"Is there not, sir? Then why has the Lord Scone, Comptroller, whom the Lord President Balmerino authorised to pay the award, been stopped from making the payment ? Presumably by the Lord High Treasurer, the Earl of Dunbar, on the King's command."
"He has? I knew nothing of this. His Majesty did not say so. It may be, perhaps, that this is a matter between Dunbar arid Balmerino ? I am told that they are at odds."
"All Scotland knows that. But I scarce think that even Dunbar would halt payment of the court's award without royal sanction."
"I do not know. I am sorry, sir. The Duke of Lennox and I approached you in all good faith. The King acceeded to it all. This must be looked into..."
"It must indeed, Master Heriot—and swiftly. Or I, for one, will not be responsible for the consequences. I need not tell you that the Master of Gray is an ill man to cross. And there is much in Scotland today for ill-will to harness and exploit The realm needs a resident king and government—not one four hundred miles away, dealing through venial underlings !"
Heriot did not attempt to deny that "Might not the Master of Gray use the moneys awarded to further stir up that ill-will, Master Hope?" he countered.
"That is no concern of mine, sir. Nor of yours, I say. The award has been made by the King's judges, and accepted. It must be paid. Any further delay, I warn you, could result in most serious consequences. Consequences much more expensive than twenty thousand pounds Scots"
"You have reason to state that?"
"I have my God-given wits, sir! As, I swear, have you ! Do not tell me that you are unaware of the fire that could blaze in Scotland today—requiring only a spark!"
"And you conceive the Master of Gray to be ready to strike that spark?"
"I have not said so. Others may strike it. But my client has just grievances. And much influence in Scotland. As he has shown in the past."
"And as his father, it seems, has recently discovered to his cost! He has, I understand, turned him out of his own house. And he a Lord of Parliament"
"As to that, I am not informed, sir. But... I advise that the Master be paid. And forthwith."
"I shall inform the King of your advice, Master Hope."
"That, I fear, may be too late."
Quickly Heriot searched his face. "You think so?" he asked, after a pause.
"I do. I have no wish, sir, to see this realm in any disturbances. There are follies enough lacking that. And the King cannot plead either ignorance nor lack of money. The English parliament has given him four hundred thousand pounds for his personal use, I understand."
"So you knew of that?"
"It is my business to know things. The Master of Gray knows of it also! Twenty thousand pounds Scots is a very small sum compared with four hundred thousand pounds Sterling. Is it worth Scotland aflame?"
"You judge it as serious as that?" "In present circumstances, yes."
"If I knew just what those circumstances were, sir ... ?"
"I advise that you find out, then, Master Heriot But—not from me! I am my client's advocate, nothing more."
"I see." Heriot perceived that he would get nothing more from this man. He changed the subject, and asked about the Hartside case in which, since it was his money that was retaining Hope's interest, he had every right to enquire. But the advocate could tell him little that he did not know already. The next move was up to the Queen, either to call for trial or to declare the charges abandoned—as was advisable.
With that, George Heriot had to be content But he left the Court of Session premises in the High Street with much on his mind.
Next morning he rode off, west by north, for Linlithgow, Stirling and Perth.
* * *
The arrival at Methven Castle the day following was such as to banish all his anxieties, national and personal, from his mind— at least for the moment Colour, young, verdant greenery and blossom was just beginning to paint the land after the long winter, although the snow still coated in gleaming white all over two thousand feet, to add depth and contrast and challenge to every vista. Strathearn was an utterly different world from London, or even Edinburgh, not only in its scene but in its values and tempo. Here was little of power and authority, of destiny, intrigue and momentous events; here, however, were the enduring verities, the essential rhythm of the seasons, the unchanging land, simple but basic things. As ever when the man entered into his ambience, he asked himself why he did not resign his Court appointments, sell his business and responsibilities to others, come up here and buy himself a landed property, to settle down as a country laird. He could well afford it, for he was by any standards a rich man. He could put up with the royal disapproval. And he had no ambitions, that he was aware of, to fulfil. Why not, then?
At the castle, he discovered that Mistress Gray and her guests had gone riding to the ravaged Inchaffray Abbey, some five miles to the west, with young John Stewart; and in no mood to sit waiting for them, Heriot went spurring on. Half-an-hour later he found them among the roofless aisles, seeking to unearth from the rubble fine carved work cast down by the over-zealous Reformers of half a century earlier, his unannounced appearance on the scene setting off an eruption as overwhelming as it was joyous and incoherent. At sight of him, Alison emitted a yell of sheer delight, and abandoning all pretence at ladylike behaviour, came racing, bounding over fallen masonry, blackened timbering and weeds, setting scores of pigeons into alarmed, flapping flight from the broken clerestoreys and wallheads, laughing aloud as she came. Mary Gray began to follow her, then restrained herself, and also her son who had started to run also, and turned instead to the fourth member of the party, in explanation.
Heriot had only time to jump from the saddle before his betrothed was upon him, a vehement, uninhibited assembly of urgent limbs, fluttering clothing and streaming hair, to be caught, lifted high, whirled round and hugged close, all in one continuous, sweeping motion, amidst a breathless and disconnected babblement of words and exclamations, until lips met lips and at least the noise was stilled—scarcely behaviour apt for the Master-Elect of the 'Worshipful Company of Hammermen of the City of London, and in consecrated premises, moreover.
Mary and the boy came to present themselves in smiling welcome, after a due interval, while Alison, clutching the man's doublet sleeve wove to and fro on tip-toe at his side, unable to stand still and blinking tears of joy from her eyes, still seeking an intelligible pattern of words. It was Mary Gray however, who enunciated the required phrases of greeting, gladness, affection and question, after bestowing her own generous kiss full on Heriot's fortunate lips. John Stewart of Methven had difficulty in obtaining a hand to shake.
The newcomer, less than fluently, was commencing to explain his arrival on the scene when he perceived that there was another person present, lingering behind a little, a tall, flaxen-haired and serenely beautiful older woman, in her late thirties, grey-eyed, fine-featured, dressed in notably rich riding-clothes, who waited with a half-smile and a calm dignity. He paused.
Noting the look, Mary turned. "Marie," she called, "here is Master George Heriot, Alison's betrothed and the King's man of business. Geordie—the Lady Marie Stewart, Mistress of Gray. Whom I suppose you might name my step-mother"
Heriot contrived a bow of sorts, his wits for the moment all agley. This was the Master's wife, Orkney's sister, the King's cousin, and Mary Queen of Scots' niece—in the circumstances hardly the person he was best prepared to meet.
. The other effortlessly put him more at ease. "The famous Master Geordie himself " she said, in a voice melodious as it was warmly assured. She came forward. "My loss that I have never met you until this. But I feel that I know you well—and like what I know. These two never fail to sing your praises, sir."
"My lady," he said. "I... ah ... am greatly privileged. Your servant. I know your husband..."
"Ah, yes. Who does not? And Patrick ever speaks of you with great respect—which he does not of all men. Moreover, Patrick, whatever else, is a shrewd judge of character.
As, I think, is our Alison here, in different fashion! I understand that she wanted only you, of the whole King's Court"
"And had a mighty task to convince him that he was not altogether too far gone in years for this babe-in-arms!" The girl had found her voice again—although still she clung to him.
"You have not brought my man with you, Geordie?" Mary Gray asked. "That is too much to hope for."
"Only a letter, I fear..."
"Have you come to wed me, Geordie?"
He swallowed. "Not this time, lass. Next year. I have seen your father. Next year..."
"A year!" That was a wail "Another whole year! Oh, Geordie, how can you say that? How could you?" Alison flung away from him. "I believe that you do not truly love me, at all!"
"I do, I do ! Am I not here, to prove it, my dear? But... your father would have it so. And I agree that it would be wiser .. ."
"Wiser! Is that the kind of betrothed I have 1 Is it wisdom that I've to wed?"
He bit his lip.
Mary took his arm, instead of the other. "Look not so cast down, Geordie," She smiled. "Women are ever thus. Give them the world, and they want the moon and stars! Alison would count the days, rather than the weeks and months. Were she quite content to put off for your year—then, I say, you might well look glum!"
"Yes. Perhaps. But it is necessary. I do not wish this delay, God knows. But... in London, the Court... where we must live... the Queen... it would be difficult."
"Difficult Is it for ease that you would wed me?" Alison demanded. "I have waited all these long months already. Must the Queen's spleen date our marriage ?"
"It was your misjudgment which roused the Queen, Alison my dear," Mary reminded. "And caused Geordie to fall from her favour—to his much cost, I am sure. If you would wed the King's jeweller you cannot afford the Queen's spleen, deserved or other."
"You would take his part! It is easy for you . . ." Alison stopped, and drew a deep breath. "Ah, well—at least he is here. And did not say, this once, that I was too young " And she came back to the man's side.
He put his arm around her. "Forgive me, lass. Would that we might be wed tomorrow! Nothing in this world would rejoice me so much. But this, I fear, is part of the price I have to ask you to pay, in marrying an older man—only a part, indeed. I cannot throw responsibilities to the winds, as once I might—my responsibility towards you, most of all."
"Yes, but..." She looked up at him, and smiled again. "I am sorry, Geordie. No more of this. For I am happy, truly—very happy. And proud, too."
"You should be." That was the Lady Marie. She came over and kissed the girl on the cheek. "I think that you are the most fortunate young woman in all Scotland, my dear!"
"When are we going home?" the bored John Stewart of Methven asked. "I am hungry."
The laughter provided the necessary and welcome break. Mary Gray took charge. They would be on their way, she decided. But the Lady Marie and Johnnie and herself would ride ahead, with the grooms—for the two betrothed would wish to be alone together, with much to say to each other after the months of parting. Let them follow on to Methven in their own good time.
And so, presently Alison Primrose was riding pillion on Heriot's horse, her arms tightly round the man, in fact singing liltingly if somewhat jouncily in his right ear to the rhythm of the trot, as they followed a bridle-path along the alder-grown banks of the Pow Burn, a quiet route eastwards advised by the young woman as unlikely to yield any fellow-travellers.
"The Lady Marie?" the man said, presently. "I had not thought to encounter the Master of Gray's wife here. I had hoped to speak with Mary about him, her father. Having the wife present may prove difficult."
"I think not," Alison said. "The Lady Marie is not difficult. She is good, understanding. She and Mary are like sisters—better friends than most sisters."
"Aye—but this of her husband. I can scarce speak of it before her. His relations with the King..."
"I think that you may. She is fond of the Master—but so is Mary. They have long united in seeking to keep him from the worst of his mischiefs. Or what they consider so. He is a strange man, with much good to him as well as ill, they say. These two are at one in seeking to counter that ill Neither, I swear, will ever betray him. But they will strive to prevent his wickedness where they can. For his own sake, I do believe, rather than the King's, or others'."
"I still would be loth to speak freely of him, before her." “Yet she knows more of the Master's affairs than anyone else, of necessity, Geordie." She jerked at him, from behind. "Is that what you came for? I had hoped that it was to see me!"
"As you know very well, my dear, I need excuse to leave the Court. I could not be come to see you had I not an errand to fulfil for the King. But ... I am here, to see you, first and foremost The rest is but the price I have to pay for that joy." He pointed. "See yonder trees? I will prove what I came for, there. By your leave!"
Her laughter trilled at his ear. "Remember your age—and mine —sir I A man of great responsibilities. And, and wisdom "
"Wait you! "he told her.
There was not much of waiting on the part of either of them, indeed, when they reached the little copse of wind-blown pines and whins and bracken at the west end of Methven Moss. They were into each other's arms almost from the moment their feet touched the ground, Heriot's horse left to its own devices. With mutual eagerness they clutched each other, lips and hands busy, bodies urgent, words all but dispensed with, in compensation for the weary months of parting. Last year's bracken offered all the couch they sought, and Methven Moss and Tippermuir were transformed for these two, thereafter, into the very anteroom of paradise. Time, like everything else extraneous to themselves, was no longer relevant
They had much to say to each other, in more eloquent language than mere speech.
When eventually they rode on eastwards across the moorland, both were equally silent, lost in the aftermath of delight, savouring, sifting, sounding but by no means satiated, glowing with a foretaste of the promise of deeper fulfilment so richly promised back there. It was going to be all right, better even that they had hoped, a splendour. They could wait now, assured, certain, however superficially impatient Every now and again they squeezed each other, and sometimes the man looked back over his shoulder into her shining eyes, unspeaking.
That evening in Methven Castle, Heriot’s mission with Will Shakespeare, the actor and playwright, greatly intrigued the women. Mary and Alison had recently been to nearby Perth to see the King's Players in a comedy called Love's Labour's Lost, and though they had not particularly noticed Master Shakespeare, they were full of the excellence and delights of the entertainment, and enthusiastic over the idea of a Scottish play. As for the Lady Marie, she proved to be very knowledgeable about King MacBeth and his period—he was an ancestor of her own, of course. She was able to advise Heriot as to locations which the man Shakespeare ought to visit, in the Perth area at Dunsinane and Collace and Forteviot and Bimam, up in Moray at Forres and Elgin, and in Aberdeenshire at Lumphanan and Kildrummy. Only, she did introduce a complication when she pointed out that the tradition of the witches, who were so prominent in the MacBeth story, had an alternative location to the Hardmuh of Forres—namely, a heath much nearer at hand, only some ten miles away from Methven indeed, across Tay and west of the Dunsinane area. This was the Eastmuir of Cairnbeddie—the Beddie but a corruption of Beda or Beth—and there they would find the Witches' Stone and other named relics of MacBeth a hundred miles from the Forres scene. The man promised to investigate. Presumably King James had not known about this, for in his preoccupation with the witches, he had mentioned only Forres.
From James and Shakespeare the talk moved to Margaret Hartside's case and the Queen's attitude and intentions. The Earl of Orkney, behind it all, inevitably came into this; but Mary Gray made no bones about referring to him as an unscrupulous and very potent firebrand, which the Earl's sister not only did not contest but implied full agreement Not that she had
any suggestions as to what his ultimate intentions were, or how he might be countered. She did indicate, however, that her husband's constant traffic with his brother-in-law seemed to have stopped, meantime.
This brought them to the verge of Heriot's more secret mission, which he was in grave doubts about airing in front of the Mistress of Gray. But, whether or no Alison had had a word with her, Mary Gray clearly had no such doubts. As the man cleared his throat, preparatory to a complete change of subject, she spoke.
"Geordie—the Lady Marie is no stranger to many of the problems which concern you, on the King's behalf. She is as anxious as am I that Patrick Gray should not be involved in further plots or actions against the Crown—we have had more than sufficient of such! She is entirely to be trusted, I do assure you. You may speak freely before her."
"That is so, Master Geordie," the older woman agreed, quietly. "I love and cherish my husband—but that makes me the more concerned for his welfare and best interests. He is an inveterate and most skilful plotter—always I have known this, and have worked to save him from the worst consequences of his plotting. To save the victims also, if I might That makes my fondness for him none the less. I shall not reveal any secrets."
He still hesitated. Obviously this woman already knew much of his own part in the affairs of the King versus her husband, with Mary evidently confiding in her entirely. But if it came to a vital clash of interests, a matter of life and death—as it easily could do, with treason in the air—where would her ultimate sympathies he? Where Mary's also?
As though she read his thoughts, Mary added, "The Lady Marie and I will ever seek to save Patrick from the most grievous effects of his activities. Where that is possible. But we prefer that we do so by helping to halt such activities before they go too far, rather than afterwards 1 Which, I think, is your own intent, Geordie?"
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