalation of breath that was something between a groan and a sigh. He turned round to stare at the young woman now. 'Why did he send you here?' he demanded directly. 'I ken Patrick, God pity me! You didna come without he sent you. And he didna send you just to drop your bairn in front o' me, where I could see it! Na, na. He doesna care that for me, or mine!' The older man snapped his fingers. 'Unless for my gear and lands.'

  'I think that you wrong him, my lord,' Marie told him quietly. 'But at least credit him with the desire that there should be no doubts about the birth of the heir of Gray.' She smiled a little. 'And that not on account of your lands and gear! Believe me, sir, great as these may be, Patrick looks for greater.'

  'Eh…?'

  'He is determined to win back the Abbey of Dunfermline and its revenues, from the Earl of Huntly.'

  'Christ God – the more fool he, then! The prinking prideful ninny! He'll never do that'

  'He will try, my lord, without a doubt.'

  David, frowning, spoke. 'I mislike this,' he said. 'I mislike it, for many reasons. It is folly, dangerous, flying too high. But it is less than honourable, too. And it brings me into it. For he used me to offer Dunfermline to Huntly. I made the bargain for him – Dunfermline for his life. Dunfermline for Huntly to get me into the King's presence, so that I could bargain with James also! Now, to go back on it…'

  'Faugh!' his father interrupted him scornfully. 'Save your breath, man! Patrick's no' concerned with honour, or keeping bargains, or aught else but his own benefit.' He swung back on Marie. 'But here's idle chatter. He'll no' get back Dunfermline – that's sure. And dinna tell me, woman, that he sent you here on such fool's errand? You!'

  'No,' she agreed patiendy. 'That is not part of my errand. That he must look to himself – if he can win back to Scotland. It is to intercede with the King to permit his return – that is my duty.'

  'Ha! Now we have it. And near as much a fool's errand as the other! You'll no' manage that, I'll vow! He's banished for life, is he no'?'

  'What decree the King has made, the King can unmake, she asserted. 'And I am not banished. If I can come to my father in Edinburgh, he will bring me into the King's presence.'

  'To what end, woman – to what end? The King's cousin you may be-in bastardy – but that winna serve to gain Patrick's remission. You pleading for him on your bended knees, weeping woman's tears? Think you that will move our Jamie? Or the Chancellor? And the Council? Condemned by the Council o' the Realm for highest treason and the death o' the King's bonny mother, think you that tears and pleas will bring him back? None want him here. You'll need a better key than a woman's snuffles to open the door o' Scotland again to Patrick Gray!'

  'That key,' she told him calmly, 'perhaps I have.'

  All gazed at her – and Mariota's entrance at this moment with food and wine was greeted with considerable impatience by my lord. It was pushed aside peremptorily.

  'What mean you?' Marie was challenged. 'How can you have anything such? What is this?'

  'The King's marriage,' she answered.

  There was silence in that overheated chamber.

  'Patrick has been busy,' she went on, but levelly, factually, almost wearily. 'He has not wasted his time abroad. He has been working for a match between James and the Princess Catherine, sister to King Henry of Navarre.'

  'Patrick…? The King's matching?' my lord gobbled. 'Devil slay me – what insolence! What effrontery!'

  'Navarre…!' David exclaimed. 'But… what of the Danish match?'

>   'Patrick believes this better, of more worth. Henry of Navarre is the Protestant champion – whilst the Danish royal house is known to be unsure in its religion, inclining back towards the old faith…'

  'God's Body – is Patrick concerned now for the Protestants! What next, woman?'

  Marie ignored that. 'Moreover, Navarre will be heir to France. And Patrick believes the King of France to be sickening.'

  She had them silenced now.

  'And the King of Scots married to a sister of great France is a different matter to him married to the daughter of little Denmark'

  That was not to be denied. David, somewhat abstractedly, began to offer refreshment to their guest, while his father hummed and hawed.

  'This… this is scarce believable,' the latter got out. 'That Patrick should dare fly this high – a condemned man!'

  'Flying a high hawk never troubled Patrick,' David said. 'No doubt we were foolish to believe that he would change just because he was banished. But… how much substance has this project, Marie? What says King Henry of Navarre? Does he even know aught of it?'

  She nodded. 'Patrick has been closeted with him more than once. He is agreeable, it seems. The matter has reached the stage of considering the worth of the dowry…'

  'Precious soul o' God – and King Jamie kens naught o' it, woman?'

  'That is why I am sent, my lord. To apprise him of it. Of its… advantages.'

  David noticed the tiny hesitation on Marie's part before she used that term.

  'Aye. But what makes Patrick believe that this ploy will win him back into the King's favour?' his father asked. 'A big jump that, is it no'? Agile jumper as he may be!'

  'Perhaps, sir. But Patrick does not seek to take it all in one jump, I think. He has kept all in his own hands, thus far – so that, if James is interested, it will be necessary for Patrick himself to come here to Court to discuss it. And once back in the King's presence, Patrick does not fear but that he will stay there. He swayed James before, readily enough; he does not fear that he cannot do so again.'

  My lord could only wag his bull-like head. 'The devil!' he muttered. 'Cunning as the Devil himself! I' faith – he almost makes me misdoubt my own wife's chastity!'