Turn of the Tide Page 13

  On the quay a cluster of women, their sleeves rolled past their elbows, headed for the tables set out at the head of the steps where the catch would come in. One, young and fair, smiled shyly at him in passing, a bairn strapped to her back, perhaps three months old, his skin dark as a gypsy. Munro smiled back, thought – shipwreak isn’t aye a disaster, or not for the young at least.

  On the ride home his thoughts returned to James and his Danish princess and the storms that had delayed her arrival. And politics aside, he wished them joy. Though it was hard no doubt for a King to find the easy companionship of lesser folk, yet it was not unknown.

  ‘If he is half as happy as I am this day, or will be when the bairn is safely come, then fine for him.’

  Sweet Briar tossed her head.

  ‘Aye, lass, fine for us all if the King is taken with his bride.’ He was paying little attention to the journey, and so was surprised when Sweet Briar stretched her neck, breaking into a canter, and he found himself nearly home.

  All was quiet as they entered through the gateway and although dusk was falling he saw no flicker of candles. For a moment he remembered that other home coming, three years earlier, when he had feared that the love between them was gone, snuffed out by his part in the business at Annock. It hadn’t been easy to repair the damage, and though Maggie was likely the fruit of that first night’s loving, the real work had stretched through the months of the long, hot summer that followed and into the winter beyond. The spectre of the Cunninghames and the demands that they might yet make upon them an intermittent fear, never spoken of, but no less real for that.

  With the birth of Maggie just short of nine months after his return, a shadow had lifted and, Glencairn making no further calls on them, they had begun to live as if their lives were truly their own. From the start, Maggie had been a placid child, plump and well favoured, her engaging smiles bestowed generously on all who looked at her. Whether it was due to her presence or not, and Munro was sure that at least in part it was, Broomelaw had begun to prosper and the relationship between himself and Kate to bloom afresh. And so to today and the new fruit of their love pushing its way into the world.

  Now and then he thought on Hugh and Elizabeth and wondered if their marriage was equally blessed, but was forced to keep the thoughts to himself, for he had never found the right opportunity to confess the Greenock visit to Kate.

  He crossed the courtyard to the stable, not knowing whether to be uneasy at the lack of lights. The door creaked as he entered, startling the lad curled on a heap of straw, half-asleep.

  ‘You’re surely tired to be asleep the now. Were you not sleeping last night?’ It was an innocent enough question, for Munro had no thought but to chafe the lad, and so was startled by the flush that crept across his face. At another time he might have probed further, for though it was fine for a lad to set his eyes on a sonsy lass and she was willing, Munro had a certain responsibility to see that those in his employ didn’t over-step the mark, or if they did that they were ready to make amends. ‘No harm done.’ He passed the reins over and released the bag with the herrings. ‘She needs a good grooming. The smell of the harbour is on her, and I don’t think she’s overly keen on the stench of fish.’

  The lad led Sweet Briar away, the colour fading in his face and Munro headed for the castle doorway – I can’t be hard on him and the evidence of my own pleasure clear for all to see. I wonder which it will be . . . no matter, so long as they both are hale.

  Agnes was in the kitchen, refilling a pail from the kettle on the fire. She turned at the slap as he dropped the bag of fish onto the table. ‘Save us all,’ she said, ‘You nearly made me drop the pail.’ And then, in response to his questioning look, shook her head. ‘Nothing yet, though I suspicion it won’t be long.’

  ‘I’ll carry the pail,’ he said, moving to take it from her.

  ‘You’ll do no such thing.’ She smiled at him, so that he saw that however slow this child was in the coming, she didn’t fear for the outcome. ‘Content yourself. I’ll call you, just as soon as it’s over.’ She turned at the door, ‘And leave the herrings on the slab in the larder. They may be wanted later – a tasty morsel is aye welcome when the job is done.’

  He started to say that he hadn’t brought salt herrings, but she was already part way up the stair, so he took himself out to draw cold water and begin the job of gutting the fish. He heard her up and down the stair twice more before he had finished layering them into a barrel. He wasn’t altogether sure of the amount of salt that was required, the setting down of fish being woman’s work, but he was liberal and hoped for the best. Restless, he climbed to the hall and saw that the fire was not yet lit, yesterday’s ashes un-raked on the hearth. Dropping onto his knees he spread them into a bed, ready for the kindling, and because of the rustling of the sticks, missed the faint wail from above.

  Agnes’ voice behind him. ‘Praying is it? Well, you’ve been answered. You have another daughter, and well-made she is too.’

  Kate lay back on the bed, her face pale, her eyes, soft and luminous, fixed on the wee scrap snooked into the hollow between her arm and her breast. He hunkered down at the side of the bed and put out a tentative finger to touch the child’s cheek.

  Kate looked up and though she smiled, he saw doubt in her face. ‘You aren’t disappointed?’

  He shook his head, smoothing back the hair from her forehead. ‘I can’t have too many ladies to look to me.’

  Agnes, busy with the spreading of fresh rushes, humphed, ‘True enough. You’re over much trouble for one.’

  His finger stilled against the child’s cheek, and she moved her face against it, much as a kitten would if you paused in the petting of her. Her eyelids flickered and he found himself staring into a pair of periwinkle-blue eyes below the smooth cap of auburn hair. He knew that she couldn’t focus, that she turned rather to the sound than the sight of him. Knew also that her eyes mightn’t aye be blue, nor her hair bronze, but found himself hoping for it.

  ‘She’s a bonny lass.’ He bent, meaning to kiss Kate’s forehead, but she stretched upwards so that instead their lips met. He held the kiss, gentle and long, and then, as the child began to mewl, rocked back onto his heels.

  Agnes said, ‘Away with you. They’re tired both and the bairn needing fed. If you want to be useful, you can help with the fetching and carrying, for Kate too is in need of a bite. A salt herring or two mightn’t go amiss.’

  ‘Ah,’ he felt like a child caught in some sin of omission. ‘The boats were just newly home, so I thought to buy fresh.’

  Agnes shot him a look, as if to say, ‘Could you not just have done as you were told?’ but said only, ‘Well then, I dare say fresh will have to do.’

  ‘I’ve set them down already.’

  From the depths of the bed, Kate choked.

  Agnes raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘There are some who, if they have other than straw between their ears, don’t give much indication of it.’

  Kate choked again, the sound mingled with the rhythmic suckling of the babe. ‘Bread and cheese will do fine, and will be less trouble.’

  ‘Aye well, it’ll have to do and you want fed the night.’ Agnes headed for the kitchen, still muttering.

  Munro dropped down again beside Kate. ‘I didn’t think. It was something to do, though . . .’ he thought of the ladling of the salt, ‘. . . I’m not sure if they’ll be fit for the eating, for I didn’t know how much salt to use.’

  Kate waited until the sound of Agnes’ slippers had faded. ‘Someone will eat them, even if it is only a passing pedlar that we wish to discourage.’ She settled the babe more comfortably against her then, perfectly mimicking Agnes, nudged him with her elbow. ‘Away with you. I amn’t that tired, but a bite to eat wouldn’t go amiss and company as I eat wouldn’t go amiss either. If Agnes will allow it.’

  It was as they finished their supper, Kate lying back against the pillows, Munro stretched out alongside her, that he remembered the talk o
f the harbour. He chewed on the last lump of cheese and ran his tongue around his mouth, cleaning the fragments from between his teeth. After a final swallow of ale he said, ‘Oh, I forgot. The gossip is all of the King. It seems he has taken it into his head to go to Norway to collect his bride. He and a fleet of five ships slipped out of Leith without the knowledge of the rest of the court, a letter left behind, taking responsibility for the jaunt, and naming those to look to affairs in his absence. And I imagine the council won’t be best pleased. That is . . . if the rumour be true.’

  ‘It would be a mighty big rumour that sent five ships into the North Channel in October if it wasn’t true.’ Kate wriggled closer to Munro. ‘It’s as well you didn’t volunteer to accompany him. Else you would have missed Ellie’s arrival.’

  ‘Ellie, is it? Do I have a say in the naming?’

  ‘No.’ She spoke in a ‘whatever made you think that’ voice.

  ‘Ellie it is then, though I know one member of our household who may take umbrage that she wasn’t consulted.’

  ‘It’s properly Eleanor Catharine,’ Kate continued, ‘Though she seems over wee to bear the weight of her whole name yet. But speaking of Anna – when are you fetching the bairns home?’

  ‘Tomorrow, in the forenoon. They’ll be fair spoiled already, Mother is aye easy on them; which is not quite how I remember it when I was wee.’

  ‘They’re easy to spoil when you don’t have to live with the effects of it. My grand-dame was the same. Was yours not?’

  He had a mental image of his paternal grandmother, holding him at arm’s length lest he soil her clothes. ‘No.’ It came out like a sigh. ‘She didn’t have much time for bairns.’

  Kate’s tone was soft. ‘Be glad then that your own children are more fortunate.’

  Chapter Two

  Archie came home, full of his life at Kilmaurs and the possibilities for advancement. He had changed in the three years that he’d been away and not for the better. There was a hardness in him and a ‘devil take it’ attitude that Munro and Kate both found distasteful. Nevertheless they strove to make him welcome and to listen with every appearance of interest as he talked. William, it seemed, hadn’t changed, or if he had, it was to become more arrogant and self-centred than ever, and Archie seemed to wish to follow him.

  ‘I can’t stay above three days.’ There was scarcely disguised relief in his voice and Munro found he matched it in thought, if not in word.

  ‘Mother will be sorry for it.’

  Archie waved his hand as if he swept away anyone’s thoughts but his own and continued, ‘Buried here, you’ll not have heard the latest from court.’ He was leaning against the chimneybreast, one arm stretched along the lintel as if it was his own hearth he stood at and not his older brother’s.

  ‘If it’s the jaunt of James you’re referring to, we had the news two weeks since.’ Munro was pleased to see Archie’s chagrin, ‘Maitland’s doing they say and his the ships that carry them. Was Glencairn not invited?’

  Kate shot him a look of caution and censure in equal measure, and he looked away, for he had, as she clearly divined, meant the barb.

  ‘No, and though he wouldn’t have relished the journey for he isn’t the best of sailors, it didn’t please him to be forgot.’

  ‘He’s in good company, I hear the half of the court knew nothing of it till the scheme was fully cooked.’

  ‘That doesn’t lessen the affront. Not to Glencairn, nor to William, especially as word has it that Montgomerie was bid.’

  ‘The poet?’

  ‘Him also, though it was Braidstane that irked William. From all I’ve heard, he is a jumped-up bit of little quality and less silver, who trades on his uncle’s favour with James.’

  Munro felt Kate’s restraining hand on his sleeve, her tone conciliatory, ‘You must be hungry, Archie, I’ll call for supper. Then we can talk as we eat. We are quiet here and don’t hear more than the bare bones of gossip. Forbye that we knew that the King was away to bring his bride home, we haven’t heard much else and indeed weren’t sure of the truth of the rumour. No doubt the meat of it will entertain.’

  The meal set, she picked up the thread of conversation, ‘And was it all Maitland’s doing? I wouldn’t have expected him to encourage James in such a risky endeavour.’

  ‘No,’ Archie paused, a chicken drumstick part way to his mouth, ‘Though Maitland pays: James is aye canny. The story is . . .’ he took a bite, as if, Kate thought, to give himself time to choose his words, as if he were not at home, but rather in dangerous company, whose discretion could not be guaranteed. She suppressed her irritation, encouraged him to continue.

  ‘Go on . . .’

  ‘When James had word of the damage to the Danish ship that carried his new bride and that she was forced for the second time to make for shelter, he ordered Bothwell, as Lord Admiral, to take a fleet to Norway to fetch her here.’

  ‘But it was not Bothwell who went.’

  ‘No.’ Again the slight hesitation, countered by an enquiring look from Kate and a nod from Munro. ‘When Bothwell presented the King with the cost of the venture, he wasn’t slow to change his mind. And that no great surprise.’ Archie was finding his stride now, his previous reluctance seemingly forgotten. ‘That’s when Maitland, no doubt thinking of future gain, stepped in. It wasn’t Maitland’s intention to take the King, but that James himself, now that the cost wasn’t his to bear, took the notion of a grand gesture.’ He reached for another drumstick. ‘If you believe the proclamation that James left . . .’ He raised his voice, ‘. . . I take this resolution only of myself as I am a true Prince . . .’ then returned to his normal tone, ‘Whatever the origin of it, others of the council had no idea until the scheme leaked too late to stop him.’ He was scouring his platter with a chunk of bread, mopping the remains of the gravy. ‘It was the size of the retinue that angered Glencairn, nigh on three hundred strong and he not among them.’

  ‘Forbye the Montgomeries.’ Again a hint of amusement from Munro.

  Kate pressed hard on his foot, and turned back to Archie. ‘You haven’t said much of yourself. You’ve been at Kilmaurs long enough to know if it suits you to stay.’

  ‘Well enough. At least we aren’t buried in the back of beyond. And visitors there are aplenty and there isn’t much that passes but that we hear of it.’

  Again Kate forestalled Munro. ‘And what of the lassies? Your mother’s first thought will be that you have come to cry her to a wedding.’

  ‘Well, I’ve not. Though there’s plenty willing.’ He seemed to dare them to contradict. ‘But I’m not just going to fall for the first sonsy lass who lifts her lashes at me. I intend to see myself set fair before I am saddled with a wife and bairns.’

  ‘Ambition,’ Kate said, Munro recognizing her undertone of anger, ‘is all very well, but take care that you don’t gain a fine place and have no-one to warm it with you.’

  It was Munro’s turn to seek to diffuse the tension. ‘I have much to be grateful for in my wife and not just the bairns she has blessed me with. Quiet we may be here, but if you are half so lucky, you will be fortunate indeed.’

  Archie’s gaze was defiant, though there seemed a forced quality to his words. ‘I have my mind set to rise and when it’s done, will look about me. I’ve not missed the boat yet.’

  ‘No, indeed.’ Kate closed the conversation.

  Munro sought safer ground. ‘Will you ride to our mother tonight?’

  Archie looked towards the west window, where the sun still cast a shaft of light across the flags. ‘I thought to wait until the morrow, but perhaps . . .’

  ‘I’ll ride with you. It’s a day or two since I was there. We have a new horse, bought cheaply for that she seemed sluggish. I took a gamble on her that good food and exercise would see her right. You can try her and tell me if you think she was worth the buying.’ He had struck the right note: Kate was smiling and Archie willing to be persuaded. ‘We can be there and back in time for supper, thoug
h mother might have other ideas. But if we tell her you haven’t yet seen the bairns, nor the babe, she won’t hold you back.’

  ‘Is she hale? I had the impression from your last letter, though I couldn’t put my finger on it, that she wasn’t as hearty as you’d like.’

  ‘She tires easy, though won’t admit it, but there is nothing actually amiss, or not that we can tell. She insisted on keeping the bairns for the birth and has, I think, suffered since, but the twins have energy enough for ten and would tire anyone. As you’ll see, for they’ll run you ragged before they’re done.’

  ‘Where are they the now?’

  ‘Down by the loch – Robbie has taken to the fishing, though we haven’t yet had our supper from his efforts, but it keeps them out of mischief and gives Kate a bit of peace.’

  She cocked her head, listening, ‘If you’re going, you should go, before the bairns return. I have a babe to feed, else the wailing will bring the others home.

  There was a freshness in the air as they took the slope to the east of the tower and Munro gave Sweet Briar her head. She pulled away easily and he relaxed into the rhythm of the ride, the breeze welcome on his face. When the distance between them stretched beyond good manners, he reined back, turning to watch Archie’s progress. It was easier to tell from a distance how the horse moved and he was pleased to see that the gait was steady, and as Archie encouraged him from a trot into a canter, that the action was fluid.

  Archie pulled up beside him. ‘He’ll not be carrying you far in the chase at present, but with good treatment and plenty of opportunity to run, I wager you’ll not recognize him in three months’ time.’

  ‘Worth the gamble then?’

  ‘Depends what you paid, but if he was cheap enough, I think I’d have chanced on him.’