Turn of the Tide Read online

  William stiffened. ‘Look at them, laughing with James as if they were all that took the honours of the day, my share in it forgotten.’

  Much as Munro would have enjoyed to see William fall foul of James, it carried risk for them all, so he said, ‘James is in a mood to play. It is enough that he baits your father. The Montgomeries ride high today; tomorrow they may fall.’

  ‘If we have anything to do with it.’

  ‘Take care that we do not,’ John spoke up. ‘Whatever you feel, William, it behoves us to play it canny. This friendship wasn’t lightly sworn and mustn’t falter, neither in appearance, nor in fact. If you can’t at least look as if you hold to it, then maybe it’s best you find some excuse to go home.’

  ‘I don’t need any excuse.’ William swung his leg over the bench, but was once again restrained by John.

  ‘For pity’s sake, not the now. James isn’t finished, so neither are we.’

  The skeletal remains of quail and partridge were replaced by crowns of beef and lamb cutlets each drowned in rich gravy; accompanied by side dishes piled high with roast vegetables. Conversation faded to an intermittent rumble, punctuated by the occasional complementary belch. The serious business of supper had begun. The table, laid waste for the second time, was cleared again, to make way for clear jellies and candied fruits and hot cinnamon pastries dotted with almonds, served with jugs of thick cream.

  Replete, Munro saw Alexander lean towards Hugh and speak into his ear. Hugh stood, causing a lull in the conversation that passed up and down the table, and in the ensuing hush, broached his matrimonial plans. Munro was aware of renewed tension in William and was impressed afresh at the Montgomeries manipulation of the situation, though he was careful that nothing of what he thought showed in his face.

  James, as well fed, as he was satisfied with the day’s sport, boomed his blessing. ‘Make it soon, man, and we shall be pleased to attend. We will be glad to see this sore with the Cunninghames plastered over in so pleasant a fashion.’

  Hugh bowed, keeping his head down a fraction longer than necessary so that Munro wondered if he sought to conceal dismay at the prospect of the King as part of his wedding celebrations. And who would blame him? For it would likely make of it an expensive business.

  James turned back to Glencairn. ‘A wedding gift wouldn’t go amiss. No doubt you . . .’ his glance travelled the length of the table, ‘. . . or William, will have a bawbee and to spare.’

  There was a moment of silence before Glencairn dipped his head in acknowledgement. Munro swallowed a grin. James raised his tankard, everyone else hastily following suit. ‘To Braidstane and his bride . . . and to the chase. It is a fine gift you gave, Montgomerie, gey fine. . .’ and, with a pointed glance towards William, ‘. . . baubles are very well, but I won’t forget, when the occasion arises, who it is that can procure such sport.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  There were a few sore heads on the following morning as the hunt party assembled for the return to Stirling. Munro was not one of them. He had risen from supper as soon as James had retired, leaving William, by this time more maudlin than angry, wheedling from a servant ‘another wee mouthfu to see him right’. He had sought, and been given permission from Glencairn to return home: the lambing not finished and the calving already begun. Now, milling in the courtyard waiting for the King to appear, he thought on his poor showing in the hunt and his lack of Sweet Briar and he determined he would not go home without reclaiming her however inconvenient and time consuming a detour to Clonbeith might be. He noted the Montgomeries gathered by the gateway and drifted to within earshot. Hugh was airing a worry to Alexander regarding his proposed marriage.

  ‘My stock with James Shaw isn’t so high that I wish the risk of adding to the expense of the thing.’

  Alexander seemed untroubled. ‘Have no fear, it will be a small matter to choose a wedding date that you may proceed in a simpler fashion than the King’s presence would dictate. Leave the choosing to me and I’ll make sure it doesn’t turn him sour.’

  ‘You prove your use again, uncle. My debt mounts.’

  ‘Keep the ground gained, and I shall be satisfied.’

  James appeared in the doorway. Alexander dropped his voice so that Munro strained to hear him.

  ‘Go home and prepare for your wedding and I shall write a poem for your lady that will stand against any in the country. But don’t delay your arrangements long, for I may not be able to give you much notice of the most propitious date.’

  Mounted, the King beckoned Hugh and Alexander, ‘Do you two ride with me.’ I shall not press the horses too hard.’ This to Alexander. To Hugh, he said, ‘It was a fine day, and won’t spoil in the retelling. I have a mind to go over it again.’

  Munro noted that the Montgomeries also had a change of horses and so presumably had made similar arrangements for the return of the hired mounts.

  ‘If it please you,’ Alexander was conspiratorial. ‘Hugh has wedding plans to further, and is expected daily at Greenock.’

  A ghost of a frown flitted across James’ face, then cleared. ‘Aye, you’re excused. The lady I daresay will enjoy hearing tell of yesterday’s sport. But mind,’ he was smiling now, ‘mind in the telling whose was the best kill.’

  As the last of the courtiers exited the gateway, Patrick crossed to Munro. ‘I believe you make for Clonbeith. We travel the same road, for a while at least. Shall we ride together?’

  Munro indicated Hugh. ‘If I don’t intrude?’

  ‘No intrusion for a friend of Patrick’s. But if we are to ride together, we mustn’t stay strangers. Hugh Montgomerie, Mas. . .’

  Patrick chipped in, ‘It’s ‘Braidstane’ just, though you wouldn’t think it to look on him. And this is Munro. He took the same foolish notion as myself the day before yesterday and we met on the Abbey Crag. Though I don’t think I was as peched as he.’

  Hugh snorted, ‘That’ll be right.’

  With Patrick by his side Munro looked down towards the woods that swallowed the last of the party headed for the court. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘the air in the west may be cleaner than in Stirling.’

  Ahead of them, Hugh had broken into a canter.

  For a moment the lack of reply made Munro regret the hint.

  Patrick touched his heels to his horse, ‘Air is always fresher among friends.’

  The stop at the clothiers in Glasgow was brief. Patrick rifled through bales of fabric with a practised ease, recommending in the end an emerald brocade, which Hugh bought and paid for without questioning the cost; Munro, guessing that it was a present for the intended bride. Hugh led them through narrow wynds, twisting and turning, so that Munro lost all sense of direction. There was the sound of running footsteps and a series of shots in an alleyway to their left. Patrick was nearest, his horse rearing. Gripping firmly with his knees, he leaned forward and laid his head against the horse’s neck, directing a stream of soothing murmurs towards her ear, until she steadied, flanks heaving. He kept up the soft flow without pause, drawing long, slow strokes from her mane to her withers until her quivering stopped.

  Munro grinned a compliment. ‘You have a way with you right enough. With horses and women, you said . . .’

  Patrick grinned back. ‘D’you want a lesson? In either?’

  ‘I can handle my horse, and as for women, I have a wife.’

  ‘And has she eyes? Well then, a wee bit spoil will bring the sparkle back.’

  Munro thought of the chill that had sprung between Kate and himself in the aftermath of Annock.

  ‘Long married?’

  ‘Four years.’

  ‘And bairns?’

  ‘Twins. A boy and a girl. Of nearly three.’

  ‘And have you presents for them all?’

  ‘I didn’t think. I was that keen to get home.’

  Patrick shook his head, but his eyes twinkled.

  ‘I make for Braidstane, but Hugh is for Greenock to his bride-to-be and will bide there the night
. It has a ween of shops where you could find a wee pickle that would pass.’

  ‘The Shaws. They won’t object to an extra guest?’

  ‘If you arrive with Hugh, I think you could be a Mohammedan and they wouldn’t care.’

  Gillis was playing with a hoop in the barmkin when Munro and Hugh broke from the trees onto the grassy knoll surrounding Greenock castle. Their first sight a bright head appearing over the curtain wall, short blond pigtails sticking out on either side like handles. She disappeared briefly to reappear in the gateway, shouting for John, Christian, Elizabeth . . . anyone, to come. She stood very straight, the long stick that belonged by rights with the hoop, now brandished as a makeshift weapon, and barred the gate, demanding they declare themselves before she could allow them to enter. Munro, amused, held back, allowing Hugh to reach her first. Feisty as she appeared, she was but a wee bit thing and might take fright at a stranger. Hugh dismounted and bowed, sweeping off his hat and allowing it to trail on the ground at her feet.

  ‘Mistress Shaw: Hugh, of Braidstane, at your service.’

  She stood her ground.

  Seeing the careful gravity of Hugh’s expression, Munro bent his own head to conceal the twitch of his lips.

  Hugh dipped his head again. ‘We wish you no ill, lady.’

  She leapt at him and he birled her round so fast that her slippers flew off and landed at the feet of a slim lass, who Munro judged to be twenty or thereabouts, hovering at the castle door.

  ‘This is a surprise.’ Her voice was husky, as if she recovered from a chill.

  Hugh made to put the child down, slipperless or not, but she clung around his neck, and a smile passed between Hugh and the lass over the child’s head. Munro noted the hazel flecks in her brown eyes and her auburn hair, shining like a well-groomed roan – this then was the girl for whom Hugh sweated in the clothiers over the choice of a brocade. Patrick is right, green will suit well. He held back, unsure of his welcome, despite what Patrick had said. That there was something between Hugh and the girl, whether formally acknowledged or not, was evident, and he was amused to see the tinge of pink that crept into Hugh’s cheeks. It seemed to Munro that she struggled not to laugh.

  ‘There is something wrong surely and it barely a week gone since we saw you last. I hadn’t expected you for a year at least.’

  ‘Debts weigh heavy on me, Mistress, though . . .’ Hugh shifted the child from one shoulder to the other, ‘. . . not half as heavy as some.’

  Munro looked away, for watching them felt uncomfortably like intrusion. He was still studying the state of his boots when Hugh pulled him forward.

  ‘I should have introduced you. Elizabeth Shaw, to whom I owe a gown, and Gillis, the youngest and . . .’ Hugh tweaked one of Gillis’ braids, ‘. . . pawkiest of her sisters. This is Munro – we rode together from Stirling. He makes for Renfrew the morn, but has an errand that takes him to Clonbeith, so I offered him a bed on your behalf.’

  A trickle of sweat ran down Munro’s spine – if she was to enquire . . . Elizabeth held out her hand, ‘My apologies, you must think me rude, chiding an old friend before welcoming a guest.’

  He bent over her slender fingers and for a moment was back at Langshaw, greeting Lady Margaret, the message from Glencairn burning in his throat. But when he felt the roughness of her palm, indicating that laird’s daughter or not, she didn’t spend her days in leisure just, the moment passed. ‘I trust I don’t intrude?’

  She directed her smile at him, but he had a feeling that she chose her words for Hugh. ‘Any friend of Hugh’s is a friend of ours also.’ She slid Gillis’ slippers onto her feet, and set her down. The lad began to lead the horses towards the stable as Hugh, pivoting on his heel, pulled at the cord that held the plump package strapped to the saddle.

  ‘Now that one weight is removed, I wish to discharge another, that I may sleep undisturbed at night.’

  ‘Indeed. Well then, I trust it will serve that purpose, even if no other.’

  ‘I trust it will serve at least one other function.’

  She took the package and Munro again felt a sense of intrusion as their fingers touched. He turned away to study a pair of gulls on the barmkin wall who squabbled over a crust – she reminds me of Kate: not short on spirit.

  She retraced her steps to gather Munro up, the parcel stowed under her arm. ‘We have dallied long enough. Christian will be crying me all sorts for keeping you out here in the cold. I’m sure you’re ready for a bite.’

  He answered her, smile for smile, ‘That I am – the breakfast at Fintrie was adequate, I can’t say else, but it was a while ago and the journey extended somewhat by our stop in Glasgow. The clothier clearly didn’t have much regard for Hugh’s knowledge of fabrics. It’s a blessing that Patrick was there to aid in the choice.’

  ‘That isn’t quite the experience I look for in Hugh, or not yet awhile.’

  In the lull between their arrival and the serving of supper, Munro sat by the fire playing cats-paw with Gillis. Opposite him Christian blushed each time he caught her eye. Gillis, tiring of the game, disappeared onto the stair and Munro heard the slip-slap of her slippers on the stone steps and the muffled creak of a door. It was a matter of moments only before she burst back into the hall.

  ‘Hugh and Elizabeth are by the caphouse, and Hugh has lent her his jerkin.’

  Christian turned from the laying of the table. ‘Well? It’s a mite chilly. Earlier I felt the need of some air, and was likewise unprepared.’ She took Gillis by the hand. ‘You can help with the bringing of the dishes. It will all be ready I’m sure.’ And ignoring the child’s scowl, marched her towards the door.

  Munro stared into the fire – how these sisters look to each other. As it should be, of course. But not always so. Hugh reappeared and Munro searched his face for telltale signs of a job well done, chiding himself as he did so – why should I care? I scarcely know them. Though I can’t help liking them both. Elizabeth reappeared, but as she carried nothing, Munro knew that it wasn’t from the kitchens she came. She gestured him to the table.

  ‘I trust you aren’t famished with the wait.’

  ‘You had other, more pressing affairs to see to?’ He drew the suspicion of a smile, and thought of Kate, who had that same ability to convey much in the twitch of a lip. It would be easy to see them friends.

  Gillis sidled in, tongue protruding between her teeth, carefully balancing a jug of ale in both hands, John hard on her heels. Elizabeth moved swiftly to take it from her, but Gillis jerked back so that ale splashed on the stone flags.

  Her face puckered into a frown and she stamped her foot. ‘See what you made me do – Janet said I could carry it myself and I was careful.’

  Munro stifled his laugh, for there was some justice in the complaint, and though it didn’t do to countenance rudeness in a bairn, he could tell by Elizabeth’s tremor that she likewise struggled.

  ‘Put it down else there will be more spilt than saved. And run and wash your hands.’

  Gillis put them behind her back. ‘They don’t need.’

  Elizabeth scrubbed at an imaginary mark on the palm of her hand, ‘Well, mine do. We’ll do them together.’

  For Munro the evening that followed was a blur of good food laced with laughter, so that he had a wish that Kate was there to share in it. Not a feeling he’d ever had at Kilmaurs.

  Hugh chose the moment as Elizabeth was gathering Gillis for bed, to stand up and rap on the table. John jumped up.

  ‘I see she has landed you at last. Though whether my father will look with favour on such a troublesome addition to the family . . .’

  Hugh made a show of protest.

  ‘You needn’t fear. I’m not keen to cross Elizabeth if she’s a mind, and I doubt father has a stouter heart. Or you for that matter – are you sure you know what you’re taking on?’

  It was Elizabeth’s turn for mock anger. ‘I don’t need an enemy to speak ill of me, for my own brother does it well enough.’


  Munro, laughing with the rest, turned his head sideways in time to see Gillis, who had been pulling on Elizabeth’s arm and demanding to know what John was talking about, finally lose patience. She screwed up her face, opening her mouth as wide as she could and screeched at the top of her voice. The effect was instant.

  With everyone’s attention on her, she stared hard at John, ‘No-one has asked me if I want another brother.’

  ‘Nor Hugh if he wants a corncrake for a sister’

  Hugh bowed to Gillis, ‘And do you wish it, lady? And will I serve?’

  She cocked her head to one side like a sparrow, her expression severe. ‘I dare say there could be worse . . .’ then stamped her foot when everyone around her dissolved again into laughter. She prepared to repeat her earlier performance but Elizabeth tugged her plait, ‘Before I am to have a husband, I must needs have a maid. Do you think you can do that?’

  The conversation broke then, words flying like shuttles, humorous and atrocious in equal measure, with Hugh, and Elizabeth, when she slipped back to her place, in the midst of it all and perfectly at ease. Afterwards Munro lay on the pallet in the small chamber above the solar, listening to Hugh snoring rhythmically beside him, thoughts of the past few days killing sleep – how easy they are. How easy I am with them. He thought of Broomelaw. And of Kate who had been first his friend, before his wife and lover. Who he had thought, wrongly, all softness and dimples, with hair lustrous as a raven’s wing. Who was totally without malice, yet had a core of steel. Who wasted no words, but armed with a quiet intelligence that underpinned everything she did or said, could slice into his soul with all the precision and efficiency of a well-judged sword thrust. Who had made a home of their modest tower-house, warm and secure. And who would see danger in his current ease. He thought on the bairns; perhaps Kate’s greatest weapon: Robbie, fine-boned and dark, his mother incarnate; Anna, small and sturdy and feisty yet. Falling into an uneasy sleep, his dreams disjointed and irrational, he woke to the memory of his own words to William on his return from Langshaw. ‘Your father is a dangerous man to cross . . .’ And as he took his leave and rode for home, regret at what couldn’t be dragged at him, like an anchor snagged on weed.