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'Ha!
That could well be,
¹
Montrose acceded gravely. 'It is good to hear.
¹
He turned to the other, younger, man. 'So you are Lord Carnegie now,
Jamie. Of course. So much has happened. Davie's sad death. I am sorry
- a tragedy. And your father's elevation. I still think of
him
as
Lord Carnegie. Accept my congratulations. And my thanks for making a
horseman out of my son.' That last was said courteously, but just
slightly formally, considering that they were brothers-in-law. These
two, although brought up as near neighbours and close family friends,
had never greatly loved each other. Carnegie's extra three years had
made for a certain superiority and condescension, which had tended to
be frustrated by the fact that he was only a second son - and of
a first lord, at that - while, from the age of fourteen, the other
was fifth Earl of Montrose, chief of all the Grahams, and moreover
insufficiently humble for his years. The raising of his father, the
Lord Carnegie, to be first Earl of Southesk, at the King's Scottish
coronation in 1633, only a few months after Montrose's departure, and
the death of the elder brother, David, less than six months later,
had only partially evened the score.

Carnegie
had been eyeing the other closely, and not failing to note all
the splendid good looks, the poise, authority and maturity of the
man. He recognised all too clearly, but without elation, that some
further adjustment of attitudes would be necessary. His voice was
curter than probably he intended.

"No
thanks required. And
I
have
taught him more than that, I hope. Lacking his father, someone must
needs do so. Hm . . . welcome back to Kinnaird. It has seemed a long
time.'

'Long,
yes.' Eyes grey and considering locked for a moment or two with eyes
brown and smouldering. Then Montrose turned to the somewhat older man
with the flag, thick-set, ruddy-complexioned and plainly dressed. 'It
is good to see you, Sir Robert. Kind in you to come. You at least
have not changed, I swear!' That was said with a smile. 'See -
I
have
brought back your heir to you, as you have brought me mine!'

Graham
of Morphie bowed, scarcely glancing at his own son, Montrose's
esquire. 'I could do no less than come, my lord James. I have looked
to this day for long. You are well returned. Greatly needed. I
rejoice to see you home.'

Morphie
was the nearest of the Graham lairds to Kinnaird and Montrose, his
property lying only some six miles to the north, at Marykirk of the
Mearns. Sir Robert had been left in charge of the great Montrose
estate as Chamberlain, during his chief's absence. A solid, able man,
he had been one of the curators, with Archie Napier and David
Carnegie, appointed by the old Earl of Montrose to look after the boy
he left as heir. And he was married to the Earl of Southesk's sister.

'All
tell me it is tune that I returned,' Montrose said, a little grimly.
‘You also, Robert. You will have your reasons?'

'Aye,
my lord.' That was heavy. 'I shall not be sorry to shift a wheen
burdens from my shoulders to yours! Praise to God, they look now
suificiently broad to bear them!'

"Mm.'
Brows raised, the Earl shrugged. 'So be it, then. I have now to look
to my own interests - thanking you who have looked to them for me.'
He nodded to both men. 'Come, Johnnie - take me to your mother.'

Urging
his mount forward, he was able to close with the boy, at last, and
slip an arm around the slight shoulders momentarily, without any
suggestion of unmanliness. Then, side by side they rode down the long
slope to the marshland, to splash across the Pow Burn, and on, over
the wide park-lands to Kinnaird Castle on its terrace.

A
great company waited to receive them, assembled within the inner
bailey, beyond the drawbridge and gatehouse, of all ranks and
standing, men, women and children too. The return of the Graham was
an occasion indeed.

In
the centre stood a big bulky man in his sixties, florid, choleric,
with white hair and a bushy beard - David, new Earl of Southesk,
eighth Laird of Kinnaird, first Lord Carnegie, Privy Councillor, High
Sheriff of Forfar, Extraordinary Lord of Session and
father-in-law of James Graham. He stood with arms akimbo, and looked
threatening; but then David Carnegie usually looked threatening.
He was flanked by two young women, one bold-eyed and handsome, the
other modest and plumply comely—his Countess and third
wife, and his daughter Magdalen. Each held a two-year-old toddler by
the hand, girl and boy.

'Greeting,
my lord Earl!' Montrose called dismounting, and doffing his hat with
a flourish. 'I need not ask if I see
you.
well.
Growing younger year by year, I swear !' He bowed to the
Countess of Southesk. 'My lady - you bloom! My lord looks to suit you
as well as you him! Your servant.' And to the other, still younger
woman, a year younger than himself, in fact, he raised an open hand.
'Magdalen, my dear.'

One
countess, his own, dipped deeply, and murmured, ‘My lord,'
low-voiced. The other stared openly, assessingly, and whistled,
barely beneath her breath, in scarcely ladylike fashion, saying
nothing.

'So
you are back, boy! You have taken your time, have you no'?' Southesk
cried. None other than he would have thought to call Montrose boy -
and even he looked just a little bit askance as he said it,
perceiving that there were changes here which could not be entirely
ignored. 'We looked to see you hear a year back. What held you?'

‘
I
am flattered that you so greatly missed my poor presence, my lord,'
the other answered easily. 'But matters of sufficient import delayed
me, I assure you.'

'Aye.
Well, there's matters o' sufficient import amiss for you, here in
this Scotland, man. For any man! You've come home to trouble, see
you."

'So
I have heard. On all hands.' He shrugged, ruefully. 'And, I vow, you
might think it all
my
doing,
from the way it is laid on me! But
...
of that later.' Montrose looked round at all the assembled company,
and made a comprehensive bow, flourish of his plumed hat, and
friendly smile. 'My salutations to you all,' he called. 'It is good
to see you again. I am glad to be back. My thanks for your reception
of me. Hereafter I shall speak with you all. But meanwhile, my
lady-wife demands her errant lord's attention -and merits it, you
will concede! You will bear with us?'

It
was superbly done, with assurance, simplicity, courtesy yet
authority, such as the James Graham who had departed three years
before could never have achieved. It took charge of the situation for
them all, even for old Southesk, his Countess and his son.
An
Greumach Mor,
,
Earl
of Montrose, was now to be permitted to greet his wife with some
measure of privacy. None found cause for complaint or discomfort

None,
that is, save perhaps for the Lady Magdalen Carnegie herself. Always
a shy and retiring creature, she was apparendy quite overwhelmed by
this handsome, self-possessed, almost commanding presence that had
come back to her after so long. Almost in a panic she bit her lip,
clutching the toddler to her knees, all but shrinking back as
Montrose came forward to her, eyes darting towards her father,
her brother, even her small son, to anyone, for aid.

Her
husband saw it, and understood, at least partially. He turned to
young Johnnie, hand out, and together they moved up to the woman.

'My
dear,' he said gendy, 'this young man has already conveyed to me your
greetings and welcome. Most worthily. How fine a son you have bred
for me. I am grateful - from my heart I am. And here - here is
another, on my soul! Another good Graham for Scotland!'

That
saved her. 'Yes. Yes, this is Jamie, my lord.' She was constrained to
stoop, and make a great fuss of picking up the little one in her
arms, and so could face her husband with the child as a sort of
buffer. 'Is
...
is he not a fine lad? And like you, a little. Like you . . . you
were.' She gulped. 'Not now - but were. Your nose. I am sure that he
has your nose. So, so long. No, no - not too long. But. . . your
nose. And mouth. Yes, your mouth also. Jamie — he is strong.
Stronger than Johnnie. Oh, Johnnie is stronger now. But as a bairn.
When you left, Johnnie was not strong. You remember that
I
...
I
...
¹
She was gabbling. And realising it only too clearly, abruptly stopped
and became unutterably silent.

He
nodded gravely. "Yes, indeed. That I remember well. Which makes
it all die better that you have made of Johnnie so much the man.' He
patted his heir on the head, and reached out to take the younger
child from her. 'So this is the second James Graham
1
We
will have to learn to know each other, he and I. But you will teach
us.' He felt down with his other hand, and raised hers to his lips.
"You have much to teach me, my dear.'

She
did not answer, but something of the panic had left her. She was able
to slip that kissed hand under his arm, to take her elder son by the
elbow, and so face all the chattering throng, after a fashion,
Magdalen, Countess of Montrose with her man and bairns. They bowed,
left and right, moving towards the keep doorway.

It
was long, however, before they could be alone together — nor,
indeed, were either of them over-eager for that moment. It was
Southesk's house, and as well as much eating and drinking to see to,
he had bones to pick with young Montrose, with his son, with his
brother Sir John Carnegie, who presently arrived from Ethie Castle to
the south. David Carnegie was a great picker of bones - which perhaps
partly accounted for his youngest daughter's chronic distrust of
herself. At any rate, he kept his male company at table well into the
night, long after the ladies had retired - even after his young wife,
new married just before Montrose had left on his travels, reappeared
on the minstrels' gallery above the Great Hall for a few moments,
sought to attract her lord's attention, failed, and raising eloquent
eyebrows implying complicity with the watching James Graham,
departed.

When
at last he managed to escape, and made his way across the courtyard,
in the wan northern half-light, to the flanking-tower which his wife
and children occupied, he went quietly. But light still gleamed from
the window of the first-floor bed-chamber. And when he entered,
seeking to keep the door from creaking, it was to find Magdalen lying
awake on the great four-poster bed, staring up at the dusty canopy.
She did not look at him, after the first quick glance.