“’Tis gallantly spoken of thee, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “and albeit I do hope that danger there may be none in this our own country of Scotland, seeing, I have reason to believe, that the tide of war hath already been turned from us; yet will it give me joy to be certiorated of the safety of this sweet lady, who will doubtless most cheerfully accept thy proffered courtesy.”
The lady readily made her acknowledgements to Sir Andrew, and gladly availed herself of his protection. Katherine Spears, who was to accompany her as a female companion on the journey, was rejoiced, like all young persons, at the prospect of so speedily seeing a little of the world, especially as her father was to be with her, and she was going in the service of a lady to whom she was already so much attached. But old Rory, who had been standing aloof during the conversation, showed by his countenance that he was ill satisfied with the arrangement which had been made, as well as with every one about him. He turned on his heel to leave the place, brandishing his gaud-clip, and followed by a brace of large wolf-dogs in couples, and began slowly descending the stairs, letting down first one-half of his ponderous person and then the other in succession, each step he took bringing out a humph, as a break to the continuity of his audible grumble.
“Ay, by St. Lowry, wha wad hae thought it, humph—wha wad hae thought that Rory Spears, humph—the Yearl’s henchman, as a body mought say, umph—that Rory Spears, that mought be ca’d as necessar till his back as the hound to his heel, or the falcon to his wrist, humph—that Rory Spears, I say, suld hae been left behind at sike a time as this, umph—like a crazy old destrier, or ane crackit targe, humph—and to be turned ower to be the plaything to a silly bit lassie, umph—and an Englisher quean, too, mair’s the wonder, hugh!—Ay, and to make matters better, she hirsels me off, too, like ane auld pair o’ boots, to put faith in that kestrel, Sir Andrew Stewart, humph[[378]]—a kite frae an ill nest, umph—ay, and ane that she’ll aiblins find is no that ower mukel to trust till, maugre a’ his havers, umph!—Weel, I maun e’en do the Yearl’s wull, and his leddy’s wull; but, troth, I sall gie mysel no unnecessar trouble wi’ the lass, umph—aboon a’, sith she hath chosen her ain champion, hugh!—And that foolish glaikit thing Kate, too, umph,—she’s smiling and smirking, when it wad better set her to be greetin’, hugh!—Och sirs, sirs, it’s a queer warld this. Whiew, whiew, Brand—whiew, whiew, Oscar,” cried he, whistling to his hounds, as he gained the area of the Castle-yard; “come awa, my bairns, ye hae mair sense than half o’ human fouk.”
Next morning the beautiful milk-white palfrey, that had been the gift of Sir Patrick Hepborne to his page Maurice de Grey, stood ready caparisoned in the court-yard, along with those of the party who were to form the escort. The lady recognised him as she descended from the terrace, leaning on the arm of Sir Andrew Stewart, and her eyes ran over at sight of the noble animal. She stopped to caress him silently ere she mounted him, her heart being too full to permit her to trust her voice in speaking to him. As Sir Andrew Stewart aided her to rise into her saddle, the generous steed neighed a joyous acknowledgment of the precious burden he was entrusted with. The lady waved her hand to the Countess, who streamed her scarf from a window, in visible token of the prayers she was putting up for her safety; and the cavalcade rode slowly forth, the beauteous eyes of the Englishwoman so dimmed with tears that she saw not aught that was around her. She felt as if, in leaving Tarnawa, the last tie that had bound her heart to the object of its tenderest affections were dissolved, and it seemed to wither within her. She drew her mantle over her head and gave way to her feelings, so that even Sir Andrew Stewart saw that, to break in upon her by conversation, would have been an intrusion too displeasing to be risked by him. He therefore continued to ride by her side in silence; and the example of the knight and lady spreading its influence over the party, not a word was heard among the riders.
The lady at last felt that common courtesy required her to exert herself to control her feelings, and with some difficulty she began to enter into conversation with Sir Andrew Stewart, who rode at her side. She was now able to reconnoitre her attendants, which she had not had strength or spirits to do before. Before her rode the minstrel, Adam of Gordon, who no sooner saw that the lady had given his tongue license by breaking the silence she had maintained, than he began to employ the innocent [[379]]artillery of an old man’s gallantry on the dimpling charms of the lovely Katherine Spears, who, by her merry replies, and her peals of laughter, showed that she enjoyed the well-turned compliments and high-flown speeches of the courteous and fair-spoken bard. Next came the spearmen, and a couple of lacqueys, and one or two other attendants; and last of all, wrapped up in a new fishing-garb of more than ordinarily capacious dimensions, with an otter-skin cap on his head, and his gaud-clip in his hand, rode Rory Spears, sulky and silent, on a strong, active little horse, whose ragged coat, here hanging down in shreds, and there pulled off bare to the skin, showed that he had been just rescued from the briers, brambles, and black thorns of the forest, which had been waging war against his sides for many a day. Rory was followed by a single wolf-hound, and his whole accoutrements were so far from being fitted for the important duty of convoy, to which he had been appointed, that it almost seemed as if he had purposely resolved it should be so from pure spite against his employment.
“Be’st thou for the hunts, Master Spears?” cried the wife of a publican, one of the Earl’s dependants, whom curiosity hurried to her door to gaze at the travellers as they passed.
“Na, na, Meggy Muirhead,” cried Rory, checking his horse for an instant. “The hunts, quotha! pretty hunts, truly. But hast thou e’er a stoup o’ yill at hand? for thou must know I am bent on a lang and tedisome journey—yea, and I do jalouse a right thirsty and throat-guisening travel, gif I may guess from the dry husk that my craig hath already been afflicted withal?”
“Thou shanny want a drap o’ yill, Master Spears,” cried Maggy Muirhead, who ran in and brought out a large wooden stoup, that, as she swung it on her head, foamed over the brim with generous nut-brown, by which she hoped to extract some information from Rory; “and where mayest thou be ganging, I pray thee? to join the Yearl maybe at the wars, I’se warrant?”
“Wars,” cried Rory, “wars! Gie me the stoup, woman.” And dropping his reins, and sticking the shaft of his gaud-clip into his enormous boot, he stretched out both hands towards the double-handed stoup, and relieving mine hostess’ head of the weight, he applied its laughing brim to his lips, and slowly drained it so effectually that she had no occasion to replace it there. “Haugh; wars, saidst thou, Mistress Muirhead?” cried Rory again, as he held out the empty vessel, one handle of which the hostess now easily received upon a couple of her fingers, and kept swinging about as he was speaking—“wars! look at me, am I girded for the wars, thinkest thou? Na, I’ve [[380]]e’en taen on to be tirewoman to yon black-e’ed Englisher leddy, and I’m to get a kirtle, and a coif, and a trotcosy, ere long. What thinkest thou of that, Mistress Muirhead?”
“Preserve me, the Virgin have a care o’ us a’!” cried Mistress Muirhead in wonder, as Rory rode away; “wha ever heard tell o’ sike a thing? The man’s gaun clean wud, I rauckon.”