Nigel Tranter: The Courtesan

'You mean that you are going home? To Castle Huntly?'

'No. Not unless I must. I had thought to go to another castle than that. To Methven Castle, Vicky.'

'What…!' Mary! What are you saying? Dear Lord – what are you saying?'

'I am asking that you take me away, Vicky. Will you take me away from it all? To your quiet green Methven. There to stay, to abide. You and me, together. As you have wished for so long… '

She got no further. The young man's arms enclosed her, swept her up off her feet, crushed the breath from her lovely body, held her fast, while he gabbled and gasped endearments, joy, praise and utter foolishness – when he was not closing her soft parted lips with his own urgent ones.

So different an embrace than that of the night before.

At last, breathless and panting, even trembling a little, Ludovick released her at least sufficiently to allow her to speak.

'My heart! My love! My sweet Mary!' he cried, 'So you will marry me, at last? Oh, my dear – we shall be wed. Soon. At once. Here is the most joyful day of my life. Here is…'

Shaking her head, but smiling, Mary extricated one hand, to raise it and place a forefinger over his eager mouth. 'Not so fast, young man,' she told him, tremulous only in her breathing. 'A truce, Vicky – one moment! Hear me, please.' And as he began to nibble at her finger, her face grew grave. 'I will not marry you, Vicky. I cannot. You are still the Duke of Lennox, the King's cousin. And I am still Mary Gray, the bastard. Nothing is changed, there. If we marry, in despite of the King and the Council, our marriage would be annulled forthwith. They would part us. They must. You must see it? So long as we do not marry, none will part us. None will see shame in a duke taking a mistress; but to marry out of his rank and style – that would be unforgivable!'

'But… but… I care not…'

'But nothing, Vicky. My mind is made up, quite. You want me. I want you, likewise. Take me, then. Take me to Methven with you. I shall be your wife in all but name. I shall keep your house for you. I shall cherish you always. I shall bear your children, God willing. But… I will not be Duchess of Lennox.'

'Heaven save us – this is beyond all!'

'No. Heed me, Vicky. I have thought long and deep on it. In God's eyes we may be man and wife, I pray – but not in man's. I shall cleave to you, never fear. Always. I shall keep your from the life of the Court as much as I may – for it suits you nothing. But some business of state you must perform, for you are born to it. In that I shall not interfere – for I have learned my lesson. I… I… ' She swallowed. 'I shall endeavour not to be jealous when you marry again – assuredly you shall. You must. To some lady of high degree.

To produce an heir to your dukedom…' 'Damnation, Mary – have done!'

'Hear me,' she commanded. 'I shall need help, then, Vicky – for I am only a weak woman. And she, whoever she may be, must have her rights. Although she must know, before she weds, that I am what I am.'

'A plague on it!' Almost he shook her. 'Do you know what you say? What this makes you? A courtesan, no more. That is what all will name you. Lennox's courtesan!'

'Why not? That is what I shall be, indeed. There are worse things, I think. Can you not stomach the title, Vicky – for me? Is it too high a price to pay for our happiness? Tell me – is it?'

Helplessly he stared at her. 'God knows,' he muttered at length. 'I do not.'

'God knows, yes,' she agreed, firmly, decisively. 'And there you have it. God knows what we are to each other – and I care not what any other says or thinks. So long as we are together, you and I. You will take me to Methven, Vicky, my love? On these terms. It is a compact?'

He drew a long breath. 'Aye,' he said. 'If that is your will, Mary.'

'I shall make it yours also, my heart,' she whispered