“By’r Lady, I would have thee beware, Sir Knight,” said Ronald, the especial esquire of Sir Walter’s body. “If thou art bold enough to go nearer, thou mayest come within something more than earshot. I will advance and hold parley with them, and I shall be safe enow too, for they will see that they can make nothing by any deed of traitorie done against such an one as me.”
“No, no, Ronald; I will take my chance,” said Sir Walter in a melancholy tone. “My life is now but of little value to me. Let you and one more go with me, and let the rest stand fast here till we return to them.”
Sir Walter Stewart and his two attendants now separated from their party—forded the river, and rode their horses up the steep diagonal path that led up to the terrace on the promontory, whilst the plump of spearmen were called in, and the gates closed. On the outer wall of the barbican stood the lady of Stradawn, with her baby in her arms, and surrounded by a group of faces which were altogether strange to the Knight, or those who were with him.
“How comes it, lady, that I, Sir Walter Stewart, the rightful owner of this castle of Drummin, should be thus delayed in entering within mine own walls?” demanded the Knight. “Give orders that instant entrance may be yielded to me and mine, that there may be no unseemly warring and blood between those who, if no longer one flesh, were at least once so united by the holy church.”
“I no longer know Sir Walter Stewart!” cried the lady, in a lofty and imperious tone and manner. “I had indeed once the misfortune to be linked to him, of which union behold the sad fruits in this wretched babe! But my duty to my Sovereign, as well as my duty to the Earl of Mar, who is soon to be my husband, requires that I should now know him no longer, save as a traitor to his King, as well as a traitor to me—alike disloyal to both. Begone, then! This fortalice is now held by me for James Third, King of Scotland, and entrance herein thou shalt never have, whilst I live to bar thee out.”
“Lady, thou art bold,” replied Sir Walter, coolly, “but remember, that stoutly garrisoned and well provisioned as thou doubtless art, we can soon raise willing hearts and hands enew in Stradawn, to force thee to a speedy surrender.”
“Thou shalt do so then at the price of the murder of this thy child!” exclaimed the lady, lifting up the poor little innocent on high. “If but a single arrow be discharged against us, the tender flesh of this thy babe shall be the clout that shall receive it—and if but one burning brand be thrown, this shall be the very first food given to the conflagration. It is thy child. I hate it as being thine. No mother’s feelings, therefore, shall hinder me from using its little body as the bulwark of our safety, and as the rampart of our security!”
“Fiend that thou art!” cried Sir Walter. “Let not harm fall on the innocent babe of thy womb! Give me but my child, and I shall retire and leave thee scaithless, and to such peace as thy guilty soul may command. Oh, harm not the babe, but let me clasp it in these arms!”
“Ha, ha, ha! a pretty nurse thou wouldst have me provide for the urchin!” cried the lady, bitterly. “No, no, its body is our most potent shield, I tell thee, and thou shalt never win in here, till thou hast opened thy bloody way through the portal of its little heart. Shoot, if thou wilt, then, for this shall be thy mark.”
“Oh, fiend! Oh, demon, in woman’s shape!” cried Sir Walter, in anguish. “How was I ever inveigled into thy toils! Terribly, indeed, am I punished for the sins of my youth! But thou wilt yet meet with thy reward! Fiend that thou art, I say thou shalt——”