Turn of the Tide (33 page)

The Cunninghames departed, Archie returned to the kitchen, to find Sybilla sitting by the fireplace, her fingers curved around a bowl, blowing on the curl of steam that rose
from a milk and honey posset. He dropped down beside her unsure of whether to question her or not.

‘They’re away then?’ There was more of grey and less of blue in Sybilla’s eyes than usual.

‘Aye, and maybe a bit of peace for those of us who are left.’

‘Your usual complaint is that you don’t get to accompany them. Do you not wish it this time?’

Archie pushed his hair upwards, so that from the side he resembled a collapsing stook. ‘I’ve had my fill of William the now. Respite will be welcome’

He saw the renewed stillness in her face.

‘It would have been fine to see the new Queen.’ She blew on the posset, making ripples.

‘Did Lady Glencairn not plan to go?’

Sybilla ran her finger around the edge of the bowl, picking up a smear of froth. ‘She did. And take the bairns, but when Glencairn insisted that William attend him . . .’ She lifted
the bowl to her mouth, her eyes sombre. ‘The babe has a cough right enough, but I don’t think it much and wouldn’t have held her back if there were not other reasons for her
change of mind. It is her greatest sadness that her eldest son is hard to like, but so she finds him. And I imagine the harder to bear for that there is no rhyme nor reason to his churlishness, no
childhood ill to blame. Born under a black moon he may have been, but such superstitions give her no comfort, rather the reverse. Suffer him at home she must, but she does not choose to suffer him
abroad.’

‘And you?’

‘You know I haven’t the choice, one way or the other. So little use in wishing. And besides,’ she was scrubbing with her thumb at the hollow at the base of her throat,
‘With Glencairn and William away, we will all have some peace.’

A bell jangled above and she leapt up.

‘Sybilla?’

‘Don’t fret, Archie. I don’t regret coming, not yet, and if ever I do, I will go home again . . . sooner than be sent.’

The Cunninghames made fair time, the wind behind them and the going firm enough for ease of travel but not so hard as to trouble the horses. They came to Edinburgh’s West
Port at dusk. The town, with its roofs and spires and the castle crouched on the hill, was silhouetted against the skyline on their left, the long crag and Arthur’s seat brooding on the
right. Glencairn slowed his horse to a walk as they approached the gateway.

He turned to John, riding abreast of him. ‘We have lodgings on the High Street, and should be well placed.’

‘And well looked after also?’ William, keen as he was to be here and in the thick of it, was interested in more than position.

‘There is a cook and an ostler,’ John permitted himself a smile. ‘Old biddies, I believe, but fit enough for our needs.’

William scowled.

‘Also a lad, for the fetching and carrying. We aren’t at home and can’t expect more.’

As they progressed through the Canongate, past fine houses with lights beginning to show, an occasional face peered out, drawn by the noise of the horses. Snatches of conversation, music,
laughter, spilled from open windows. Raised voices, the angry bang of a casement, the rattle of loose glass.

Glencairn slowed. ‘I had thought to seek lodging here, and bring some of our own household, but without wife and brood to accompany me, there seemed little point.’

A couple emerged from an arched entry to the left. They were looking back, calling their farewells, so that their faces were hidden, but something in the man’s voice was familiar.

William pulled to an abrupt halt. ‘Munro. We had not looked to find you here.’

Munro bowed. ‘I thought to bring my wife . . .’ He presented Kate, ‘. . . to see the Queen’s entry.’

‘Mistress Munro’ Glencairn ducked his head, his tone neither friendly nor unfriendly, with just a hint of patronage.

‘A pity you did not share your intention.’ William’s gaze travelled over Kate, from the tip of the feather on her bonnet to the points of her shoes. ‘We could have shared
accomodation also.’

John slid from his horse and bowed over Kate’s hand. ‘Your husband is fortunate, I see.’

‘Who were you visiting?’ Glencairn was looking behind them, through the archway to the garden beyond.

Munro breathed in. ‘The Montgomeries.’

‘We were separated,’ Kate’s voice was combative, ‘In the press the day before yesterday. One of the Montgomeries, a cavalry officer in France I believe, helped in the
search for me. We but came to give our thanks, as a matter of courtesy.’ She met Glencairn’s eyes, her own steady.

‘Do you have far to walk?’ John gestured to the darkening clouds. ‘Dusk is a chancy time to be abroad, especially,’ he smiled at Kate, ‘for a lady.’

‘Merlyon’s Wynd – not far, but it’s a mite later than we intended and we’d appreciate company if . . .’ Munro deferred to Glencairn, ‘. . . you
aren’t pressed for time.’

They moved through the Netherbow and onto the High Street, keeping to the centre of the road, Glencairn and William still mounted, John walking by Munro and Kate’s side, leading his horse.
Every few yards the entrance to another close; dark and echoing. A smile played about John’s mouth as William’s horse skittered with each slam of a door or sneck of shutters.

A man tumbled out of a low entry and staggered across the street in front of them. He was wearing calf-length boots well worn at the heel and a thigh-length belted tunic, a satchel hanging from
his shoulder. His mud-coloured hair, straggling from beneath the flat brim of his hat, hung round his face in limp shanks, like unwashed wool. Roughly hacked tails of string dangled from the stick
under his arm, as if a brace of rabbit or pheasant had hung there, though the coarse leather purse on his belt was clearly empty.

Almost running into William the man lost his footing, and swinging out an arm to keep from sprawling, thwacked William’s horse with the stick. It reared, neck stretched, haunches bunched,
front hooves flailing. Munro jumped forward to grasp a hold of the bridle, pulling on it firmly. He was all but swinging from the harness, one foot well clear of the ground, his repeated
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa’, soft as the cooing of a wood-pigeon. John had pulled Kate towards the opposite side of the street, tugging his horse round to form a protective barrier. Munro
brought the horse to a trembling halt hard against a jutting forestair, the man who had caused the bother bolting, swallowed up in the shadows of a close leading downwards in the direction of the
Nor’ Loch.

William, his face purple, growled, ‘Drunk, no doubt, on the proceeds of his catch.’

There was a hint of amusement in John’s voice. ‘It’s as well he didn’t bring you down.’

‘It’s as well he isn’t still here.’

‘You have our thanks, Munro. It is a valuable horse and one I wouldn’t have wished to see injured.’ Glencairn looked pointedly at William who added a grudging,

‘Thank you, but I could have held him.’

Glencairn gestured towards the top of the stair, ‘If you’ll just take a rap at that door, William, I believe it is our lodging.’

Munro took Kate’s arm. ‘We’ve a step further and should go before we risk being locked out.’

John shot an enquiry at Glencairn. ‘I could see them safe?’

Glencairn nodded but said, his tone proprietary, ‘Wait on us in the morning, at ten.’

William bowed, his words carrying an undertone of insolence that Kate struggled to ignore, ‘I look forward to it.’

Munro bowed and Kate curtseyed and they escaped, John at their side.

Out of earshot, John said, ‘You like to live dangerously.’ His gaze passed over Munro to rest on Kate. ‘I would wish to have a wife who sprang so quickly to my defence and with
likely so little regard to strict veracity.’

She flushed. ‘Patrick did search for me.’

‘Oh, I’m sure.’ Above them a window opened. John, recognizing the thin screech of wood against wood, shoved them under the overhang, just as a pail of kitchen slops, greasy and
rancid, splattered into the gutter.

‘I didn’t realise it was so late.’ Munro looked up where the first stars hung, silver pin heads against the dark velvet of the sky.

Kate looked puzzled.

John gave the explanation. ‘Pails cannot be emptied before half past nine at night. When all good folks should be safely indoors.’

‘As we will be shortly.’ Munro’s smile faded. ‘It was ill-luck to run into Glencairn where we did.’

‘It was ill-judged rather to be there at all.’ John was no longer smiling. ‘Sworn friends we may be with the Montgomeries the now, but we have over long been sworn enemies, and
while Glencairn may wish to keep the peace for precedence sake, William isn’t so pragmatic.’

Kate was fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve. ‘We are all here to greet the new Queen, why can it not be a joyful thing.’

‘We are here . . .’ John said, ‘. . . at least Glencairn and, I dare say Robert Montgomerie also, like all the nobility, are here to make political capital. The new Queen is
but a bauble to be suitably admired, the festivities an opportunity to play for James’ favour.’

They had reached the entrance to Merlyon’s Wynd.

Munro hesitated, ‘Will you come in? We can give you a drink if nothing else. We supped with the Montgomeries.’

John shook his head. ‘Glencairn will expect me and will likely wait supper, if only because it will irritate William. I shouldn’t be long.’ He turned away, said, as an
afterthought, ‘Is Braidstane with them?’

‘Yes, though he spends most of the day at Leith, in James’ entourage.’

‘Through the good offices of his uncle, I imagine?’

‘Aye, Alexander is well-placed.’

‘Too well-placed, some would say. Have a care Munro. William doesn’t improve with age and any link with Braidstane, however tenuous, will stick in his craw.

Pulling at his doublet as if it were uncomfortably tight, Munro mounted the stairs in the King’s Wark to where James held temporary court. He had hoped that waiting on
Glencairn in the morning with Kate might have fulfilled their obligations, and so had been put out by the order to attend at Leith.

Kate, who had perversely reacted to John’s warning with an increased determination to spend more time with the Montgomeries, had smiled up at Glencairn, her eyes wide and disarming,
expressing herself tired and wishing to rest and so begged to be excused. A foolishness that at Broomelaw she would have recognized as such. Here, her guard lowered, whether by the atmosphere of
general goodwill surrounding the festivities, or by the generosity of the welcome they had received in the Montgomerie household, she allowed her desire for this new friendship to override any fear
she had of Glencairn. On the way back to their lodgings she defended herself.

‘We were promised to them and I won’t break a promise without cause. You may go to Leith and welcome. Besides, there is no place for me there. If Jean Montgomerie does not go without
special bidding, then I should not, no matter what Glencairn may think.’ Colour stole into her cheeks. ‘I will rest awhile, to make it true, and then fulfil our promise.’ She
reached up to tug his hair. ‘But two days since and you sought to convince me. They are our friends now and while we may not trumpet it, I won’t discard them altogether.’

Munro however flatly refused to allow her to walk to the Canongate alone. ‘I won’t risk your safety to satisfy your conscience.’ And so, despite her protests, he saw her safely
through the archway into the sunshine of the Montgomeries’ garden.

Now, he supposed, she gossiped with Elizabeth and Grizel, Patrick perhaps stretched at their feet, while he suffered in this airless chamber. He scanned the room for Glencairn, and was pleased
to find him outside the tight circle that hummed around James, for he had little desire to be presented to the King. He made his way through the throng, catching snippets of conversation, logging
without deliberate thought the names and faces that swam across his line of sight. He was surprised to find that he recognized many of the men who thronged here, from the hunt that the Montgomeries
had provided at Fintrie; and could categorize most by their competence or otherwise on a horse.