A Prince of Good Fellows. Barr Robert
eyes.
“Great God,” she moaned, “do not tell me that you are James, King of Scotland, here, and alone, in this den of Douglases!”
“Douglas!” cried the king roused at the hated name. “How can there be Douglases in the Castle of Doune; my mother’s house, constabled by my friend, young Stuart.”
“Your mother’s house?” said the girl with an uncanny laugh. “When has the Lady Margaret set foot in Doune? Not since she was divorced from my uncle, Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus! And the constable? Aye, the constable is in Stirling. Doune Castle stands gloomy and alone, but in Stirling with the young king, there are masques, and hunting and gaiety. Young Stuart draws the revenues of his charge, but pays slight attention to the fulfilment of his duty.”
“You are then Isabel Douglas? And now, to echo your own question, how came you here? If this is a den of Douglases, as you say, how comes my mother’s castle to be officered by the enemies of her son?”
“That you ask such a question shows little foresight or knowledge of men. When your first step-father, and my uncle, Archibald Douglas, had control of this castle through your mother’s name, he filled it with his own adherents.”
“Naturally; nepotism was a well-known trait of my domineering step-father, which did not add to his popularity in Scotland. Who can get office, or justice against a Douglas? was their cry. But did not young Stuart, when he was made constable, put in his own men?”
“The constable cares nothing for this stronghold so long as it furnishes money which he may spend gaily in Stirling.”
“I see. So you and your sister found refuge among your underlings? and where so safe from search as within the king’s mother’s own fortress, almost under the shadow of Stirling? An admirable device. Why then do you jeopardise your safety by letting me into the secret?”
The girl sighed deeply with downcast eyes, then she flashed a glance at him which had something in it of the old Douglas hauteur.
“I fear,” she said, “that it is not our safety which is jeopardised.”
“You mean that I am in danger?”
“The same stronghold which gives immunity to a family of the Red Douglases can hardly be expected to confer security upon James the Fifth, their persecutor.”
“No. Certainly that would be too much to expect. Are you then in this plot against me, my lady?”
“I have not heard of any plot. If there is one I know nothing of it. I merely acquaint you with some hint of my fears.”
“Then I charge you as a loyal subject of the lawful king, to guide me from this stronghold, into which I have been cozened by treachery and falsehood.”
Catherine, who had entered silently and unnoticed through the smaller door, now stepped forward, drew her sister into the room, took out the huge key, closed the door and locked it, then turned fiercely to the king. Her beautiful white right arm was bare to the elbow, the loose sleeve rolled up, and in her hand she held a dagger. With her back against the newly locked door, she said, —
“I’ll be your majesty’s guide from this castle, and your perjured soul shall find exit through a postern gate made by my dagger!”
“Oh, Catherine, Catherine,” sobbed Isabel, weeping in fear and horror of the situation, “you cannot contemplate so awful a deed, a murder so foul, for however unworthy he may be, he is still the king.”
“What is there foul in ridding the world of a reptile such as he? How many innocent lives has he taken to encompass his revenge? How many now of our name are exiled and starving because of his action? I shall strike the blow with greater surety, for in killing him I extinguish his treacherous race.”
“No good can come from assassination, Catherine.”
“What greater evil can spring from his death than from his life?”
“His killing will not bring back those whom he has slain; it will not cause our banished kinsmen to return. It will be a murder for revenge.”
“And not the first in Scotland,” said Catherine grimly.
The king had once more seated himself, and now, resting his chin on his open palm, listened to the discussion with the interested bearing of one who had little concern with its result. A half amused smile wreathed his lips, and once or twice he made a motion as if he would intervene, but on second thoughts kept silent.
“Do not attempt this fell deed, dear sister,” pleaded Isabel earnestly. “Let us away as we intended. The horses are ready and waiting for us. Our mother is looking for our coming in her room. The night wears on and we must pass Stirling while it is yet dark, so there is no time to be lost. Dear sister, let us quit Scotland, as we purposed, an accursed land to all of our name, but let us quit it with unstained hands.”
“Isabel, darling,” said Catherine in a low voice that quavered with the emotion caused by her sister’s distress and appeal, “what unlucky chance brought you to this fatal door at such a moment? Can you not understand that I have gone too far to retreat? Who, having caged the tiger, dare open again the gate and set him free? If for no other reason, the king must die because he is here and because I brought him here. Open the door behind you, Isabel, go down the circular stair, and at the postern step you will find the rope ladder by which I ascended. Get you to the courtyard and there wait for me, saying nothing.”
“Catherine, Catherine, the king will pardon you. He will surely forgive what you have done in exchange for his life.”
“Forgiveness!” cried Catherine, her eyes blazing again. “I want no forgiveness from the king of Scotland. Pardon! The tiger would pardon, till once he is free again. The king must die.”
“I shall go as you have bid me, Catherine, but not to do your bidding. I shall arouse this castle and prevent an abominable crime.”
Catherine laughed harshly.
“Whom would you call to your assistance? Douglases, Douglases, Douglases! How many of your way of thinking will you find in the castle? You know well, one only, and that is our mother, old and helpless. Rouse the castle, Isabel, if you will, and find a dead man, and perhaps a dead sister, when you break in this locked door.”
The helpless Isabel sank her head against the wall and burst into a fury of weeping.
“Ladies,” said the king soothingly, rising to his feet, “will you graciously condone my intervention in this dispute? You are discussing an important act, from the commission of which all sentiment should be eliminated; an act which requires the hard strong mind of a man brought to bear upon the pros and cons of its consummation. You are dealing with it entirely from the standpoint of the heart and not of the head, an error common with women, and one that has ever precluded their effective dealing with matters of State. You will pardon me, Lady Isabel, when I say that your sister takes a much more practical view of the situation than you do. She is perfectly right in holding that, having me prisoner here, it is impossible to allow me to go scatheless. There is no greater folly than the folly of half doing a thing.”
“Does your majesty argue in favour of your own murder?” asked Isabel amazed, gazing at the young man through her tears.
“Not so, but still that is a consideration which I must endeavour to eliminate from my mind, if my advice is to be impartial, and of service to you. May I beg of you to be seated? We have the night before us, and may consider the various interesting points at our leisure, and thus no irremediable mistake need be made.”
Isabel, wellnigh exhausted with the intensity of her feelings, sank upon the bench, but Catherine still stood motionless, dagger in hand, her back against the door. The king, seeing she did not intend to obey, went on suavely. There was a light of intense admiration in his eye as he regarded the standing woman.
“Ladies,” he said, “can you tell me when last a King of Scotland – a James also – and a Catherine Douglas bore relation to each other in somewhat similar circumstances?”
The king paused, but the girl, lowering at him, made no reply,