“And you, Mr. Hamilton?” asked Rupert, with the old simplicity.
“I? I shall take care of my own troubles, lad. Meanwhile, you’ve enough of your own to keep you busy.”
The passage of the moat was cold enough to keep Rupert intent on present business. The need afterwards to pick his way between the sentries, who were cursing northern weather, left him no time for thought of those he left behind in Carlisle. And then he had to keep a steady head, a quiet, impassive face, as he bargained with the host of the Three Angels Tavern touching the hire of a horse to carry him on an errand of gallantry to Gretna Green. He played his part well, this heir of Sir Jasper’s, for the song of the open hazard was lilting at his ears.
He left the town behind him, and got out into the desolate, wild country that lay between Carlisle and the Border. Because he had no thought whether his horsemanship were good or bad, so long as it helped him along the track of a single purpose, he rode easily and well. After the quiet of Windyhough, after the surprising journey to Carlisle, the second siege there, with nothing happening, there was a keen, unheeding freedom about this northward ride. He knew the Prince’s route, had only to spur forward on the Annan road to overtake him, soon or late. He was wet to the skin, and not strong of body; but his soul, like a steady, hidden lamp, warmed all this enterprise for him. His one trouble was that his borrowed nag was carrying a clinking shoe.
As he crossed the bridge at Gretna he heard two horses splashing through the sleety track in front, and wondered idly who were keeping him company on such an ill-found, lonely road. When he got to the forge, intent on having his horse re-shod, he saw the rough figure of the smith standing swart against the glow from the open smithy door, fronting a man good to look at and a woman whose face was shrouded by a blue-grey hood.
“It’s lucky I was late with my work, and hammering half into the night,” the smith was saying. “The fees are double, sir, after it strikes midnight,” he added, with true Scots caution.
“Treble, if it pleases you. Marry us, blacksmith, and don’t haggle. We’ve no time to waste.”
When they turned, man and wife, to get to saddle again, they saw Rupert waiting, his arm slipped through his horse’s bridle.
“Good luck to you both!” he said, with the easiness that sat well on him these days. “My need is to have a loose shoe set right—and I, too, have no time to waste.”
The bride lifted her blue-grey hood and glanced at him, aware of some romance deeper than her own that sounded in the voice of this slim, weather-beaten stranger. “Dear, will you ask a favour of this gentleman?” she said, touching her bridegroom’s arm. “He wishes us luck, and he has a loose horseshoe to give us. He comes in a good hour, I think.”