On a day in June, Ailsa Redmain, well arrayed, went forth from Kilmory riding behind her father, Sir Oscar, on his sturdy horse. Beside them walked her brother Allan, with a long staff in his hand, a plaid over his broad shoulder, and a tall feather in his bonnet.
It was one of the calmest of summer days. The warm sweet smell of the whin bloom was in the air. The lark sang merrily in the clear sky, and across the smooth, glassy surface of Ascog loch the herons flew with heavy, indolent wings.
Seeing a pair of these birds flying near, Sir Oscar turned to his son.
"Were we not otherwise employed," said he, "this were a glorious day, Allan, on which to fly our young hawks at these herons. The birds will lose their cunning if they be not better exercised. Know you if poor Alpin had set aside a pair of gerfalcons for his Majesty's tribute?"
"'Tis but seven days ago that we were out together, Alpin and I," said Allan, "and never saw I a better trained pair of hawks than those that are now in keeping at Rothesay against the time when the tribute must be paid. We took seven birds that rose from the heronry of Barone. Alas! had Alpin but lived I had hoped to accompany him into Scotland that I might see King Alexander. But 'tis ever so with me. Never yet have I been able to make that journey."
"But," said Ailsa, "when Kenric has been throned, will not he also need to pay yearly homage to the King of Scots, even as his father was wont to do?"
"Assuredly," said Sir Oscar. "The king of Bute is so bound by his vassalage, and it were a sorry day for him if he should fail to observe the usages which custom has ordained. So soon as Kenric can do so, he will take his tribute of falcons to King Alexander, and Allan might even accompany him."
"But are there no falcons in Scotland, father?" asked Ailsa.
"Plenty there are, my child. 'Tis but the form of tribute, showing that the lord of Bute acknowledges his vassalage. In like manner, the lord of Arran delivers each year two dead eagles, and the lord of Islay a roll of homespun cloth. So may his Majesty know that his subjects remain true to him."
"Ah, heard you those lusty shouts?" broke in Ailsa, as the hum of many voices reached their ears. "'Tis surely the young king that they are hailing. Spur on the horse, for I would not willingly miss the sight of his arrival."