Nigel Tranter: The Courtesan

'Well enough, yes. Can you not see it, Davy? Larger than ever I have been! Well – and in the state all good wives long to be, so they do say! Do you not congratulate me?'

'Aye,' he nodded. 'I am happy to see it – happy indeed.' Gravely, unsmiling he said it. 'I was sorry… about the other.' The Mistress of Gray had miscarried in a storm-tossed ship on her way, with her banished husband, to exile.

She searched his face. 'No doubt,' she said. 'But… there is young Mary. Good lack – she is… she is liker… more than ever she is like…'

'Aye,' the man agreed briefly. 'How, and where, is Patrick?'

'Mary, my dear,' the woman called out, and leaving David's side moved over towards the girl. 'On my soul, you are lovely! A child no longer. A woman – and a beauty! Let me kiss you, poppet.'

Mary curtsied prettily before the other reached her, and then embraced her unreservedly, returning her kisses frankly. 'How nice you are, Lady Marie,' she declared. 'What a splendid surprise! And the baby – how wonderful! She gurgled delightedly. 'Will it be my cousin – or my brother or sister?'

'Mary…!' David Gray protested, shocked.

The Lady Marie Stewart, Mistress of Gray, laughed musically, mock-ruefully. 'Lord – I do not know, Mary! I do not. But, I vow, if it is like you at all, then I shall be happy.'

'Thank you. And how is my Uncle Patrick?'

'He is well, And sends you his love and devotion. As well he might! I left him at Dieppe, where he put me on a ship…'

'He put you on a ship?' David demanded, coming up, and dropping his voice needfully, glancing around them for listeners. 'Patrick sent you here? Alone? From France?

'Yes. I suppose that he sent me. Though I wished to come. I was pining for home. And determined that my son should be born in Scotland. It is a boy, you know – I am sure of it. Do not ask me how I know. But… he will be called Andrew, and he will be heir to Gray. It is only fitting that he should be born here. Wise, too – that there be no doubts, with my lord…!'

'Even lacking his father?'

'Even so. Although… who knows, his father may not be so far away by then, God willing. And Patrick scheming!' 'M'mmm,' David said, frowning.

'But how did you come here, Lady Marie?' Mary asked. 'To Kingoodie?'

'I shipped on a Scots trading vessel. Bringing wines and flax. To Pittenweem, in Fife. Faugh – the smell of her! Hides she had carried before, from Scotland to France. Do I not stink of them yet? From Pittenweem I bargained with a fishing skipper to bring me round Fife Ness and put me ashore secretly in the Tay, as near to Castle Huntly as might be. I arrived last night, here. And these good folk have treated me full kindly.'

'Kindly! Dod Rait should have brought you straight to the castle. It is but three miles. Instead of keeping you, wife to the heir of Gray, in this cabin…'

'Not so, Davy. They know not who I am, for one thing. I could not come to Castle Huntly. My lord would scarce welcome me, I think! Would he? I am the wife of a condemned and exiled felon, banished the realm. I must go warily indeed. It was you that I had to see – you whom I knew would guide and help me.'

'Aye – that I will, to be sure. But… was it wise to come, my lady?'

'Wise! Wise! Is Davy Gray doubting already? Is that my welcome? Would you that I had stayed away?'

'No. But there are hazards – grave hazards. Patrick's credit is low, my lady. The Armada business…'

'There are hazards in living, Davy – in breathing! And it is to improve Patrick's credit that I am here, see you. But… am I to be my lady to you again? Would you keep me at a distance? Was it not Marie that you named me, Davy when first you beheld me? I thought I heard it. Am I not your good-sister. And before I was that – your friend?'

'Aye. You are kind.' David Gray could look very grim at times. 'But you are the Lady Marie Stewart, daughter to the Earl of Orkney, and own cousin to the King.' That was true. Her father, the Lord Robert Stewart, former Bishop and now Earl of Orkney, was one of King James Fifth's many bastards, brother on the wrong side of the blanket to the late Mary Queen of Scots. 'You are a great lady. And I am… '

'Stop! We all know what you are, Davy Gray! The proudest, stiffest-necked man in this kingdom!' She shook her coifed golden head, but smiled at him warmly nevertheless. 'The man who bought my husband's life, when no one else could, at great cost to himself. I have never had opportunity truly to thank you for that, Davy.' She laid a hand on his arm. 'I do now. I do, indeed. And, alas, need your help once more.'

'It is yours, always.'

'Yes, Davy dear. I know it. Like, like a warm glow at my heart that thought has been, many a weary day.' She mustered a laugh. 'Patrick says, indeed, that you are the only man who could make him jealous of his wife…!'

David's face was wiped clean of expression. 'That is no way to talk, your ladyship,' he said evenly. 'Nor this any place to talk, at all. Come – can you mount my beast? In these fine clothes? And in your, your present state? Mary can ride behind you, holding you. And I will walk, leading the beast. It will be quite safe, I think. I will send for your baggage later.'

'Lord – of course I can ride, Davy! I am not that far gone. But five months. Do I look so monstrous? But… where will you take me?'

'To Castle Huntly. Where else?'

'But I cannot go there. Surely you see it? Anywhere but there. My lord always was out of love with Patrick. Now, he will have none of him, or his, I swear. And I will not come begging his charity. Or any man's. Save… save perhaps yours, Davy Gray!' She shook her head again. 'Besides, it would not do. Lord Gray is a notable pillar of the Kirk. Though no Catholic myself, I will be held to be one for Patrick's sake. To harbour me at Castle Huntly could do my lord much harm – you all, perhaps. I thought to go to my half-sister's house – Eupham, that is married to Mark Ogilvie, of Glen Prosen. If you could help me to win that far…'

'We go to the castle,' David interrupted her bluntly.

'But, Davy – what of my lord…?'

'Allow me to deal with my lord! That Patrick's wife, bearing Patrick's child, should seek shelter in her need anywhere but at Castle Huntly is unthinkable. Leave my lord to… to his steward!'

'And your Mariota?'

David was a little less definite. 'Mariota will, will rejoice to see you,' he said.

'I hope so, yes. But… ' She shrugged and sighed. 'She is well? How does she, the fair Mariota?'

'She is well – and in the same state as you are!'

'Oh!'

'Yes. Now – we will take leave of the Raits here. How much of belongings have you…?'

So presendy the trio were pacing across the flats of the carse, the Lady Marie mounted with Mary Gray behind her and the man leading the garron. Ahead, the great towering mass of Castle Huntly reared its turrets and battlements above the plain like a heavy frown in stone, even in the golden sunlight. To its presumed future mistress it seemed less than beckoning.

'My lord has been away at Foulis Castle these two days,' David informed her. 'But he will be back tonight.' 'Then I had rather be gone by then,' she said.

The presence of a number of stamping, shouting men-at-arms in the castle courtyard, when they arrived, indicated that Lord Gray had in fact returned home earlier than anticipated. As David aided the Lady Marie to dismount, young Mary slipped down and ran on ahead, and in at the main door of the keep.

Mariota came hurrying down the winding stone stairway to welcome them, in consequence, greeting the newcomer with a sort of uneasy kindness, all flustered surprise, bemoaning her own unsuitable attire, that she had had no warning, my lord's untimely arrival, exclaiming how bonny was my lady, how tired she must be coming all that way from France, how sad to be parted from dear Patrick, and was he well, happy? All in a breathless flood.