“Be assured, my Lord, I well know the man,” replied Sir Patrick, stooping to assist him to rise.
“Out fie!” cried Duncan MacErchar, who now stood before them, smoothing down his quelt, and blowing the dust with great care off a new suit of coarse home-spun tartan, that, with his rough raw-hide sandals, suited but ill with the splendid sword and baldrick that hung on him, and the richly-jewelled brooch that fastened his plaid; “Och, oich! Sir Patrick—ou ay, ou ay—troth, she be’s right glad to see her honour again. Uve, uve, ye loons,” continued he, addressing the two soldiers who had made so powerful a resistance to his entrance, “an she had kend that ye were going to give her sike an ill-faur’d ride as yon, and sike an ugly fling at the end o’t, by St. Giles, but she would have crackit yere filthy crowns one again others like two rotten eggs. But, oich, is she weel?” cried he, again turning eagerly towards Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger. “Troth she did hear of the gatherin’, and so she e’en came down here to see if King Roberts was for the fechts. And oich, she was glad to see her honours again, and the ould mans Sir Patricks yonder; but, uve, uve, she has had a sore tuilzie to get at her.”
“I rejoice to see thee, Master MacErchar,” said Hepborne, hastily waving him away, under the strong impression of the necessity of ridding the King’s presence of him, without a moment’s delay; “but the present time and place ill befitteth for [[361]]such recognition. Retire then, I do beseech thee, and seek me on some other occasion. Thou mayest ask at the Castle gate for mine esquire Mortimer Sang, whom thou knowest; he will bring thee to me at such time as may be convenient for me.”
“Uve, uve!” cried Duncan MacErchar, the warm sparkle gradually forsaking his eye, as Hepborne spoke, leaving him much abashed with a reception, for the coldness of which he had been little prepared; “oit, oit—ou ay—surely—troth she’ll do that. She’s not going to plague her honour’s honour a moment. She’s yede her ways hame again to her nain glen as fast as her legs can carry her. That she will—surely, surely. But, by the blessed mass, had she but kend that she sould be any hinderance to her honour, she sould not have yalt so far to fartigue her with a sight of her. But she did bid her be sure to claim ken o’ her in ony place, and before ony body.”
“Yea, I did so,” replied Hepborne, vexed to see that he still remained in the King’s presence, and rather provoked at his boldness, not being aware that poor Duncan was perfectly ignorant that one of the four persons before him was His Majesty—“I did indeed bid thee do so; but verily I looked not for thine audacious approach before such eyes.”
“And fat was Duncan MacErchar to mind fat other lord-bodies might be standing by, when her father, the noble Sir Patrick Hepborne, and at whose back she used to fight, was before her eyne?” replied the Highlander, a little out of temper. “Uve, uve!—surely, surely, Sir Patrick Hepborne, that did lead her on to the fechts, is mokell more to her than ony lord o’ them a’—ay, than King Robert himsel, gin she were here, as she’s in yon braw box yonder. Sure she did ken hersel the bonny Earl John Dunbar there, right brave and worthy knight; and feggs she kens that she’s not the noblemans that will scorn a poor man. And as for that pretty gentleman, and that douce discreet auld carle in the purple silken hauselines and the grey hose, they may be as good as him peraunter, but surely, surely, they cannot be better. Na, troth, but they must be mokell waur than him, an they would be for clapping their hands on the mouth o’ a poor man’s gratitudes. But surely, surely,” added he, “he be sorry sorry to have angered her honours.”
“Thou dost altogether mistake in this matter, Duncan,” said Sir Patrick the younger, much distressed to perceive the mutual misunderstanding that existed—“thou dost altogether mistake; I am not offended.”
“Hoot, toot—ay, ay—ou ay—sure,” replied Duncan, with a whimsical look of good-natured sarcasm in his countenance. [[362]]“Troth, she doth see that she’s not, neither the one nor the others, the same mans here, on the crowns o’ the causey o’ Aberdeen, that she was in the glen o’ the Dee yonder. Hup up!—Troth, she did take a grup of her hands yonder, ay, and she did moreover drink out of the same cup with her, and a proud mans she did make Duncan MacErchar hersels. But, uve, uve!—she’s with her neighbour lords and knights noo, and sike a ragged goat o’ the hills as her nainsel is no to be noticed amang so many braw frisking sheep, with fine woo on their backs. But sith that she did make Duncan proud, troth she’ll show her pride. Fient a bit o’ her will force her nainsel to the kens o’ mortal mans; so here’s her bonny sword and braw baudrick,” continued he, as he tried to take them off, “here’s the sword and the baudrick she bore so lightly, but the which hae grown of the sudden over heavy for her backs. But the poor Sir Page’s bonny brooch—oh ay! she’ll keep it right sickerly, as it was kindly and gratefully gi’en.”
“Nay, Duncan, keep the sword and baldrick, I beseech thee, and seek for mine esquire to-night,” said Hepborne, much annoyed.
“Hoof, uve, no,” replied the Highlander testily. “Sith she careth not to notice poor Duncan MacErchar before her father the ould mans (the Virgin’s blessing be upon her!) and the good Earl of Moray, and that pretty gentlemans, and yon discreet, well-natured, laughing auld carle in the grey hose and the purple hauselines yonder, troth she’ll no seek to trouble her esquire. So here’s her sword and baudrick, and she’s yede her ways hame again.”