Nigel Tranter - The Courtesan

He was in the best of spirits, anything but harsh, but adamant in this sudden whim. They would travel first thing the next morning. Mary was included in this arrangement.

While they would be sorry to miss her company, she could spend her Christmas at Castle Huntly if she preferred it Evidently there was no question of her being left at Holyroodhouse, Queen or no Queen.

Sudden as seemed this decision, Ludovick would have accompanied them – but Patrick demurred. It might look somewhat blatant, he suggested, for so newly a married man. Moreover, Anne might well be sufficiently concerned over losing her Maid-in-Waiting for her Yuletide antics, without sacrificing her most faithful admirer and constant attendant into the bargain. The Duke of Lennox was not as lesser men, and must bear the responsibilities of his high calling.

They took two easy days to the journey, stopping overnight at Falkland. Mary was escorted to the gatehouse of Castle Huntly, but neither the heir thereto nor his wife and son crossed the threshold. My lord's shadow lay too heavily athwart it.

Mary was joyfully received, the unexpectedness of her arrival nowise detracting. My lord, three parts drunk, welcomed her like the prodigal returned. Mariota wept in her happiness. The young brother and sister shouted. It was left to Davy Gray to remark concernedly that she was looking pale, great-eyed, strained – not the same cool and serenely lovely young creature that she had been, although almost more beautiful.

Mary, for her part, was more glad to be home than she could say, more in need of its settled normalcy and security than she had realised – and especially her father's strong, reliable presence. Undoubtedly prolonged association with Patrick Gray enhanced an appreciation of David, his illegitimate half-brother.

The day after Christmas, in sunny open weather, Mary rode pillion behind her father the dozen miles to Broughty. Even at a distance, Patrick's hand was notably visible. After the French fashion he had harled the bare stone wall outer walls and colour-washed all but the actual battlements and parapets in a deep yellow, so that the fortress on its rocky promontory soared above the sparkling, blue and white of the sea like a golden castle, gleaming in the sun. The place was larger too, new building towering above the high curtain-walling that faithfully followed the outline of the small headland; the restricted site precluded any lateral extensions, so Patrick had built upwards, and again in the French style, with corner-turrets, rounded stair-towers, overhanging bartizans and conical roofs. Over all no fewer than six great banners fluttered in the breeze, proud, challenging.

'Patrick has done as he vowed,' David said, over his shoulder, pointing. 'Broughty is no rickle of stones, any more. It is a finer place than Castle Huntly now – finer than any castle that I have seen north of Tay. But the cost! He has poured out siller like water. Where does he get the money, Mary?'

She shook her head. 'A thousand pounds of Elizabeth's pension to the King he got – for fetching it, and as solace for Dunfermline…'

'That is as nothing to what has been spent here. You have not yet seen the inside. I cannot think where he has gained it.'

'He wins much at cards. And it may be that he has his hands on some of the Ruthven money already, with the wardship of the daughters. And he soil has dealings with Queen Elizabeth.'

'Aye, then. To pay so well, what does he sell her?'

When they reached the castle, the reason for David's won-derings was amply clear. The place was transformed. From a bare echoing shell, it had become a palace. Tapestries and hangings clothed every wall, and not skins but carpets on every floor, brought from the East. Great windows had been opened in the thick walls to let in the light, fireplaces blazed with logs in every chamber, and candles in handsome candelabra turned night into day. Furnishings, bedding, silverware, pictures – nothing was stinted, nothing less than the best. Nothing in Holyroodhouse could compare with this. If Patrick Gray knew how to find money, he knew how to spend it also.

Questions and doubts, however, had to give way to greetings, admiration and festivity. Patrick was at his dazzling best, all laughter, wit and brilliance, like quick-silver. Even to Davy he was all affection, gaiety, frank brotherliness. As for Marie, with all she loved most gathered around her, she accepted this day as snatched from care, not to be spoiled. The others found themselves of a like mind.

It was evening when this pleasant interval of accord was interrupted. A sudden great hullabaloo and outcry from outside, from the direction of the gatehouse and drawbridge, sent David striding to the nearest window. Quite a large company of horsemen were milling about just beyond the artificial ditch spanned by the drawbridge, which separated the promontory from the mainland, many of them with blazing torches held high, while two of their shadowy number held a shouted exchange with the porters on the gatehouse parapet.

'Ah – company!' Patrick's voice sounded softly at his brother's shoulder. 'A pity, perhaps, that they could not wait until morning. We were so… well content.' He turned back into the great vaulted hall. 'You will excuse me, my dears? It seems that I must go play host.'

'Who is it, Patrick?' Marie asked, tension coming back into her voice. 'At this hour? What can it be?'

'That remains to be seen,' he told her easily. 'Nothing for you to distress yourself over, at least. And there is victual enough here to feed a host.' He closed the door behind him.

Marie looked from Mary to David. 'So short a time,' she sighed. 'It is not… your father?'

'No,' David perked. 'It is a large company. But whoever it is, my lord it is not! He will never darken this door, I fear. Patrick has fulfilled the rest of his vow, yes – that he would make this rickle of stones a palace that the King might envy. But he will never bring his father here to his gate, begging admittance, as he swore. Some tasks are beyond even Patrick.'

'I would not be so sure,' Marie said, shaking her head. 'Do not underestimate him, Davy. But a few days ago he won from the King the appointment of Sheriff of Forfar – in place of his father. So that he is now justiciar of all this region. Why? Why should he saddle himself with all this duty and responsibility? It is not like Patrick to take on such tasks. He will require to pay a deputy, since I swear he has no intention of dwelling always here in the sheriffdom. So that he will make little out of it.'

David whisded soundlessly. 'My lord was much hurt at being dismissed the office. He has held it long – and is moreover an Extra Lord of Session. But… he does not know that it is Patrick who succeeds him. That will be the sorer blow.'

'Yes. But that is the least of it, Davy. Do you not see? What it means? He is now the law in this sheriffdom, the voice of the King. If any transgress that law, or the King's will, Patrick can summon the same to him. Here, to Broughty. To judgment. And they must come, or suffer oudawry, banishment. Including my lord of Gray – should some transgression be suggested!'

'God's mercy! This is… this is…'

'This is Patrick! He has not told me that this is his purpose. But I think that I know his mind.'

Mary spoke. 'If we could but bring them together. In love, not in hurt.' Her dark eyes were pools of trouble. 'Deep in his heart I believe that Granlord aches for his son. And Patrick does not hate his father – only what he stands for, I think. He must beat all who oppose him.'

'Perhaps,' David sighed. 'Think you that I have not tried? All my life I have tried. There is that between them neither will yield…'

He stopped. Plain for all to hear came the thin wailing of bagpipes.