She stooped to kiss him. She anointed him with her hot tears. ‘Rest, rest, my only true lover!’
‘Peace,’ said he: ‘let me sleep. I am tired to death.’
She kissed his eyelids. He slept.
Men came about the door—more than one. She sprang from her mate and kneeled to face that way, screening him where he lay short-breathing. They knocked, then opened. The torchlight beat upon her, and showed her dishevelled and undone. She covered her bosom with her crossed arms. ‘What is it? Who comes?’
‘Madam’—this was Lord Lindsay—‘it is I. I have horses beyond the wall. It is time to be going. You and I must take the road.’
‘Whither, sir? Whither will you take me so late?’
‘To Lochleven, ma’am.’
‘You order me? By whose warrant?’
‘By the Council’s. In the name of the Prince.’