Turn of the Tide (13 page)

Two days later, she presented herself at Newark for the second time. As she was shown into the solar, she saw the disappointment in Maxwell’s eyes and was glad that she
had taken the precaution of bringing Christian. He rose to greet them, taking first Christian’s hand and then, holding it longer than courtesy demanded, her own.

‘No doubt you’ve come to call in my promise?’

‘Indeed. You have promised to be most generous. I shan’t forget that you were the first to see the need for some relief.’

He bowed. ‘I hadn’t expected the pleasure of your return quite so soon. The weather . . .’

She jumped in, eager to take charge of the conversation. ‘We took advantage of the break in the rain that last night’s sky promised. There are others,’ she allowed her smile to
deepen, ‘not so willing as you, who have promised to consider the matter on my father’s return from Holland. I would wish to present him with the tangible proof of your generosity, that
he may be the more able to exert pressure in other quarters.’

‘I applaud your forethought, Elizabeth.’ He was pawing her arm and she took a half step back. ‘Fortunately, I am in a position to make good my promise. But I must trouble you
to wait a little.’ His breath blew hot across her cheek. ‘My steward returns this afternoon from Glasgow, and I will have monies then. In the meantime . . .’ Forced to look
upwards, she noted the hairs that curled inside his nostrils and took another half step backwards, coming up against a freestanding candle sconce by the side of the fire. He passed his hand around
her to steady the sconce.

Christian, feigning a coughing fit, sank onto the bench by the hearth, so that he was forced to drop his arm and call for water. He turned back to Elizabeth and waved his hand at the lad,
‘Tell cook we are ready to eat. Our guests . . .’ his teeth were small and sharp, like a weasel, ‘are, I’m sure, hungry.’

Though the hunger was all on one side and likely not for food, there was no room for protest. Elizabeth bore, with as much grace as she could muster, the intermittent warmth of his leg against
hers each time he leaned to reach for a sweetmeat or a refill of ale. They had been seated for barely an hour when the door opened and the steward appeared.

‘Ah, Hector, your return is timely. Mistress Shaw is come to plunder our purse to help the poor. I trust you had no problems carrying out our business?’

‘None at all. I have the monies, though I hadn’t thought to disperse them quite so soon.’

Maxwell frowned. ‘That isn’t your affair.’

Elizabeth pushed back her chair, made to rise.

He laid a hand on her arm, and she could fault neither his light touch, nor his voice, as he said, ‘We’ll do the business presently. You ladies haven’t finished. I
wouldn’t wish to rush you away.’

Later, as they turned their horses out through the castle gateway Christian let out a long breath. ‘It’s a hard-earned five merks.’

‘Well . . . it’s done now . . . and will not be so again. A name or two on the list and no-one will think to ask how they got there.’

It was an uneasy ride. On any other day Elizabeth would have relished the freedom from noise and unwelcome attentions that skirting around Greenock would have ensured. But, less than comfortable
with her own thoughts on the visit to Newark, she had no desire to hear Christian’s on the matter, and so preferred the inconvenience and extra caution that picking their way through the
narrow streets crowding the river required. Sun and moon both hung pale and almost indistinguishable in the darkening sky as their horses slithered their way across the quayside cobbles. The fish
market was long since closed and they sought to avoid the litter of rotting fish-heads, the stench of them spilling into the back alleys that twisted upwards towards the terraced slopes to the west
of the town. Empty creels were stacked at intervals along the harbour wall and the few fishermen still working at their boats, swilling down the decks or tidying sails, raised their heads only
briefly as they passed. Most were already drinking the proceeds of the day’s catch in one or other of the alehouses that lined the water’s edge. The sound of them, scarcely less raucous
than the gulls, rolled out through half-open casements: tuneless singing, raised voices, the splintering wood of an over-turned stool.

Elizabeth pulled sharply sideways as a door burst open and two men sprawled in front of her. They rolled over and over, until one raised his fist and knocked his opponent’s head against
the cobbles with a crack. Christian hesitated but Elizabeth reached out and tugged at her bridle. ‘This isn’t the time to look to someone else’s trouble. There’s danger
enough in our own journey, and I have a mind to be home before it’s full dark.’

They didn’t look back.

Intermittent rain came in short flurries, blowing horizontally into their faces so that they bent their heads against it, trusting to the horses to find steady footing. Their father, however
else he economised, did not spare silver when it came to finding a good mount, so though the horses also ducked their heads against the spiking rain, they made good time.

Settling down to a quiet meal in the solar, Elizabeth parried Gillis’ questions. ‘We have been making our collection for the poor relief.’

‘You should have taken me. Father said that we should have fresh air.’

Elizabeth brushed a loose strand of Gillis’ hair behind her ear. ‘It wasn’t an exciting day, nor a particularly pleasant one but,’ as Gillis opened her mouth to protest
further, ‘if you wish to spend an hour or two sitting quiet, listening to adults wiggle their way out of making a contribution and then be made cold and wet by the ride home, I promise you
shall accompany us next time.’

Gillis had listened only to the promise and jigged on her chair, her eyes dancing. And that was the sight that greeted John as he entered, holding his finger to his mouth, so that he was able to
come up behind Elizabeth and place his hands over her eyes. She gave a start and felt the colour in her face, thinking for a moment it might be Hugh. Her prick of disappointment when she swivelled,
immediately displaced by relief that she hadn’t dallied on the road home.

‘John, this is so good – we hadn’t thought to see you tonight, for business aye takes longer than is supposed. Have you supped? Gillis, run down to the kitchens and tell Janet
. . .’

John headed for the hearth. ‘Clear as it is here, it was dreich in Glasgow.

‘I know. We were near so . . .’ She broke off, thankful that, concentrating on poking a blaze into the fire, he failed to notice her slip.

Christian, under the pretext of moving dishes aside to make room, whispered, ‘It’s as well you come clean, for I suspicion that Gillis won’t be distracted from re-telling your
promise for long.’

‘I know. I will . . . only . . .’

John, admiring the flames now flaring on the hearth, cast a quick look towards them. ‘What are you two whispering about? Have I missed something – a suitor for Christian
perhaps?’

Christian flushed and looked away.

‘Elizabeth?’

She was saved from answering by Janet’s appearance with a tray, Gillis skipping behind her, a tankard, fortunately empty, tilted in one hand.

John sniffed at the bowl of rabbit stew, the steam forming beads of water on his nose. ‘And I feared it might be scrapings only.’

Several times as he ate Elizabeth caught him watching her, but she steered the conversation along safe paths: the latest word from Holland; the new lambs that frisked in the temporary pens below
the castle; the progress of the kittens that the tabby had dropped, not in the box that had been made ready for her, but in the linen chest, left open when Janet had been called away by an
insistent knocking at the castle door.

‘Which turned out to be a pedlar and one that she thought little of, so she sent him away with a flea in his ear, but not so quickly that she remembered the job half-done upstairs.’
Christian set down her spoon. ‘I found them, while taking Gillis to bed. We heard squeaking coming from the chest, and when we peeped in and saw the kittens, I dropped the candle and we were
left in the dark, Gillis shrieking like a banshee.’

‘And I flew up, thinking a leg broken at the least,’ Elizabeth took up the tale. ‘I came upon Christian kneeling on the floor, a bundle of soft fur in her lap, which, on closer
inspection, proved to be four bundles, with eyes tight shut and tiny mouths that sucked on her skirts, mewling for lack of their mother’s teats.’

Gillis cut in, ‘They’re in a box in the stable, though the tabby has three times tried to carry them back into the warmth of the kitchen.’

Elizabeth stroked Gillis’ hair. ‘And this lady has been at Janet all day to let them bide.’

‘But she won’t!’ Outrage in Gillis’ voice made them laugh.

John wiped the last remnants of stew from his plate with the heel of a loaf, while Gillis hovered at his elbow, desperate to accompany him to the stable to show off the latest additions to their
household. Elizabeth shooing them downstairs before John could resume his questioning. He was like a dog with a bone when something caught his attention, and she wished to give herself a little
time to prepare a suitable answer.

‘You have your story ready?’ Christian’s voice betrayed a nervousness that pricked at Elizabeth’s conscience. ‘I’m not the best at hiding things,
especially,’ she looked into the fire, ‘when I’m not sure that what was done was wise.’

‘Say nothing then, and leave it to me. You know I have never yet landed myself in something I couldn’t handle, and I won’t fall at such a ganch as Patrick Maxwell.’

As the hunt party approached the woods that stretched out to the south and east of Fintrie, the King reined in his horse. Behind him William, with Munro at his side and a
little to their rear, the Montgomeries.

‘Is it beast or rider, I wonder, that falls so readily behind?’ William’s comment, directed at Munro, was just loud enough that it was unclear whether or not he meant the
Montgomeries to hear.

Munro saw Patrick shoot a warning look at Hugh, who addressed himself to adjusting his stirrup.

Again, the low drawl, ‘A pity that our host cannot make the pace. But hardly surprising seeing that his mount is poor and he had, I believe, little in the way of silver to bargain with and
no contacts of note.’

Hugh, clearly aware of William’s comments, but managing to ignore them, allowed his horse to slip sideways, bringing him up on James’ left.

Seeing the smile that James bestowed on him, Munro said, ‘I wouldn’t bait Braidstane in James’ hearing.’

William’s lip curled. ‘I dare say you wouldn’t. But I think I’m qualified to judge for myself.’

‘See that your judgement doesn’t fail then.’ Glencairn had reined in on William’s other side.

Munro switched his attention back to James.

‘Your Grace,’ Alexander’s voice carried. ‘We have been bid to take a cup before the chase. The lady of the house, Mistress Graham is prepared for our arrival, and will
send us on our way warmed, that we may make a good day of it thereafter.’ He indicated a track that skirted the wood. ‘If I may suggest . . .’

James was impatient. ‘Yes, yes, out with it, man.’

‘It will be better sport if we don’t disturb the woods too soon. And though this track is a little longer, it will give the horses some respite. Not that your mount requires such
consideration, but . . .’ he indicated his own horse, which, in truth, he held very firmly in check lest it betray more vigour than he wished, ‘. . . others of us are not so
fortunate.’

An expression of irritation passed across James’ face so that Munro thought for a moment that Alexander had played it wrong. Then the King laughed and the danger was past.

‘Lead on then. We shall allow you to set the pace for now, but don’t expect us to wait when the work begins.’

Alexander inclined his head and swung his horse round.

James looked first at Hugh and then towards William. His voice was satin-smooth. ‘Do you two ride by my side. We shall see how you sit your new friendship.’

They moved off, James riding squarely in the centre of the track so that both William and Hugh had the disadvantage of uneven ground.

Munro kept his distance, almost missing the side-stepping of William’s horse and his hasty apology as the King reacted swiftly.

‘Maybe Cunninghame, you need to draw back, lest my horse is harmed and the day not started.’ A pause, a hint of malice, ‘Braidstane and I will rub along rightly for the
now.’

Munro settled far enough from the front to distance himself from either faction, but close enough to keep a clear view of the foremost riders. Although he couldn’t hear what was said, he
prepared to enjoy the rivalry between William and Hugh. Behind him he could hear Patrick Montgomerie conversing with the Master of Gray, who had the dangerous privilege of being a rising favourite.
He trotted along and allowed his thoughts to drift: to the likely length of the day and the stamina of his horse, without a doubt the least promising of those he had hired, and therefore the
probability of missing out on at least some of the chase. To William and Hugh. To home, the bairns and Kate. To William and Hugh – would serving one be any different from the other? Perhaps:
if the ragged child with the injured kitten was anything to go by. Patrick Montgomerie seemed likeable enough. But then so was John Cunninghame. And none of his affability evident in William.
Automatically he pressed his horse, and although she snorted and tossed her head in surprise, she responded. Surprised in turn, he found himself coming up on William’s left.