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S. R. Crockett - The Black Douglas

S >> S. R. Crockett >> The Black Douglas




Then he went softly to the door. The girl followed him. "You will not
be far away," she said doubtfully and with a perilous sort of
humility, "if this dreadful thing should come back again? I--that is
we, would feel safer if we knew that you--that any one strong and
brave was near at hand."

Then the heart of Sholto broke out in quick anger.

"Deceive me not," he cried, "I know well that the Earl loves you, and
that you love him in return."

"Well, indeed, were it for my lord Earl if he loved as honest a
woman," said Maud Lindesay, pouting disdainfully. "But what is such a
matter, yea or nay, to you?"

"It is all life and happiness to me," said Sholto, earnestly. "Ah, do
not go--stay a moment. I shall never sleep this night if you go
without giving me an answer."

"Then," said the girl, "you will be the more in the line of your duty,
which allows not much sleep o' nights. You are but a silly, petulant
boy for all your fine captaincy. I wish it had been Landless Jock. He
would never have vexed me with foolish questions at such a time."

"But I love you, and I demand an answer," cried Sholto, fuming. "Do
you love the Earl?"

"What do you think yourself now?" she said, looking up at him with an
inimitable slyness, and pronouncing her words so as to imitate the
broad simplicity of countryside speech.

Sholto vented a short gasp or inarticulate snort of anger, at which
Maud Lindesay started back with affected terror.

"Do not fright a poor maid," she said. "Will you put me in the castle
dungeon if I do not answer? Tell me exactly what you want me to say,
and I will say it, most mighty captain."

And she made him the prettiest little courtesy, turning at the same
time her eyes in mock humility on the ground.

"Oh, Maud Lindesay," said Sholto, with a little conflicting sob in his
throat, ill becoming so noted a warrior as the captain of the
castle-guard of the Black Douglas, "if you knew how I loved you, you
would not treat me thus."

The girl came nearer to him and laid a white and gentle hand on the
sleeve of his blue archer's coat.

"Nay, lad," she said more soberly, lifting a finger to his face,
"surely you are no milksop to mind how a girl flouts you. Love the
Earl--say you? Well, is it not our duty to the bread we eat? Is he not
worthy? Is he not the head of our house?"

"Cheat me not with words. The Earl loves you," said Sholto, lifting
his head haughtily out of her reach. (To have one's chin pushed this
way and that by a girl's forefinger, and as it were considered
critically from various points of view, may be pleasant, but it
interferes most seriously with dignity.)

"He may, indeed," drolled the minx, "one can never tell. But he has
never said so. He is perhaps afraid, being born without the
self-conceit of some people--archers of the guard, fledgling captains,
and such-like gentrice."

"Do you love him?" reiterated Sholto, determinedly.

"I will tell you for that gold buckle," said Maud, calmly pointing
with her finger.

Instantly Sholto pulled the cap from his head, undid the pin of the
archery prize, and thrust it into his wicked sweetheart's hands.

She received it with a little cry of joy, then she pressed it to her
lips. Sholto, rejoicing at heart, moved a step nearer to her. But, in
spite of her arch delight, she was on the alert, for she retreated
deftly and featly within the chamber door of the Fair Maid of
Galloway. There was still more mirthful wickedness in her eyes.

"Love the Earl?--Of course I do. Indeed, I doat upon him," she said.
"How I shall love this buckle, just because his hand gave it to you!"

And with that she shut to the door.

Sholto, in act to advance, stood a moment poised on one foot like a
goose. Then with a heart blazing with anger, and one of the first
oaths that had ever passed his lips, he turned on his heel and strode
away.

"I will never think of her again--I will never see her. I will go to
France and perish in battle. I will throw me in the castle pool. I
will--"

So the poor lad retreated, muttering hot and angry words, all his
heart sore within him because of the cruelty of this girl.

But he had not proceeded twenty steps along the corridor, when he
heard the door softly open and a low voice whispered, "Sholto! Sholto!
I want you, Sholto!"

He bent his brows and strode manfully on as if he had not heard a
word.

"Sholto!--dear Sholto! Do not go, I need you."

Against his will he turned, and, seeing the head of Maud Lindesay, her
pouting lips and beckoning finger, he went sulkily back.

"Well?" he said, with the stern curtness of a military commander, as
he stood before her.

She held the iron lamp in her hand. The wick had fallen aside and was
now wasting itself in a broad, unequal yellow flame. The maid of
honour looked at it in perplexity, knitting her pretty brows in a mock
frown.

"It burned me as I was ordering my hair," she said. "I cannot blow it
out. I dare not. Will you--will you blow it out for me, Captain
Sholto?"

She spoke with a sweet childlike humility.

And she held the lamp up so that the iron handle was almost touching
her soft cheek. There was a dancing challenge in her dark eyes and her
lips smiled dangerously red. She could not, of course, have known that
the light made her look so beautiful, or she would have been more
careful.

Sholto stood still a moment, at wrestle with himself, trying to
conquer his dignity, and to retain his attitude of stern disapproval.

But the girl swept her lashes up towards him, dropped them again dark
as night upon her cheek, and anon looked a second time at him.

"I am sorry," she said, more than ever like a child. "Forgive me,
and--the lamp is so hot."

Now Sholto was young and inexperienced, but he was not quite a fool.
He stooped and blew out the light, and the next moment his lips rested
upon other lips which, as it had been unconsciously, resigned their
soft sweetness to his will.

Then the door closed, and he heard the click of the lock as the bolts
were shot from within. The gallery ran round and round about him like
a clacking wheel. His heart beat tumultuously, and there was a strange
humming sound in his ears.

The captain of the guard stumbled half distracted down the turret
stair.

The old world had been destroyed in a moment and he was walking in a
new, where perpetual roses bloomed and the spring birds sang for
evermore. He knew not, this poor foolish Sholto, that he had much to
learn ere he should know all the tricks and stratagems of this most
naughty and prettily disdainful minx, Mistress Maud Lindesay.

But for that night at least he thought he knew her heart and soul,
which made him just as happy.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE MORNING LIGHT


In the morning Sholto MacKim had other views of it. Even when at last
he was relieved from duty he never closed an eye. The blowing out of
the lamp had turned his ideas and hopes all topsy-turvy. His heart
sang loud and turbulent within him. He had kissed other girls indeed
before at kirns and country dances. He laughed triumphantly within him
at the difference. They had run into corners and screamed and
struggled, and held up ineffectual hands. And when his lips did reach
their goal, it was generally upon the bridge of a nose or a tip of an
ear. He could not remember any especial pleasure accompanying the
rite.

But this! The bolt of an arbalast could not have given him a more
instant or tremendous shock. His nerves still quivered responsive to
the tremulous yielding of the lips he had touched for a moment in the
dark of the doorway. He felt that never could he be the same man he
had been before. Deep in his heart he laughed at the thought.

And then again, with a quick revulsion, the return wave came upon him.
"How, if she be as untouched as her beauty is fresh, has she learned
that skill in caressing?"

He paused to think the matter over.

"I remember my father saying that a wise man should always mistrust a
girl who kisses overwell."

Then again his better self would reassert itself.

"No," he would argue, tramping up and down the corridor, wheeling in
the short bounds of the turnpike head, and again returning upon his
own footsteps, "why should I belie her? She is as pure as the
air--only, of course, she is different to all others. She speaks
differently; her eyes are different, her hair, her hands--why should
she not be different also in this?"

But when Maud Lindesay met Sholto in the morning, coming suddenly upon
him as he stood, with a pale face and dark rings of sleeplessness
about his eyes, as he looked meditatively out upon the broad river and
the blue smoke of the morning campfires, there was yet another
difference to be revealed to him. He had expected that, like others,
she would be confused and bashful meeting him thus in the daylight,
after--well, after the volcanic extinguishing of the lamp.

But there she stood, dainty and calm under the morning sunshine, in
fresh clean gown of lace and varied whiteness, her face grave as a
benediction, her eyes deep and cool like the water of the castle well.

Sholto started violently at sight of her, recovered himself, and
eagerly held out both his hands.

"Maud," he said hoarsely, and then again, in a lower tone, "sweetest
Maud."

But pretty Mistress Lindesay only gazed at him with a certain reserved
and grave surprise, looking him straight in the face and completely
ignoring his outstretched hands.

"Captain Sholto," she said steadily and calmly, "the Lady Margaret
desires to see you and to thank you for your last night's care and
watchfulness. Will you do me the honour to follow me to her chamber?"

There was no yielding softness about this maiden of the morning hours,
no conscious droop and a swift uplifting of penitent eyelids, no
lingering glances out of love-weighted eyes. A brisk and practical
little lady rather, her feet pattering most purposefully along the
flagged passages and skipping faster than even Sholto could follow
her. But at the top of the second stairs he was overquick for her. By
taking the narrow edges of the steps he reached the landing level with
his mistress.

His desire was to put out his hand to circle her lithe waist, for
nothing is so certainly reproductive of its own species as a first
kiss. But he had reckoned without the lady's mutual intent and favour,
which in matters of this kind are proverbially important. Mistress
Maud eluded him, without appearing to do so, and stood farther off,
safely poised for flight, looking down at him with cold, reproachful
eyes.

"Maud Lindesay, have you forgotten last night and the lamp?" he asked
indignantly.

"What may you mean, Captain Sholto?" she said, with wonderment in her
tone, "Margaret and I never use lamps. Candles are so much safer,
especially at night."




CHAPTER XIX

LA JOYEUSE BAITS HER HOOK


On the morrow, the ambassador of France being confined to his room
with a slight quinsy caught from the marshy nature of the environment
of Thrieve, the Earl escorted the Lady Sybilla to the field of the
tourney, where, as Queen of Beauty, her presence could not be
dispensed with.

The Maid Margaret, the Earl's sister, remained also in the castle, not
having yet recovered from her fright of the preceding evening.

With her was Maud Lindesay and her mother--"the Auld Leddy," as she
was called throughout all the wide dominions of her son.

In spite of his weariness Sholto led his archer guard in person to the
field of the tournament. For this day was the day of the High Sport,
and many lances would be splintered, and often would the commonalty
need to be scourged from the barriers.

But ere he went Sholto summoned two of the staunchest fellows of his
company, Andro, called the Penman, and his brother John. Then, having
posted them at either end of the corridor in which were the chambers
occupied by the two girls, he laid a straight charge, and a heavy,
upon them.

"On your heads be it if you fail, or let one soul pass," he said.
"Stand ready with your hands on the wheel of your cross-bows, and if
any man come hither, challenge him to stand, and bid him return the
way he came. But if any dog or thing running on four feet ascend or
descend the stair, make no sound, ask no question, cry no warning, but
whang the steel bolt through his ribs, in at one side and out at the
other."

Then Andro the Penman and his brother John, being silent capable
fellows, said nothing, but spat on their hands, smiled at each other
well pleased, and made the wheels of their cross-bows sing a clear
whirring note.

"I would not like to be that dog--" said Andro the Swarthy.

"Whose foul carcase I pray God to send speedily," echoed John the
Blond.

Sholto had hoped that whilst he was at the guard-setting, he might
have had occasion to see once more the tantalising mischief-maker whom
he yet loved with all his heart, in spite of, or perhaps because of,
the distraction to which she continually reduced his spirit by means
of her manifold and incalculable contrarieties.

Nevertheless, it was with an easier heart that Sholto wended his way
out of the castle yett, all arrayed in the new suit of armour his lord
had sent him. It was made of chain of the finest, composed of many
rings set alternately thick and thin, and the whole was flexible as
the deer leather which he wore underneath it. Over this a doublet of
blue silk carried the Lion of Galloway done in white upon it, and all
the cerulean of the ground was dotted over with the Douglas heart.
But, greatest joy of all, there was brought to him by command of the
Earl a suitable horse, not heavily armed like a charger for the tilt,
but light of foot, and answering easily to the hand. Blue and red were
the silken housings, fringed with long silver lace, through which
could be seen here and there as the wind blew the sheen of the glossy
skin. The buckles and bits were also of massive silver, and at sight
of them the cup of Sholto's happiness was full. For a space, as he
gazed upon his steed, he forgot even Maud Lindesay.

Then when he was mounted and out upon the green, waiting for the
coming forth of his lord, what delight it was to feel the noble dark
grey answer to each touch of the rein, obeying his master's thought
more than the strength of his wrist or the prick of his heel.

As he waited there, his predecessor in office, old Sir John of
Abernethy, Landless Jock as he was nicknamed, came out from the main
doorway. He carried a gleaming headpiece from which the blue feather
of the Douglas fell over his arm half-way to the ground. On its front
was a lion crest which ramped among golden _fleur-de-lys_. The old man
held it up for Sholto to take.

"Hae," he said in a surly tone, "this is his lordship's new helmet
just brought as a present frae the Dauphin of France. So he has cast
off the well-tried one, and with it also the auld servant that hath
served him these many years."

"Nay, Sir John," said Sholto, with courtesy, taking the helmet which
it was his duty as his master's esquire to carry before him on a
velvet-covered placque, "nay--well has the good servant deserved his
rest, and to take his ease. The young to the broil and the moil, the
old to the inglenook and the cup of wine beneath the shade."

"Ah, lad, I envy ye not, think not that of puir Landless Jock," said
the mollified old man, sadly shaking his head; "I also have tried the
new office, the shining armour, and felt the words of command rise
proudly in the throat. I envy you not, though your advancement hath
been sudden--and well--for my own son John I had hoped, though indeed
the loon is paper backed and feckless. But now there remains for me
only to go to the Kirk of Saint Bride in Douglasdale, and there set me
down by my auld master's coffin till I die."

At that moment there issued forth from the gateway the young Earl,
holding by the hand the Lady Sybilla. His mother, the Countess, came
to the door to see them ride away. The Queen of the Sports was in a
merry mood, and as she tripped down the steps she turned, and looking
over her shoulder she called to the Lady Douglas, "Fear not for your
son, I will take good care of him!"

But the elder woman answered neither her smile nor yet her word, but
stood like a mother who sees a first-born son treading in places
perilous, yet dares not warn him, knowing well that she would drive
him to giddier and yet more dangerous heights.

The pennons of the escort fluttered in the breeze as the men on
horseback tossed their lances high in the air, in salutation of their
lord. The archer guard stood ranked and ready, bows on their shoulders
and arrows in quiver. Horses neighed, armour clanked and sparkled, and
from the moat platform twenty silver trumpets blared a fanfare as the
Lady Sybilla, the arbiter of this day's chivalry, mounted her palfrey
with the help of Earl Douglas. She thanked him with a low word in his
ear, audible only to himself, as he set her in the saddle and bent to
kiss her hand.

A right gallant pair were Douglas and Sybilla de Thouars as they rode
away, their heads close together, over the green sward and under the
tossing banners of the bridge. Sholto was behind them giving great
heed to the managing of his horse, and wondering in his heart if
indeed Maud Lindesay were looking down from her chamber window. As
they passed the drawbridge he turned him about in his saddle, as it
were, to see that his men rode all in good order. A little jet of
white fluttered quickly from the sparred wooden gallery which clung to
the grey walls of Thrieve, just outside the highest story. And the
young man's heart told him that this was the atonement of Mistress
Maud Lindesay.

Earl Douglas was in his gayest humour on this second day of the great
tourneying. He had got rid of his most troublesome guests. His uncle
James of Avondale, his red cousin of Angus, the grave ill-assorted
figure of the Abbot of Dulce Cor, had all vanished. Only the young and
chivalrous remained,--his cousins, William and James, Hugh and
Archibald, good lances all and excellent fellows to boot. It was also
a most noble chance that the French ambassador was confined by the
quinsy, for it was certainly pleasant to ride out alone with that
beauteous head glancing so near his shoulder, to watch at will the sun
crimsoning yet more the red lips, sparkling in the eyes that were
bright as sunshine slanting through green leaves on a water-break, and
to mark as he fell a pace behind how every hair of that luxuriant coif
rippled golden and separate, like a halo of Florentine work about the
head of a saint.

The Lady Sybilla de Thouars was merry also, but with what a different
mirth to that of Mistress Maud Lindesay--at least so thought Captain
Sholto MacKim, with a conscious glow of pride in his own Scottish
sweetheart.

True, Sholto was scarce a fair judge in that he loved one and did not
love the other. He owned to himself in a moment of unusual candour
that there might be something in that. But when the gay tones of the
lady's laughter floated back on the air, as his master and she rode
forward by the edge of Dee towards the Lochar Fords, the first fear
with which he had looked upon her in the greenwood returned upon the
captain of the guard.

Earl William and the Lady Sybilla talked together that which no one
else could hear.

"So after all you have not become a churchman and gone off to drone
masses with the monks of your good uncle?" she said, looking up at him
with one of her lingering, drawing glances.

"Nay," Earl William answered; "surely one Douglas at the time is gift
enough to holy church. At least, I can choose my own way in that,
though in most things I am as straitly constrained as the King
himself."

"Speaking of the King," she said, "my uncle the Marshal must perforce
ride to Edinburgh to deliver his credentials. Would it not be a most
mirthful jest to ride with equipage such as this to that mongrel
poverty-stricken Court, and let the poor little King and his starved
guardian see what true greatness and splendour mean?"

"I have sworn never again to enter Edinburgh town," said the Earl,
slowly; "it was prophesied that there one of my race must meet a
black bull which shall trample the house of Douglas into ruins."

"Of course, if the Earl of Douglas is afraid--" mused the lady. The
young man started as if he had been stung.

"Madame," he said with a sudden chill hauteur, "you come from far and
do not know. No Douglas has ever been afraid throughout all their
generations."

The lady turned upon him with a sweet and moving smile. She held out
her fair hand.

"Pardon--nay, a thousand pardons. I knew not what I said. I am not
acquainted with your Scottish speech nor yet with your Scottish
customs. Do not be angry with me; I am a stranger, young, far from my
own people and my own land. Think me foolish for speaking thus freely
if you like, but not wilfully unkind."

And when the Earl looked at her, there were tears glittering in her
beautiful eyes.

"I _will_ go to Edinburgh," he cried. "I am the Douglas. The Tutor and
the Chancellor are but as two straws in my hand, a longer and a
shorter. I fling them from me--thus!"

The Lady Sybilla clapped her hands joyously and turned towards the
young man. "Will you indeed go with me?" she cried. "Will you truly? I
could kiss your hand, my Lord Douglas, you make me so glad."

"Your kiss will keep," said the Earl, with a quiet passion quivering
in his voice.

"Nay, I meant it not thus--not as you mean it. I knew not what I said.
But it will indeed change all things for me if you do but come. Then I
shall have some one to speak with--some one with whom to laugh at
their pitiful Court mummery, their fiasco of dignity. You are not like
these other beggarly Scots, my Lord Duke of Touraine."

"They are brave men and loyal gentlemen," said the generous young
Earl. "They would die for me."

"Nay, but so I declare would I," gaily cried the lady, glancing at his
handsome head with a quick admiring regard. "So would I--if I were a
man. Besides, there is so little worth living for in a country such as
this."

The Earl was silent and she proceeded.

"But how joyous we shall be at Edinburgh! Know you that at the Court
of Charles that was my name--La Joyeuse they called me. We will keep
solemn countenances, you and I, while we enter the presence of the
King. We will bow. We will make obeisances. Then, when all is over, we
will laugh together at the fatted calf of a Tutor, the cunning
Chancellor with his quirks of law, and the poor schoolboy scarce
breeched whom they call King of Scotland. But all the while I shall be
thinking of the true King of Scots--who alone shall ever be King to
me--"

At this point La Joyeuse broke off short, as if her feelings were
hurrying her to say more than she had intended.

"I did wrong to flout their messengers yesterday," said William
Douglas, his boyish heart misgiving him at dispraise of others;
"perhaps they meant me well. But I am naturally quick and easily
fretted, and the men annoyed me with their parchments royal, their
heralds-of-the-Lion, and the 'King of Scots' at every other word."

"Who is the youth who rides at the head of your company?" said the
Lady Sybilla.

"His name is Sholto MacKim, and it was but yesterday that I made him
captain of my guard," answered the Earl.

"I like him not," said the Lady Sybilla; "he is full of ignorance and
obstinacy and pride. Besides which, I am sure he loves me not."

"Save that last, I am not sure that a Douglas has a right to dislike
him for any such faults. Ignorance, obstinacy, and pride are, indeed,
good old Galloway virtues of the ancientest descent, and not to be
despised in the captain of an archer guard."

"And pray, sir, what may be the ill qualities which, in Captain
Sholto, make up for these excellent Scottish virtues?" asked the lady,
disdainfully.

"He is faithful--" began the Earl.

"So is every dog!" interjected Sybilla de Thouars.

The Earl laughed a little gay laugh.

"There is one dog somewhere about the castle, licking an unhealed
sword-thrust, that wishes our Sholto had been a trifle less faithful."

The Lady Sybilla sat silent in her saddle for a space; then, striking
abruptly into a new subject, she said, "Do you defend the lists
to-day?"

"Nay," answered the Earl, "to-day it is my good fortune to sit by your
side and hold the truncheon while others meet in the shock. But the
knight who this day gains the prize, to-morrow must choose a side
against me and fight a _melee_."

"Ah," cried the girl, "I would that my uncle were healed of his
quinsy. He loveth that sport. He says that he is too old to defend
his shield all day against every comer, but in the _melee_ he is still
as good a lance as when he rode by the side of the Maid over the
bridge of Orleans."

"That is well thought of," cried the Earl; "he shall lead the Knights
of the Blue in my place."

"Nay, my Lord Duke," cried the Lady Sybilla, "more than anything on
earth I desire to see you bear arms on the field of honour."

"Oh, I am no great lance," replied the Douglas, modestly; "I am yet
too young and light. As things go now, the butterfly cannot tilt
against the beef barrel when both are trussed into armour. But with
the bare sword I will fight all day and be hungry for more. Aye, or
rattle a merry rally with the quarter-staff like any common varlet.
But at both Sholto there is my master, and doth ofttimes swinge me
tightly for my soul's good."

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