"Ever mocking, MacLellan. It is enough to madden me, this doubt and fear; these bold schemes on one hand, her gentleness and ignorance of my fate on the other; while I am under pledge to leave Scotland for Flanders on the king's service, and may not—nay, I cannot return sooner than half a year hence, having a voyage to Sluys by sea, and a journey to Gueldres on horseback before me. I would give this gold chain for a trusty messenger to Galloway."
"You should add for a bold one; as some courage is required to convey billets-doux under the gallows knob of Thrave."
"Jesting again, kinsman," said Gray, reproachfully.
"Nay, I do not jest," said MacLellan, suddenly becoming serious. "Within a month from this, I return to my house at Raeberry, which I am strengthening by new walls and towers, as I know not what mischief James the Gross may be hatching; and I give you my faith as an honourable man, that I will see Murielle Douglas, and bear to her your farewell messages. This I will do, if the act should cost me liberty and life. I have often, ere this, perilled both for a less matter."
Little did the brave Lieutenant of the King's Guard foresee that these were no idle words, and that this rash promise to his friend would cost the exact penalty he so heedlessly named, and would send down his story among the many dark episodes of the Scottish annals; but of this, more anon.
Gray's heart was filled with gratitude by the offer, and after MacLellan retired, he began to look forward with more confidence, and even pleasure, to his projected mission into Flanders, as a scene of new adventures, and an agreeable change after the sufferings and monotony of the past year.
Within a month after the conversation just detailed, Sir Patrick Gray had embarked at the old Timber Holfe of Leith, and sailed from Scotland on board the St. Regulus, a caravel belonging to the monks of St. Mary, at Pittenweem, who were great traders and shipowners in those days.
At the same time MacLellan, faithful to his promise, contrived to convey a letter from him to Murielle, who was so worn out by the daily persecution she experienced, and being assured of her lover's death (indeed, Achanna swore to have seen his tomb in the church of St. Giles), that she was on the point of consenting in the desperate longing for peace, to receive the addresses of the duke of Albany, who was then in exile on the Continent. But now, suddenly hope revived in her heart; the bloom came back to her cheek, and the light to her eye; strength of purpose returned to her, and she resisted so strenuously, that the subtle earl and his imperious countess found their schemes completely marred for the time.
As a proof that he still lived, she displayed Sir Patrick's treasured letter, which had fallen at her feet attached to an arrow, shot, she knew not by whom, as she walked one day by the margin of the isle on which the castle stands; but her sister tore the missive from her hands, stigmatized it as a vile forgery, and rent it to fragments, which she trampled under foot in presence of her bower maidens.
Then the sombre earl swore his deepest oath that, if the bearer could be discovered, he would soon be dangling from the gallows knob above the gate.