Meanwhile, Otterstone was struggling with his disappointment, and nourishing a deep spirit of revenge. The shame of his defeat, accomplished by a girl, was insufferable; and the gnawing pain of the loss of honour and men, in a cause where he had calculated securely on crushing his supposed enemy, affected him so severely, that he sent, it was reported, for his son, who had lived from his infancy at St. Omers, to come over to administer to him consolation. When Innerkepple heard of these things, he marvelled greatly at the stubbornness of his neighbour, whom he wished, above all things, to drag, nolente volente, into a deep
wassail in the old wainscotted hall of his castle, whereby he might drown, with reason itself, all their hereditary grudges, and transform a foe into a friend. These feelings were also participated in by the warlike Kate, who acknowledged that she did not, on that memorable day, fight for anything on earth that she knew of, but the safety of her father, and the sheer glory of victory. She entertained the best possible feelings towards Otterstone, though she admitted, with a laugh, that if his men had not that day run for their lives, she would have fought till they and their lord lay all dead upon the field, and the glory of Otterstone was extinguished for ever.
A considerable period that passed in quietness, seemed to indicate that the anger of the vanquished baron had escaped by the valves appointed by nature for freeing the liver of its redundant bile. Meanwhile, Innerkepple's universal love of mankind increased, as his friendship for the juice of the grape grew stronger and stronger, and his potations waxed deeper and deeper; so that he was represented, all over the Borders, as being the most jovial baron of his time. The fame of Kate also went abroad like fire-flaughts; but no one knew what to make of her—whether to set her down as a beautiful virago, or as a merry imp of sportive devilry, who fought her father's enemy with the same good-will she felt towards the lovers whom she delighted with her beauty and gaiety, and tormented by her cruel waggeries and wiles.
This apparent quietness, and the consequent freedom from all danger, induced the old baron to comply with a request made to him by King James, to lend him forty of his followers, to aid in suppressing some disturbances caused by a number of outlawed reivers at that time ravaging the Borders. Katherine gave her consent to the measure; but she wisely exacted the condition that the men should not be removed to a greater distance from the castle than
ten miles. When James' emissary asked her why she adjected this condition to her father's agreement, she answered, with that waggish mystery in which she often loved to indulge, that she had such a universal love for his—the emissary's—sex, that she could not suffer the idea of her gallant men being further removed from her than the distance on which she had condescended. A question for explanation only produced another wicked quodlibet; so that the royal messenger was obliged to be contented with a reason that sounded in his ears very like a contempt of royal authority—a circumstance for which she cared no more than she did for the mute expression of admiration of her beauty, that her quick eye detected on the face of the deputy.
The men having been detached from the castle for the service of the king, there remained only a small number, not more than sufficient for occupying the more important stations on the walls of the strength. There was, however, no cause for alarm; and old Innerkepple continued to speculate over his spiced Tokay, on his three grand subjects of antiquarian research; while Katherine followed her various occupations of listening to and laughing at his reveries, sewing battle scenes on satin, and killing her knights with her needle, in as many grotesque ways as her inventive fancy could devise. One day the sound of a horn cut right through the middle a long pull of Canary in the act of being perfected by the old baron's powers of swallow; and, in a short time, the warder came in and said that a wine merchant, with sumpter mules and panniers, was at the end of the drawbridge, and had expressed a strong desire to submit his commodity to the test of such a famous judge of the spirit of the grape as the baron of Innerkepple, whose name had gone forth as transcending that of all modern wine-drinkers.
"A wine merchant!" ejaculated Innerkepple, smacking
his lips after his interrupted draught of vintage '90. "What species o' sma' potation does he deal in? Ha! ha! It suits my humour to see the quack's een reel, as he finds his tongue and palate glued thegither wi' what I ca' wine, and gets them loosed again by his ain coloured water. Show him in, George."
"Whar is my leddy, yer Honour?" said the seneschal, looking bluntly. "Will she consent to the drawbridge bein' raised at a time when the castle's nearly empty?"
"She has just gane into the green parlour in the west tower," said the baron. "But I'll tak Kate in my ain hands. She likes fun as weel as her auld father, and will laugh to see this quack beaten wi' his ain bowls."