“To the Lady Juliet Manvers, once called the Lady Stradawn, these, with speed.
“Most beauteous Lady, and my soul’s idol! Thou wilt herewith receive the dispensation of his Holiness Pope Sixtus the Fourth, annulling thy marriage with that traitor, Sir Walter Stewart of Stradawn, so that thou mayest now look forward to be speedily raised to the high title and dignity of Countess of Mar, as well as to those yet more elevated honours, to which the growing edifice of my fortunes may yet uplift thee. But enough of this for the present. All will depend on thine own brave and steady deportment. Thou hast herewith sent thee, moreover, the King’s royal letters, strictly enjoining thee to defend the Castle of Drummin against all comers, and to hold it for his sovereign Majesty; and, above all, on no account to admit the traitor, Sir Walter Stewart, within its walls; the which, seeing that I built and repaired them, I full well know, are stout enough to resist any engine which he or others may be able to bring against them, when defended by so bold a heart as thine. To aid thee in this, and to enable thee to control the rebellious vassals of the Strath, a picked body of men are already on their march, and will be with thee in a very few days after these presents come to thy hand. So use thine authority like one who is destined to the great honours that await thee, and thus show thyself worthy of him who is the architect of thy fortunes,—who is thy devoted adorer and slave, the deeply love-stricken
“Mar.”
Of all this the gallant Sir Walter knew nothing, save that the proclamation of his being declared traitor, and the public annunciation of the dissolution of his marriage had been so generally diffused, that they came to him through the thousand mouths of common fame.
It was this last piece of intelligence, that made him gather up his strength, from that dejection to which he had for sometime been disposed to yield. The very thought that his alliance with this now detested woman, was thus severed and annihilated for ever, gave him new life. But, alas! the recollection that she to whose wrongs, to whose sorrows, and to whose penitence, he would now have wished to have held out the right hand of consolation, was now no longer in life to receive it, gave him fresh pangs of grief and despondency. He was resolved, however, to proceed to dispossess the murderess from the hearth of his fathers, and to take possession of his own fortress, in defiance of the King’s proclamation, being well aware that the same stout hands, and sharp claymores, in Stradawn, which had ever proved so faithful to him, would still enable him, if once in possession of his little place of strength, to laugh at all the King’s heralds and parchments throughout broad Scotland.
It was after a long and tedious march, that Sir Walter Stewart and his followers were seen winding up the valley of the Aven, one beautiful afternoon. The shouts of the thinly scattered population, rang through the woods from cottage to cottage, as the news spread that their own knight and chieftain was returning. All turned out, and crowded after him, to welcome himself, to talk with their friends in the ranks of his retinue, and to glut their eyes with the splendid pageant presented to them by his gallant array, and his richly caparisoned piebald horses. The castle arose before them upon its level and elevated green terrace, and his troop was moving slowly forward to ford the river Livat, where it runs in a broad and shallow stream, along the base of the promontory on which the fortress stands, when they, and especially their horses, were suddenly startled by the loud roar of a falconet, fired from the walls, the echo from which ran thundering along the faces of the neighbouring mountains, whilst the bullet discharged from it whistled over their heads, and went crashing through the boughs of a great tree behind them. A small plump of spears appeared immediately afterwards without the walls, and ranged themselves along the edge of the terrace above. But although somewhat surprised by these warlike and hostile demonstrations, Sir Walter moved boldly onwards to the river side.
“Whosoever thou beest, thou hast already had one warning,” cried a loud and hoarse voice from amid the spearmen on the terrace. “I bid thee beware of a second, till we know something of thee and of thy folk.”
“We would hold parley,” replied the Knight. “Friends, ye know not whom ye war against. Is Sir Walter Stewart to be held as an enemy before his own Castle of Drummin?”
“We know naught of Sir Walter,” shouted the other. “We know not Sir Walter Stewart, nay, nor any other Stewart, save our liege lord and master, James Stewart, the third of that name, King of Scotland, in whose name we bid thee be warned and keep off.”
“Who is he who so rudely challenges the Castle of Drummin?” exclaimed a shrill woman’s voice from the walls. “If any one would have peaceful speech of us, let him advance with a moderate escort till he comes within earshot.”