Nigel Tranter - Lord and Master

'But the marriage, sir? What of that? When is it to be? My lord said that you would arrange all…'

'Arrange all? Arrange what, in the name of the good Lord? Think you that this unseemly union, devised under some back stair, should be ceremoniously celebrated with pomp and display? I vow not! A shamed and ungrateful wanton's mating to a nameless bastard! Faugh, sir – me arrange it?5 Davidson had his hand on the door latch. 'Wed you where and how you will – so long as wed you are. And before due witnesses – but not before me, I warrant you!'

'I see, sir.' David's voice was level, set, now. 'And when? When is this to be?'

'Should I care, man? When you like. Today if you have the wherewithal to pay the chaplain's fee. Wed the baggage now if you wish – so long as you take her away out of my sight, out of this house and this my city of St Andrews! But… see you have it lawfully witnessed…'

That last was tossed over a black-gowned shoulder, as the ornament of the Kirk, fount of learning, and one-time prince of the Holy Church strode out into the hallway and was gone, leaving the door wide behind him.

For long the young man stood in that dark room staring after the cleric with unseeing eyes.

At length, sighing, David went in search of Mariota Davidson. He moved warily through to the rear of the house to the great kitchen. A serving wench there greeted his appearance with sniggers and giggles, but in answer to his enquiry pointed to an inner door, leading to a pantry. Nodding, he moved over, and opened the door.

The girl sat by the window of the small room, her hands on her lap, staring straight before her. At sight of him she rose to her feet, and stood waiting, wordless, wide-eyed.

'Mariota!' he said, his voice thick. 'Och, lassie, lassie!'

She bit her lip, lowered her eyes, and drew a deep quivering breath.

Quietly David closed the door behind him.

Mariota Davidson was not notably mountainous, nor even too obviously pregnant – only somewhat thicker about the middle than her usual At fifteen, she was a well-built girl, almost as tall as David, a gentle fawn-eyed creature, bonny, auburn-haired, her burgeoning womanhood glowing for all to behold. Only, today those normally easily flushed and dimpled cheeks were pale and tear-stained, and the great hazel-brown eyes red-rimmed and a little swollen. Even so, she was bonny, warm, appealing – to David Gray perhaps the more so for her so evident distress. She was dressed in a short sleeveless homespun gown of dark green, almost black, as became a daughter of the Kirk, even an outcast one, the skirt split down the front and gathered back to show an underskirt of saffron linen, with a White linen sleeved sark or blouse above. She wore a brief apron also, at which she tugged and twisted

David came near to her, but not too near. 'I… I am sorry, Mariota,' he said. 'You have been crying. I am sorry. Do not cry, lassie'

She shook her capless head of reddish-brown curls, un-speaking. 'You are well enough?1

'Yes,' she said, small-voiced. 'Where is… where is Patrick?'

'He is not here. He is… he is with my lord.' David looked down at his feet 'He sent you greetings. He wishes you very well,' he lied.

The girl did not answer. She was twisting and twisting that apron. 'Davy – oh, Davy – what is to become of me? she exclaimed, her voice catching.

He swallowed. 'It is… we are… has your father not told you, Mariota?'

'He tells me nothing. He will not even speak with me. None must speak with me. None must deal with me at all, in this house. He has ordered it No soul has spoken to me for three days. Oh, Davy… I' She choked.

He took a step forward, to touch her, to take her arm – and then hesitated, withdrew his hand 'You know… you know nothing, then.

'Only that I am lost, lost,' she wailed 'God will not have me, nor man either. None '

He clutched at that 'I will,' he said 'I will have you, Mariota.'

She did not seem to hear him. 'I would kill myself, if I knew how,' she went on, tonelessly. 'I have tried – but it is not so easy…'

'Och, hush you!' the young man cried, shocked 'What way is that to talk? Wicked, it is.'

'Aye – but I am wicked I wish that I was dead, Davy.'

'Lord, lassie-never say that! Never. You will be happy yet I swear it I will see to it – believe me, lassie, I will.'

'You are kind, Davy. Always you were kind But what canvyou do? It was kindly of you to come and see me…after what I have done. I wonder that you came. But there is nothing that you can do, you see…'

'I' faith, girl -I am to marry you!' Almost he shouted that, to get it out 'Marry, d'you hear? I am to marry you!'

Her breath caught, as she stared at him. She put a hand to her high young bosom. She opened her lips, but found no words.

David took her arm this time, earnestly. 'I am sorry, Mariota. I should not have bawled at you, that way. Sorry for everything. Sorry about Patrick. He would… do not blame him too much, lass. My lord would not hear of it. He has other plans for Patrick. I… well, I am the best that you can do, I fear. I am not Patrick… but I like you, lassie. I like you very well.'

The girl seemed not so much to be listening as searching, searching his eyes with her own, huge, alight, but fearful It was her turn to reach out, with both her hands, to grip him. 'Davy,' she whispered, 'you would not cozen me? You would not do that to me? Not now?'

'No,' he agreed 'I would not do that, now or any time. See. you, Mariota – it is best this way. The child shall be my child Folk will not question it – not in the Gray country, anyway…'

He got no further. Mariota threw herself upon him, her arms around his neck, suddenly laughing and sobbing in one, and near to hysteria, her full weight upon him, head hard against his shoulder.

'Davy, Davy!' she cried, panting. 'My dear Davy! Is it true? True? You will marry me? You will! Oh, Davy lad… God be praised!'

All but choked, throttled, by the vehemence of her, the young man struggled for air, blinked – but patted her heaving back too. 'Och, mercy!' he exclaimed 'There, there. Of course it is true. That is why I am here – why I came. But… och, wheesht, lassie. Do not cry. Wheesht, now – wheesht!'

The tears were welling up fast now – but they were tears of joy and thankfulness and relief. He put her a little way from mm, and took the corner of her twisted apron gently to wipe and dab at her cheeks and nose, whilst shining-eyed, trembling, she gazed at him through the glistening curtain of them.

Then abruptly, her lower lip fell, her eyes clouded, her whole face seemed to crumple. 'My father…!' she quavered.

'I have seen your father,' he told her. 'I have just left him. It is all right. He will have me as good-son. He will have me – if you will…?'

'Oh, Davy – he will?'

'Aye. He would liefer it was Patrick, mind – as I swear would you, lass. But…'

'Patrick!' she.cried. 'Patrick – never! I think… I think that I hate Patrick, Davy!'

'Eh…?Och, no-how could that be? After…after…?'

'Aye – after what I did! With him!' The colour had come flooding back to Mariota's cheeks. 'Nevertheless, I hate him -for what he made me do. Do to you, Davy. Thank God it is not him that I am to marry.'

'But, lassie – I thought…' David floundered. 'Why did you let him do it, then?

'Well may you ask, Davy! Sweet Jesu – how I have asked myself! For it was not Patrick that I liked. Och, I liked him well enough, sometimes – but not..,' She shook her head vigorously. 'It was I.vow, Davy – always you. But Patrick is… Patrick is… well, he is Patrick!' She stopped, biting her lip.

'Aye – he is Patrick!' his brother said. But it was his eyes that were shining now. 'Och, my dear – forget Patrick!' he cried. 'Here's you saying that you like me, like me well enough to… och, Mariota lassie – here is a wonder! Here is joy – for I like you fine too! Just fine. And we are to be wed – you and me, just. Man and wife. Dear God – I just canna believe it!'