“However that may be,” replied the Earl of Fife, squeezing him warmly by the hand, “thou mayest rely on me as thy sincere friend, Sir Patrick.—Ho! Sir John de Keith,” exclaimed he, suddenly breaking off, and joining a knight who bowed to him as he passed by, “I shall have that matter we talked of arranged for thee anon. The son of my old friend the Knight-Marischal of Scotland, and one for whom I have so high a personal regard, shall always command my most earnest endeavours to gratify his wishes. Walk with me apart, I pray thee. Thou knowest the money hath been——”
But the rest of his discourse was lost in a whisper, and Hepborne’s attention was called off by the Earl of Moray, who introduced him to David Stewart, Earl of Stratherne and Caithness, another son of the King’s, though by a second wife. After a few expressions of mere compliment had passed between them, and the Earl of Stratherne had moved on,
“Lindsay,” cried his noble host to a bold and determined-looking knight, who was elbowing his way through the crowd, with his lady hanging on his left arm, “Lindsay, I wish to make thee acquainted with Sir Patrick Hepborne, son of the gallant Sir Patrick of Hailes.—Sir Patrick, this is my brother-in-law, Sir David de Lindsay of Glenesk; and this is his lady, the Lady Catherine Stewart, sister to my Countess. Sir David is my most trusty and well-approved brother, and it would give me joy to see the bonds of amity drawn tight between you.” [[264]]
The lady received Sir Patrick’s compliments most graciously; a cordial acknowledgment took place between the two knights; and Hepborne felt, that although there was less of protestation, there was a greater smack of sincerity in Lindsay than in the powerful Earl of Fife, who had said and promised so much.
“Welcome to Scotland, Sir Patrick,” said he. “By St. Andrew, but I rejoice to see thee, for I have heard much of thee. What news, I pray thee, from foreign pa——”
The word was broken off in the midde, for ere he had time to finish it, to the great astonishment of his lady, and the no small amusement of Hepborne and the Earl, he suddenly struck himself a violent blow on the cheek with the palm of his right hand. A roguish laugh burst from behind him. Lindsay quickly turned round.
“Aha! Dalzell,” cried he, “so it was thou, wicked wag that thou art?”
“’Tis indeed Sir William de Dalzell,” said Lady de Lindsay, laughing; “he is always at his mad tricks. There now, do but see what he is about; he is actually applying the tip of a long feather from a peacock’s tail to tickle the cheek of my sister Jane’s husband, the grave Sir Thomas Hay of Errol.”
“How doth he dare to attack the august cheek of the High Constable of Scotland?” said the Earl of Moray, with a smile.
“Nay, do but observe,” said Sir David Lindsay, “do but watch, I beseech thee, what strange and uncouth grimaces our brother-in-law, the High and Mighty Constable, is making, as the fibres of the delicate point of the feather titillate the skin of his cheek. Ah! ha, ha, ha! by the mass, but he hath given himself as hard a blow as I did, thinking to kill the fly.”