Turn of the Tide Read online

  ‘Elizabeth?’

  She was saved from answering by Janet’s appearance with a tray, Gillis skipping behind her, a tankard, fortunately empty, tilted in one hand.

  John sniffed at the bowl of rabbit stew, the steam forming beads of water on his nose. ‘And I feared it might be scrapings only.’

  Several times as he ate Elizabeth caught him watching her, but she steered the conversation along safe paths: the latest word from Holland; the new lambs that frisked in the temporary pens below the castle; the progress of the kittens that the tabby had dropped, not in the box that had been made ready for her, but in the linen chest, left open when Janet had been called away by an insistent knocking at the castle door.

  ‘Which turned out to be a pedlar and one that she thought little of, so she sent him away with a flea in his ear, but not so quickly that she remembered the job half-done upstairs.’ Christian set down her spoon. ‘I found them, while taking Gillis to bed. We heard squeaking coming from the chest, and when we peeped in and saw the kittens, I dropped the candle and we were left in the dark, Gillis shrieking like a banshee.’

  ‘And I flew up, thinking a leg broken at the least,’ Elizabeth took up the tale. ‘I came upon Christian kneeling on the floor, a bundle of soft fur in her lap, which, on closer inspection, proved to be four bundles, with eyes tight shut and tiny mouths that sucked on her skirts, mewling for lack of their mother’s teats.’

  Gillis cut in, ‘They’re in a box in the stable, though the tabby has three times tried to carry them back into the warmth of the kitchen.’

  Elizabeth stroked Gillis’ hair. ‘And this lady has been at Janet all day to let them bide.’

  ‘But she won’t!’ Outrage in Gillis’ voice made them laugh.

  John wiped the last remnants of stew from his plate with the heel of a loaf, while Gillis hovered at his elbow, desperate to accompany him to the stable to show off the latest additions to their household. Elizabeth shooing them downstairs before John could resume his questioning. He was like a dog with a bone when something caught his attention, and she wished to give herself a little time to prepare a suitable answer.

  ‘You have your story ready?’ Christian’s voice betrayed a nervousness that pricked at Elizabeth’s conscience. ‘I’m not the best at hiding things, especially,’ she looked into the fire, ‘when I’m not sure that what was done was wise.’

  ‘Say nothing then, and leave it to me. You know I have never yet landed myself in something I couldn’t handle, and I won’t fall at such a ganch as Patrick Maxwell.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  As the hunt party approached the woods that stretched out to the south and east of Fintrie, the King reined in his horse. Behind him William, with Munro at his side and a little to their rear, the Montgomeries.

  ‘Is it beast or rider, I wonder, that falls so readily behind?’ William’s comment, directed at Munro, was just loud enough that it was unclear whether or not he meant the Montgomeries to hear.

  Munro saw Patrick shoot a warning look at Hugh, who addressed himself to adjusting his stirrup.

  Again, the low drawl, ‘A pity that our host cannot make the pace. But hardly surprising seeing that his mount is poor and he had, I believe, little in the way of silver to bargain with and no contacts of note.’

  Hugh, clearly aware of William’s comments, but managing to ignore them, allowed his horse to slip sideways, bringing him up on James’ left.

  Seeing the smile that James bestowed on him, Munro said, ‘I wouldn’t bait Braidstane in James’ hearing.’

  William’s lip curled. ‘I dare say you wouldn’t. But I think I’m qualified to judge for myself.’

  ‘See that your judgement doesn’t fail then.’ Glencairn had reined in on William’s other side.

  Munro switched his attention back to James.

  ‘Your Grace,’ Alexander’s voice carried. ‘We have been bid to take a cup before the chase. The lady of the house, Mistress Graham is prepared for our arrival, and will send us on our way warmed, that we may make a good day of it thereafter.’ He indicated a track that skirted the wood. ‘If I may suggest . . .’

  James was impatient. ‘Yes, yes, out with it, man.’

  ‘It will be better sport if we don’t disturb the woods too soon. And though this track is a little longer, it will give the horses some respite. Not that your mount requires such consideration, but . . .’ he indicated his own horse, which, in truth, he held very firmly in check lest it betray more vigour than he wished, ‘. . . others of us are not so fortunate.’

  An expression of irritation passed across James’ face so that Munro thought for a moment that Alexander had played it wrong. Then the King laughed and the danger was past.

  ‘Lead on then. We shall allow you to set the pace for now, but don’t expect us to wait when the work begins.’

  Alexander inclined his head and swung his horse round.

  James looked first at Hugh and then towards William. His voice was satin-smooth. ‘Do you two ride by my side. We shall see how you sit your new friendship.’

  They moved off, James riding squarely in the centre of the track so that both William and Hugh had the disadvantage of uneven ground.

  Munro kept his distance, almost missing the side-stepping of William’s horse and his hasty apology as the King reacted swiftly.

  ‘Maybe Cunninghame, you need to draw back, lest my horse is harmed and the day not started.’ A pause, a hint of malice, ‘Braidstane and I will rub along rightly for the now.’

  Munro settled far enough from the front to distance himself from either faction, but close enough to keep a clear view of the foremost riders. Although he couldn’t hear what was said, he prepared to enjoy the rivalry between William and Hugh. Behind him he could hear Patrick Montgomerie conversing with the Master of Gray, who had the dangerous privilege of being a rising favourite. He trotted along and allowed his thoughts to drift: to the likely length of the day and the stamina of his horse, without a doubt the least promising of those he had hired, and therefore the probability of missing out on at least some of the chase. To William and Hugh. To home, the bairns and Kate. To William and Hugh – would serving one be any different from the other? Perhaps: if the ragged child with the injured kitten was anything to go by. Patrick Montgomerie seemed likeable enough. But then so was John Cunninghame. And none of his affability evident in William. Automatically he pressed his horse, and although she snorted and tossed her head in surprise, she responded. Surprised in turn, he found himself coming up on William’s left.

  ‘Still with us?’ William glanced at Munro’s horse. ‘By her looks, maybe not for long.’ They were rounding the edge of the wood and Fintrie Castle was in view, her towers topping the rise, the sun catching on the newly glazed casements.

  ‘I’ve ridden better but . . .’ Munro looked ahead to James and Hugh, ‘. . . I’m not in competition.’

  The hunt party gathered themselves in the courtyard, horses and riders alike refreshed by their halt. Munro saw that Hugh waited a little to the side, his horse more restive than had appeared earlier. Patrick was working his way round towards him and under the pretence of settling his own horse Munro too circled the group, to finish within earshot of the Montgomeries if he strained.

  Hugh’s good humour was evident. ‘The woods, I trust, will serve as well as the hospitality. I hadn’t guessed a poet could be so useful an ally.’

  ‘Nor I, but,’ Munro saw Patrick glance around as if to check that none who mattered were listening and so bent his head as Patrick continued, ‘I wouldn’t grin so widely, Hugh. You look as if the day is already yours and the hunt not yet begun.’

  Hugh looked down at the dust his horse scuffed up.

  Patrick continued, ‘William isn’t so stupid as his interest in clothes might indicate and if I were you I wouldn’t wish to risk the end game. Our cousin has played James well, and you are set fair to reel him in, so be it you don’t jerk the line.’

  James spurred his h
orse, gesturing for all to follow and they funnelled through the gateway and down towards the beckoning woods. Munro in the rear saw that William, caught unawares by the speed of James’ departure, was seeking to move up through the pack, but was blocked by Patrick, seemingly oblivious to the rider behind him. Munro was surprised to see that Hugh didn’t press forward, but allowed himself to jog along halfway back. It was an interesting, if unexpected, ploy – he doesn’t wish to push his horse, fearing that it won’t last the course? Perhaps, though it looks eager enough. Munro flicked his gaze to Alexander and back again. – So that was the game. How long till William realises? I won’t be the one to tell him, tempting though it is.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Patrick fan out to the left, William surging forwards to take his place. Others blocked his passage now and Munro saw him jab with his boot at a grey with white fetlocks. It started sideways and William raised his hand in apology to its rider as he kicked his horse past. The pace in front was quickening, the hounds along with the foremost riders already swallowed by the trees. Hugh’s horse sprang forward, a loud blast of the horn alerting them to the flushing of fresh quarry. Alexander, checking his mount, allowed Hugh to slip through the gap, so that he came up on James’ left in time to match the King’s surge.

  James acknowledged Hugh’s presence with a sharp glance, somewhat moderated by his warm tone, ‘Ha! Braidstane.’

  Munro admired Hugh’s timing, but seeing William’s ill-disguised scowl, kept his face blank and dropped back. All around was the baying of hounds and the sound of horses crashing through the undergrowth. He listened to the crack of fallen branches, the squelch of hooves sucked into boggy ground, the soft whinnying as they wove in and out of the trees. The pack was now together, now apart, each rider straining to follow as closely as possible the trail led by the hounds. He caught glimpses of Hugh: near enough to James to give the appearance of competition, yet without passing him. Now a little behind, now level, occasionally moving either to the right or the left, but always when they came together contriving to be just a fraction in James’ wake. The first run was fast, taking little over ten minutes for the hounds to bring their quarry to ground. It was a young roe deer, which stood quivering in a small clearing, surrounded by dogs held in check by the master. When Munro broke from the cover of the trees he was in time to see James drawing a bow and despatching it with an arrow through the heart, before dropping from his horse to rest his boot on the deer’s flank and pull the arrow free. Blood spurted and James turned towards Hugh, grasping his bridle with a bloodied hand, ‘Well, well, Braidstane, a goodly start to the day.’

  The hounds had barely begun to nose in the dense undergrowth before they were away again, flooding out of the clearing in the direction they had come, the sound of the horn re-echoing through the woods. James flung himself back into the saddle and wheeled round, so that the riders who had bunched up behind him had to pull their horses aside to let him through. In the ruck one unfortunate courtier pressed too close and was rewarded with a glower and an oath that his apology did nothing to deflect. Hugh was boxed in and unable to take up his previous position, but Munro saw by his smirk that he took some small comfort from the fact that it was a Cunninghame who had so annoyed James. A smirk that quickly changed to a frown as William cut in as James passed, daring others to intervene. He matched James’ pace as they flowed across the open ground following a four-year-old buck. And so it was William who, when the buck suddenly turned back on himself and shot off sharply to the left, was best placed to head him off, running him towards James, presenting the opportunity for a clean kill.

  Thus it was throughout the early part of the afternoon: now Hugh, now William, who shadowed the King, each taking opportunity when it came to make a kill, but contriving to leave the choicest prey for James to bring down.

  Munro found Patrick beside him.

  ‘Honours even, I’d say.’

  Munro ran the reins down his horse’s neck, skiting off streaks of white lather. ‘Fortunate that Braidstane has a fresh mount, else William would have it.’

  ‘You must admit it was neat.’

  ‘Indeed. And you, I see, have recovered sight and hearing, both of which seemed lacking earlier.’

  ‘Oh, my ears aye block in certain kinds of company. It’s a shocking inconvenience, I know.’

  ‘One that sits easy on you.’

  They had fallen back, the main pack now some distance ahead.

  Patrick sobered. ‘We should rejoin the pack. There are those who wouldn’t appreciate us keeping company.’

  ‘Aye, though I don’t know if I can make up the ground.’ Munro patted the horse’s head, as if to show him he bore him no ill will. ‘Speed doesn’t seem to be his strongest suit.’

  Late in the afternoon the wind, until then scarcely a breeze, picked up and veered to the north, clouds boiling on the horizon. As most of the earlier runs had been flushed on the northern side of the woods, the master pulled the hounds around to work from the southern edge, so that they remained downwind of any quarry. Munro, his horse clearly flagging, found himself equally envious of Hugh and William, both matching the pace easily. Seeing Alexander also trailing made him wish that he could have found so convenient a change of mount and set him thinking on the character of a man whose family so readily put themselves out to serve his interests. Watching James become more and more animated as the tally of kills increased, Munro suspicioned that despite William’s efforts, the day would be the Montgomeries’.

  The party was thinning. Some of the riders, finding their horses grown sluggish, were forced to head back to Fintrie. Munro, aware that his mount hadn’t much more to give, weighed up the danger of remaining and perhaps ending the day on foot, against his desire to watch the contest between William and Hugh played out to the end. And chose to stay. Ahead of him, the horn sounded again, and he saw James swing away to the right. Hugh was neck and neck with him, William caught unawares by the sudden turn. They disappeared into the trees and Munro turned to follow, contenting himself with a gentle canter. It was the longest run of the day, ending in the bringing down of a fine stag with grey-streaked fur and eight-pointed antlers.

  Munro made the clearing just as the sky directly above began to darken. He halted at the edge of the trees and steadied his horse against the sudden flash of light that speared into the ground ahead of him. Automatically, he counted the seconds before the rumble of thunder – three miles: time to get back to the safety of Fintrie before the brunt of the storm and likely enough leeway to ensure that the kill was also safely transported.

  Hugh glanced upwards as the first heavy spots of rain splashed onto the ground and gestured Patrick forward. ‘Stay with the stag until it be prepared.’ Then to James, ‘If it please you, sire, we should perhaps make for the castle and shelter. We have done justice to these woods. And though, no doubt, there is more to be had,’ he waved his arm at the pewter sky, ‘It would be a pity to catch a fever in the taking.’

  James was standing over the stag admiring the antlers, no doubt imagining them mounted on the wall of his bedchamber, or fashioned into a fine set of cutlery. Just as he seemed about to over-rule Hugh, the rain came down in earnest, a curtain blotting out the surrounding woods.

  James scratched at his groin, a smile creeping over his face, ‘It hasn’t been a bad day at all. And yon fellow,’ indicating the stag, now being trussed ready to be dragged away, ‘is a fitting end to it.’

  The hall at Fintrie, though roomy enough in normal circumstances, was strained to bursting with the hunt party. Munro squeezed onto a bench beside William, who shifted along a fraction commenting, ‘Your horse wasn’t up to much. Did you see any of the kills?’

  Munro ignored the mockery. ‘I didn’t have the advantage of your mount.’ Then thoughtlessly, ‘Though Braidstane’s seemed to match.’ And remembered, too late, both the boast he had made to Glencairn about the hiring of the horses and that William was likely still unaware of Alexander’s ruse. />
  ‘And whose blame is that? If I recollect aright, our horses were to be the best . . .’ William’s gaze shifted to the top of the table, his eyes darting between Alexander and Hugh.

  Munro kicked at the rushes under his foot – why could I not keep my mouth shut? The trick may have been Braidstane’s but the fault’ll be mine.

  William smashed his fist on the table, sending a tankard spinning.

  John Cunninghame glared at him ‘It would be ill done, nephew, to raise a rumpus in this company, and foolish besides.’

  ‘Well seen the Montgomeries had to resort to a cheap trick. We would have bested them else.’

  It was so close an echo of what Munro had said to Patrick, though not the sentiment intended, that he flushed, but William was oblivious to all feelings but his own.

  ‘See to it they do not beat us that way again.’

  Oh, aye, Munro thought, it’s that easy.

  John’s lips barely moved, his words coming out as a hiss, ‘Keep your voice down, William. We don’t wish to draw attention.’

  Servants began to place steaming platters on the tables and James, his eyes glistening, broke a momentary hush in the general hubbub. ‘We are grateful for your hospitality Mistress Graham. Montgomerie is fortunate in his friends.’

  William dug the point of his dirk into the table, so that John, his eyes fixed on James, reached across and gripped his wrist. Munro saw the colour bleed out of William’s hand until he was forced to release the dirk, John sliding it into his own doublet, saying,

  ‘I take it you can be trusted with a spoon?’

  Munro was not best suited to long, formal meals, preferring the more relaxed atmosphere that home provided, and William’s ill-humour did little to aid the situation. An ill-humour that became increasingly evident as they listened to James rehearse again and again the thrills of the chase, expressing his pleasure in it and his regret that he couldn’t extend the outing. Glencairn was seated on Robert Montgomerie’s left and what little entertainment Munro found in the proceedings came from observing the forced civility that their close proximity to James required. It was clear that James enjoyed toying with them, like a cat having cornered two mice at once. Patrick, on the far side of the table near the top, caught Munro’s eye, as if he too found the spectacle amusing. There was a burst of laughter from Hugh and an answering bellow from James.