Turn of the Tide (15 page)

‘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.

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.’

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.’