The Grey Man. Crockett Samuel Rutherford
the other – for Marjorie Kennedy and the honour of Culzean.'
It sounded like a sacred oath rather than the posy of a love-gift: 'For Marjorie Kennedy and the honour of Culzean!'
Then most humbly would I have lifted her fingers to my lips and kissed them, not daring more; but she put her hand on my head, for she was tall (though not as tall as I), and bent sweetly to me.
The blood of all my heart fled insurgent to my ears, deafening me, as I also stooped toward her.
'No, not there,' she whispered, and kissed me gently on the brow.
'My laddie,' she said, 'be brave, true, noble, and one day you shall know root and branch what the love of woman is.'
And waving me not to follow her, she went in with her head turned away from my sight.
So there for a great space I stood in the dusk of the arbour, mazed and bewildered by the strange, undreamed-of bliss – ennobled by the touch of her lips, ay, more than if the King himself had laid his sword on my shoulder in the way of accolade.
Then at last I moved and went in also, dragging tardy-foot away from the sweet and memorable place.
At the garden gate I met Nell Kennedy, and made to pass without seeing her. But she stood in the middle of the way.
'I know,' she said, pointing scornfully with her finger, 'Maidie has been talking to you behind the hedge. She has given you the French brooch she would not give me yesterday, though she has another.'
Then I walked silently past her, with as great dignity as I could command, for that is ever the best way with forward children.
But she turned and cried after me, 'I know who will get that other.'
A saying which did not trouble me, though I could not quite forget it, for I knew well enough that it was only Nell's spite, because her sister had not given her the golden badge which she coveted.
High in my room in the White Tower I sat and looked out to the sea. There I sat all night, sleepless, till the sun rose over the woods and the chilly tops of the waves glittered. I bethought me on all that had happened, and I remembered with shame many things in which I had done not wisely especially in the matter of the Grieve's lass, and my convoying of her home through the wood. For now, with Marjorie Kennedy's badge against my lips, all things had become new; bitterly was I ashamed of my folly, and right briskly did I repent of it.
CHAPTER VIII
THE LAIRD OF AUCHENDRAYNE
It is not to be supposed that the taking of the treasure of Kelwood was permitted to pass without the Earl, a man keener for red siller than any other man in Scotland, casting about him for the reivers of the gear he had so confidently counted his own. His old grandmother of a Countess, whom, though a young man, he had shamefully married for her tocher and plenishing, flustered about the house of Cassillis like a hen dancing on a hot girdle when she heard of the loss. It was but the other day that she had had to draw her stocking-foot and pay down eight thousand merks, that her man might be permitted to resign the office of High Treasurer, lest all her gear would be wasted in making loans to the King, who had great need of such. And so the further loss of this treasure sat wondrously heavy on my Lady Cassillis, as indeed it did on her husband.
The Earl himself rode over to Culzean to hold council concerning it with his uncle, the Tutor. He cherished a wonderful affection for Sir Thomas, considering, that is, what a selfish man he was, and how bound up in his own interests.
So after they had talked together a while, pacing up and down in the garden (while I walked apart and pressed the hard brooch-pin of Marjorie Kennedy's trysting favour to my breast for comfort), they called me to them.
So with all respect and speed I went, and stood with my bonnet off to hear their commands. I thought that it was some light matter of having the horses brought. But when I came the Earl was looking keenly at me, and even Sir Thomas paused a little while before he spoke.
'Launcelot, you are a brave lad,' he said, 'and I know that you desire to distinguish yourself even more than you have done, though you have shown your mettle already. Now my lord and I have a matter which it needs a man to perform – one of address and daring. I hear from all about me that you are a ready man with your wits and your tongue. Will you bear my lord's cartel of defiance to his enemy, David Crauford of Kerse?'
'Ay, my lords, that will I, and readily!' I replied, knowing that my good fortune stood on tiptoe.
'I am not eager,' the Earl said, breaking in upon my reply, 'for reasons which I have given to the Tutor, to send one of my own folk. I would rather accredit one more kin to Culzean here, one who is a gentleman of good blood and a brave Kennedy, such as I observed you to be on the day of the tulzie in Edinburgh.'
'I will serve Cassillis till I die,' I replied, making him a little bow – because I wished him to see that, though I was of the moorland house, I had yet manners as good as he had brought back with him from France. Besides, I saw Marjorie looking down upon us from the terrace, which made me glance at my shadow as it lay clearly outlined upon the gravel.
And I was glad to observe that the point of my cloak fell with some grace over the scabbard of my sword. Now this was not vanity, God knows, but only a just desire to appear point device in the presence of the heads of my clan and of the lady of my heart – which is a thing very different. For of all things I am not vain, nor given, after the manner of some, to talking greatly about my own exploits.
'So,' said the Earl, 'you will go to David Crauford of Kerse at his own house as my messenger. You will not give him a written but a spoken message. And in token that you come from us who have power to speak, you must exhibit to him our signet rings, which we now entrust to you to guard with your life.'
So, giving me the rings, which I put under my glove upon the first finger of the left hand, he communicated to me the cartel for the Laird of Kerse, which he made me repeat carefully thrice over in their hearing. Then he dismissed me to go my way.
And as I went, I saw the lads roistering in the garden with the young Sheriff of Wigton, who had married their eldest sister when she was but a lassie. And I smiled as I thought within me, 'Had I been so born to lofty estate, I might even have been playing at golf and pat-ball, instead of riding on the errands of Cassillis and Culzean, with an Earl's message in my mouth and an Earl's signet on my finger.'
And I do not think that the pride was an unworthy one, for since I had none to push my fortune for me, it was the more necessary that I should be able to do it for myself.
I went to get my war-horse, for after the affair of Edinburgh, Sir Thomas had given me 'Dom Nicholas,' a black of mettle and power, well able to carry me even had I been clad in full armour, instead of merely riding light as I now meant to go, with only my sword and pistolets.
At the seaward corner of the White Tower, going by the way of the stables, I met my Lady Marjorie, and my heart gave a bound at the seeing of her. She came gravely forward to give me her hand. Yet not to kiss, as I knew by the downward weighting of it, and by her taking it quickly again to herself.
'Whither go you, grave man of affairs?' she said, smiling with pleasantry.
'I go with an Earl's cartel and defiance,' I replied, telling her, perhaps, more than I ought. But then she was my lady.
Marjorie became very pale and set her hand on the stone parapet of the sea wall where she stood.
'To Bargany?' she asked, breathlessly, for it was natural she should think that the quarrel with the family had broken out again.
'Not to Bargany,' I said, smiling to reassure her. 'I cannot now tell you where, but it is out of Carrick that I ride – Carrick for a man – Kyle for a cow. I ride to the land of sweet milk cheese!'
'God speed you, then,' she said. 'Take care of yourself – beware of the dairymaids. I have heard they are dangerous.'
'For your sweet sake,' cried I, waving my bonnet to her as I ran down the path.
But before I went fairly out of sight I turned and looked back, for, indeed, I could not help it. And Marjorie was still standing under the archway where I had left her,