The Earl of Traquair, chagrined at the temporary defeat of his plans, inwardly cursing the stupidity of those with whom he was compelled to act, rode moody and silent, and this reserve the young man at his side made no attempt to interrupt until they had reached a slight eminence, where the nobleman reined in his horse and looked back down the valley at the blazing steading, which now filled the hollow with its radiance.
“We will wait here till Angus overtakes us,” he said. “This bonfire may collect some of the moths, and it’s better travelling three than two.”
“We’ve not far to go,” said Armstrong, “and that’s a blessing, for I’m on a long jaunt in the morning, and would be glad of my bed as soon as may be.”
“Where are you off to?” asked the Earl indifferently, gazing anxiously down the road for a sight of his follower, who was not yet visible.
Armstrong replied with equal nonchalance, “Oh, I’m just away for Oxford, to carry a message from Lord Traquair to the King of England.”
“What!” cried his lordship, nearly starting from his saddle in amazement.
“Surely my talk before these cuddies did not mislead you? I’ll take your message through and bring you back an answer, if the thing’s possible, but I cannot have those fools pottering and whispering in the matter. They must know nothing of my going. You will meet them two days hence, accept whomsoever they propose, and let him blunder along to a rebel gallows. It will be one blockhead out of the way, and then wise folk can do their bit travels unmolested.”
“But how can I send papers with him when they’ll be in your pouch?”
“Indeed, and that they will not be. This night’s work compels one to a change of programme. I shall carry no papers with me. If you let me read them I’ll remember every word, though they be as long as the Psalms. I’ll repeat them to the King with as few slips as any man in the realm. If you have a password or sign, or if you can tell me some incident that only you and the King know of, which will assure him that I am from you, everything else will be plain plodding. It would be folly for me, now that Cromwell’s spy is on the gallop, to carry a line of writing that bears relation to politics. I’ll be arrested before I’m a mile beyond the Border, so my chance of getting through will depend on the search they make. If they find nothing it is likely they’ll let me go, and I must manage to get back as best I can. There’s no sense in being hanged for a spy the first day I set out. I’ll leave that for Henderson’s man.”
“You think, then, if I give the papers to him, they’ll never see Oxford?”