"I cannot guess," said Gray, not much interested in the matter.
"That she has a lover already."
"A lover!" exclaimed Gray, in a very different tone.
"Aye, a lover here in Flanders," hiccuped Albany, while Gray sat breathless, and toyed with his dagger in the shade.
"His name?" said he.
"Sir Patrick Gray, captain of my dear cousin's royal guard. Laus Deo! if I discover him, he is extremely likely to rot in Flemish earth, while his papers may be of service to us."
"How so?"
"Because he is on a mission from the earl's three enemies—my cousin, his regent Livingstone, and the chancellor Crichton—aid me to discover—to kill him, and in Lennox, I will more than double your lands of Luaig."
"And object of this mission—"
"Ah! that is just what we want to know, though many say, 'tis but to Arnold d'Egmont of Gueldres, anent a royal marriage. But I'll brook no lovers, no rivals, near my throne—Laus Deo, no! and I would give all I have—not much certainly—to be as near this Sir Patrick Gray as I am to you at this moment. But a friend of mine is on his track already, I believe—one whom he cannot hope to escape."