Crockett Samuel Rutherford
Lochinvar: A Novel

CHAPTER XXXIII
AN ANCIENT LOVE AFFAIR

When Wat awoke on the island and stirred his cramped limbs, on which the sun had already dried his wet clothes, in the warm and briskly stirring airs of the summer morning, he could hardly believe in the reality of his experiences of the night. One by one he remembered the passage of the cave, the Highland sentinel sleeping by his dying fire, his new and kindly protector, Bess Landsborough. Then last of all, and suddenly overflowing all his heart with mighty love (even as a volcano, Askja or Vatna, pours without warning its burning streams over icy provinces), the meeting with his love in the dusky undercloud of night rushed upon his memory and filled all his soul with a swift and desperate joy.

What wonder that the sweet, low voice he had heard call him "love" out of the darkness should in the broad common day scarce seem real to poor Wat Gordon of Lochinvar? He had passed through so many things to hear it. Also, ever since the death of Little Marie, he knew the accent of the voice that speaks not for the sake of "making love," but which unconsciously and inevitably reveals love in every syllable.

Wat had made love in his time, and ladies of beauty and repute not a few – my Lady Wellwood among the number – had made love to him. But he knew the difference now.

For love which must needs be "made" bears always the stamp of manufacture. True love, on the other hand, is a city set on a hill; it cannot be hid, and this is why the love-glance of a maiden's eye so eternally confutes the philosophers, and ofttimes lays the lives of the mighty, for making or marring, in the hollow of very little hands.

The day that succeeded this night adventure was a long one both for Wat and Kate. For the girl had been even less prepared for the astonishing event of the night than Wat himself. Providence, by the hand of Mistress Alister McAlister, had certainly worked strangely. Indeed, the only person wholly unmoved was that lady herself. She bustled about the flags of her kitchen, slapping them almost contemptuously with her broad bare feet, busy as a bee with her baking and brewing, like the tidy, thrifty, "eident"³ Ayrshire good-wife that she was. Not a glance at Kate revealed that she had been instrumental in opening a new chapter in two lives only the night before.

When, midway through the forenoon, Alister brought his bulky body to the door-step, his loving wife drove him off again to the gateway of the tower with an aphorism which is held of the highest repute in the parish of Colmonel:

"Na, na, come na here for your brose – e'en get your meal o' meat where ye work your wark!"

And the stoop-shouldered giant coolly retreated without a word of protest, merely helping himself as he went out to a double handful of oatmeal from his wife's bake-board, for all the world like a theftuous school-boy, who keeps the while one eye on the master. With this he took his way to the spring which trickled down by the castle wall. And there, very deliberately and philosophically, he proceeded to make himself a dish of cold "drammoch" on the smooth surface of a stone which the water had hollowed.

"And mony is the hungry mouth that would be glad of it," said he, by way of grace after meat. For Alister was of the excellent and approven opinion that a dinner of herbs by the dikeside is better than a banquet of Whitehall with the sauce of an angry woman's tongue for seasoning thereto.

But when Bess Landsborough brought the prisoner his farles of cake and cool buttermilk (for it was "kirning day"), she took out also a handful of crisp bannocks for her husband. These she thrust under his nose with the sufficient and comprehensive monosyllable, "Hae!" And Alister accepted the act as at once honorable amend and judicious apology.

Nor was Alister behindhand in courtesy. For though the silent jailer did not utter a single word either to his wife or his prisoner, he drew his skean dhu and cut a whang from the sweet-milk cheese which he kept by him. To this he added a horn of strong island spirit, which of a surety proved very much to the taste of the late master-at-arms to their several Highnesses Louis, King of France, and William of Orange, Stadtholder of the Netherlands.

Thereafter, with consideration particularly delicate, he withdrew out of earshot and sat on a knoll before the castle, leaving his wife to talk at leisure to her ancient sweetheart. For Alister McAlister was a man without jealousy. He knew that he could keep his wife, even as he kept his head in battle, with the little wee point of his knife and the broad, broad blade of his claymore. And as for ancient sweethearts, what cared he for a peck of them? Bess Landsborough might have had a score of lovers in the 'Lowlands low'; yet had she not chosen to leave them all and follow him up the braes – aye, and over the sea straits, threading the ultimate islands till at last she had come to this barren holding of rock, scantily felted down with heather and peat, on the isle of Suliscanna?

But, on the other hand, Scarlett was not the man to lose his time, in spite of bonds and imprisonments.

"Ye are as weel-faured as ever, Bess. Ye were aye a bonny blithesome lass a' the days o' ye!" said he, complacently, as he munched his farles of cake and took sup about of usquebaugh from the horn and buttermilk from the pail.

"Havers!" said Mistress McAlister, "ye are an auld eneuch man to ken that ye canna blaw twice in my lug wi' the same flairdies. Ye forget I hae heard ye at that job before. And it lasted – hoo lang? Just e'en till your company rade awa' frae Girvan to Kirkcudbright, and then ye took up with Maggie Nicholson, the byre-lass o' Bombie, the very second week that ever ye were there! And telled her, I dare say, that she was weel-faured, blithe, and a bonny woman!"

"I see ye haena forgotten how to belie them that ye tried to break the hearts o', Bess Landsborough," said Scarlett, without, however, letting his broken heart interfere with a very excellent appetite. "Ye weel ken that ye sent me frae the door o' the Laggan wi' my tail atween my legs like a weel-lickit messan, and twa o' your ill-set cronies lookin' on at my shaming, too."

"I'm thinkin', my man John," retorted Bess Landsborough, "that ye had better say as little as ye can aboot that ploy. For the lasses were Mirren Semple o' the Auld Wa's and Meg Kennedy o' Kirriemore, that had come in the afternoon to keep me company. And as we sat talking ower ae thing after anither, we spak' amang ithers o' you, my braw trooper – Sergeant John Scarlett, no less, that rode so gallantly with the colors in his hand. And by this and that we had it made clear that ye had been for making up to a' the three o' us at once! An' so we compared your tricks. How ye had gotten doon on your knees and telled us that ye loved us best o' a' the world. Ye had kissed oor hands – at least, mine and Meg Kennedy's. But your favorite fashion was to take the skirts o' oor gouns and kiss the hem o' them, swearin' that ye wad raither kiss the border o' oor cloaks than the mouth o' the grandest woman in Scotland. (A' the three o' us!) Then ye asked for a curl cut off aboon our brows – at least, frae mine and Mirren Semple's. For Meg Kennedy never had sic a thing in her life, but had aye flat, greasy hair, sleekit like a mowdiewart⁴ hingin' by the neck in a trap on a wat day. And her ye telled that ye couldna bide hair that wadna keep smooth, but was aye a'kinked and thrawn into devalls and curliewigs. Oh, sic a bonny, true-speakin', decent, mensefu' callant as the three o' us made ye oot to be! So when we had ye gye-and-weel through-hands, wha should ride up to the door but my gay lad himsel', this same braw cavalier. So Mirren and Meg and me, we gaed oot ontil the step and telled ye what we thocht o' ye. Ow aye, ye were a puir disjaskit cuif that day, Sergeant John Scarlett, for a' your silver spurs and your red sodjer's coat!"

John Scarlett laughed loud and long at the record of his iniquities, but his abasement, if at the time as profound as Bess Landsborough made it out to be, had certainly completely passed away. For he cried out: "What a grand memory ye hae for the auld times, Bess! I warrant ye, ye couldna gang ower the points o' Effectual Calling as briskly, nor yet the kings o' Judah and Israel that ye learned on the Sabbath forenichts by the lowe o' the Colmonel peats!"

"But eneuch o' havers," said Bess; "ken ye that yon braw lad o' yours is safe and hearty? Mair than that, he met wi' his bonny lass yestreen. Baith o' them kens what love is – a thing that ye never kenned, no, nor will ken to your dying day, John Scarlett."

"Aweel, aweel," replied Scarlett, placably, "at ony rate I am desperate glad that Wat's won oot o' the brash o' the mony waters safe and sound; and as for love, if I kenned nocht aboot it, at least I hae had experience o' some gye fair imitations in my time, that did well eneuch for a puir perishing mortal like me."

* * * * *

On the other hand, Wat on his isle of Fiara had been exceedingly busy all that day. He had chosen a shallow cavern on the most remote northern shore of Fiara, dry and open like the entrance-hall of a house, and into it he had carried a large quantity of fresh and blooming heather, sufficient for the most luxurious couch in the world. This he arranged in a little sheltered alcove to the right of the main chamber, and pleased himself with the simple arrangements, talking to himself all the time.

"By this path she can go down to the sea without being observed. Into this basin I can lead the water that trickles over the rock, so that she may wash on chill or rainy mornings."

He broke off with a quick, nervous laugh at his own thoughts.

"I am speaking as if we were always to dwell together on this island. But the sooner we get away the better it will be for both of us."

Yet, somehow, the imagination of his heart played about this idea of the seclusion of two on the isle of Fiara. For the escape itself Wat had his plans already laid. He knew that Kate was a strong swimmer – indeed, far his own superior at the art. Once in the old days she had beaten him hollow when but a half-grown girl, swimming two miles on the broad spaces of Loch Ken without a sign of fatigue. Scarlett was a more difficult problem. For the stout soldier had always held all that concerned the water in sovereign contempt, and Wat could see no way of conveying him safely across to the northern island. Yet it was essential for their escape that he should be taken thither, and that at the same time with Kate. For the islanders might be inclined to make short work of their remaining prisoner if they found that the maid, so straitly committed to their charge, had been spirited away.

So before committing himself for the second time to the strange water-gate which led to his beloved, Wat had all the details of his plot arranged. He resolved to make the attempt on the first night when the new moon should be far enough advanced to throw a faint light over the water and temper the darkness of the rock passage. He could construct of driftwood a raft large enough to carry those necessaries with which Bess Landsborough could furnish him out of her scanty stores without attracting attention. The raft would also be at least a partial support for Scarlett. Wat resolved to arrange the method of escape with Bess that very night, and obtain from her the cord before returning. When Wat emerged from the long passage it was perfectly dark. Not even a single star was to be seen. More than once had he scraped himself painfully on the concealed rocks and on the sides of the cavern; upon which he grumbled to himself as even a man in love will do, for he knew that he would feel these hurts very much more acutely on the morrow.

"This will not do at all for Scarlett, though Kate might manage well enough by keeping close to my shoulder," he said, shaking his head, which dripped with the salt-water, for the first break across the sound to the archway had been through a pretty briskly running jabble of spray.

But when Wat came out on the sea-front of Suliscanna he saw an unusual sight. Torches thronged in single file down the pathways. They flashed and crowded about the landing-place, passing and repassing each other. A boat-load of men was just disembarking in the nearer bay; while yet another was dropping down the slack of the ebb, coming from the south of the island and striking in for the shore exactly at the proper moment, like men who knew every turn of the currents.

Wat could hear the clatter of many voices.

Swimming silently and showing no more than the dark thatch of his hair over the water, he approached nearer. He might have been a seal for all the mark he made on the water.

As the torches gathered thicker about the landing-place, Wat could see the flash of arms as one gentleman and another disembarked. Presently a figure in black stepped ashore, and was greeted with a loud shout of welcome and acclaim by the islanders. Wat's heart sank within him, for he recognized his arch-enemy, and he knew that the difficulties of his task would now be infinitely increased. For my Lord of Barra it was indeed, who had at last come to claim his captive. And there behind him, like a hulking lubber-fiend, strode the burly, battered figure of Haxo the Bull, with the Calf and the Killer in close attendance.

CHAPTER XXXIV
CAPTOR AND CAPTIVE

Nevertheless, such a panoply is love that Wat's heart did not fail him. He waited till the flare of torches and the tumult of men's voices had withdrawn up the hill over which my Lord of Barra took his way to the house which he occupied during his infrequent visits to the island – a rude strength of stone consisting merely of three or four chambers which had been built after the castle on the rocks below had fallen into disrepair.

Wat swam ashore, keeping well to the right of the landing-place, where two or three men were still busied about the boats, securing them with ropes and getting out what bits of property had been left in them. Wat could not but feel a cold chill strike through his heart when he remembered that the possession of these boats by the islanders, together with their perfect knowledge of all the different states of the tide, would render his position upon the islet of Fiara infinitely more dangerous.

"All the more reason," quoth undaunted Wat, "for us to make the attempt this very night."

So, keeping as before to the short heather above the paths, he made his way silently upward towards Scarlett's dungeon and the dwelling of his love.

He found Bess Landsborough eagerly waiting for him. She dragged him sharply away from the cottages.

"Gang back," she whispered, shaking him almost roughly, as though he were to blame; "ken ye not that the chief has come and there will no' be a sober man on the island this nicht? Even my Alister, if he were to come across ye before morning, would think no more of sticking a knife in ye than of breaking the back of a foumart⁵ with a muckle stane."

"I know that," said Wat, with composure, "and that is the reason why I am going to take both Kate and Scarlett with me to-night."

"The laddie's fair raving," said the woman; "the thing's clear impossible. It canna be dune. Ye will hae to wait – some nicht when they are a' sleepin', maybe."

"I'm not going back alive without Kate McGhie," said Wat. "I cannot leave her with the cruel ravisher, Murdo of Barra – "

"Hoot, laddie," said Bess, "the chief will no' do the lassie ony harm. He's ben the hoose wi' her the noo."

Wat, who had been crouching behind a rock beside Bess Landsborough, at once sprang up and took his dagger bare in his hand. He was setting off in the direction of the hut with the intention of breaking in upon the colloquy of captive and captor, when Bess sprang on him and pulled him down with all the weight of her body about his neck and exerting the utmost strength of her brawny arms.

"Deil's in the laddie! He gangs aff like a spunk o' pooder laid on a peat. The laird's but talkin' wi' the lass in the kitchen, wi' my man Alister sittin' on the dresser, and half the rascaldom o' the Low Countries (well are they designate!) waiting at the door. A word or twa will do your lass little harm, unless she is o' the weak mind, and my lord can persuade her to marry him by the guile of his tongue."

Wat grunted contemptuously. This was the last thing he was afraid of.

"I want," he said, "whatever arms ye can furnish me with, some food of any portable sort – and a rope."

"Save us, laddie!" said Bess, holding up her hands; "ye might just as lief ask me this nicht for the Earldom of Barra."

"I must have them," said Wat, firmly, "if I have to forage for them myself."

"Aweel, I can but do my best," said the woman from Colmonel, resignedly; "but I kenna where I shall get them."

Very cautiously they made their way back to the cottage of Alister.

"Wheesht!" said Bess; "lie cowered behind that stone. They are on their road away. For this nicht surely your lass will be left at peace."

"And after that it will not matter," said Wat, looking cautiously over the edge of the bowlder, "for either we will be safe out of this evil isle, or else she and I will be where Barra and his devils can trouble us no more."

When Bess and Wat reached the dwelling of the son of Alister, they found it fallen strangely silent and dark. Bess went in boldly and promptly. Presently her voice was heard in high debate, and after a pause her husband, as if driven with ignominy from his own house, stumbled past Wat, and began clambering like a cat up the steep rock to the castle dungeon as easily as if he had been walking on a grass meadow by a water-side.

No sooner was he safe out of the way than the door of the hut opened circumspectly.

"Here!" said the mistress of the dwelling, in a far-reaching whisper.

Wat went up to the door-step. Bess Landsborough put out a hand, guided him through the murky intricacies of her outer room, and pushed him into that in which he had met his love the evening before.

Kate was sitting fully dressed on her bed with her head in her hands. She looked up with a sharp little cry as he entered.

"Kate," he whispered, "it is I – Wat."

Whereat she ran to him with a sob of relief that was very sweet to hear, and nestled with her head on his broad shoulder.

"Oh, thank God you have come! All will now be well."

Wat did not feel so sure of that, but, nevertheless, he caressed the clustering curls and held his love to his bosom, murmuring little meaningless words which Kate felt were better to listen to than much wisdom.

Presently Bess Landsborough brought Wat a pair of pistols, a double flask of powder, and a bagful of bullets.

"We must see about getting John Scarlett out of his prison," she said. "I have the victuals all ready. There is a rope behind the dike at the corner that looks to the sea. But ye had better get John Scarlett out first, and then ye can all three lend a hand at the carrying – save us! What's that?"

Bess Landsborough sprang sharply out of the inner room to the door which gave upon the moor.

"Hide ye, Wat Gordon," she said; "here comes some one to visit us."

Kate made Wat lie down between the compacted heather of her couch and the outer wall of the hut. Then she threw a coverlet deftly over him. Wat grasped his dagger bare in his right hand to be ready in any emergency, but his left found a way almost of its own accord through the heather, till in the darkness it rested in Kate's as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"My Lord of Barra," they heard Bess Landsborough say, without, "have ye forgotten aught? We thought you gone to repose yourself after your journey."

"Go find your husband and bring him hither, mistress!" commanded the stern voice of Barra.

"It's no' very like that Bess will gang far frae hame to seek her man, or ony ither man; there's mair than eneuch men in Bess's hoose this nicht!" said Mistress McAlister, under her breath. But with apparent obedience she went out – only, however, to ensconce herself immediately behind the door. She wanted, she said to herself, to "see their twa backs oot o' the kitchen without bloodshed."

Barra advanced boldly to the inner door which opened into Kate's chamber. He paused a moment and knocked lightly. The girl sat still and silent, but her hand gripped that of Wat closer to her side with a quick, instinctive thrill, which made that very true lover clutch his dagger and curse the man that could so wring with terror his sweet maid's heart.

"May I have a moment's private audience with you, Mistress Kate?" said Barra, from the outer room.

Kate did not answer a word.

The master of the island swung back the door and revealed his tall, slender figure, in his usual dress of simple black, standing in the doorway of the outer room. He stooped his head and entered as he did so. The girl instinctively moved a little nearer to Wat and clasped his hand more firmly. A little stifled cry escaped her. Wat cleared his dagger-hilt and made ready to spring upon his enemy. My Lord of Barra in all his checkered life had never been nearer death than he was at that moment. For Wat Gordon was deciding exactly where he would strike his first blow.

"I did not come again hither to alarm you," said Barra, "but that I might more fully vindicate myself alone with you than I could do in the presence of so many witnesses. That which I have done – your transporting from Holland and your seclusion here – I have done with full warrant and justification, not hastily nor yet without due authority."

"I know of no authority," said Kate, at last, speaking firmly, "which could warrant the seizure of a maid who never harmed or offended you, the carrying her off gagged and bound like a felon, sailing with her to another country, and there interning her upon a lonely isle till it should please you to come for her, like a jailer to a captive."

"My lady," said Barra, not without a certain respect in his voice, "I am well aware that I cannot expect you to take my word, for the circumstances are not ripe for me to tell you all. But I ask you to believe that neither disrespect nor passion, nor yet any selfish jealousy, prompted me to these so strange expedients. But on the contrary, a genuine desire for your happiness, and the direct request of those most deeply interested and intimately connected with you."

"And who may they be?" asked Kate, looking at him contemptuously; "I know none who have the right to give you leave to carry off a young maid from her friends at dead of night, with as little ceremony or mercy as Reynard does a gray goose out of the farmer's yard."

"Your father and your mother – are not they authority enough?" answered Barra.

The girl gazed at him in cold disdain.

"My father," she said, "never in his life crossed my will by word or deed. It was, indeed, by his permission and with his help that I went to Holland. And as for my mother, she has been dead and in her resting-grave these twenty years!"

"Nevertheless I had the permission and encouragement of the noble lady, your mother, in that which I have done, though I admit that of your father was a little more belated. That is what I wanted to say. You do not believe me, I am aware, and I am not able at present more particularly to unriddle the mystery. Nevertheless, rest assured that a Lord of Barra does not lie. I bid you good-night. Is it permitted to kiss your hand? Well, then, with all humble duty and observance, I kiss mine to you."

With that Barra bowed and went out backward through the narrow door, as if he had been ushering himself out of a queen's presence-chamber.

In the kitchen he passed Bess Landsborough, who opened on him with a voluble tale of how she had sought her husband high and low without any success, and how it was to be supposed that, like the rest, he had gone to drink his Lordship's health at the muckle house over the hill.

But Barra went by her without a word, and the mistress of Alister McAlister was left speaking to the empty air. She suddenly ceased as he disappeared in the dark, and turned for sympathy to Wat and Kate in the inner room.

"Siccan manners!" she said, indignantly; "they wadna set a Colmonel brood-sow – to gae by a decent woman like that muckle dirt, and yin, too, that had just gane on an errand for him. It's true I gaed nae farther than the back o' the door, but at ony rate he kenned nae better, and cam' back wi' news for his high michty chiefship. It's fair scandalous, that's what it is! Wha hae we here this shot? I declare my hoose is as thrang as a sacrament scailing, when the folk are flocking to the drinking-booths at Stanykirk holy fair."

The visitor on this occasion proved to be her husband Alister. He was already somewhat flushed of cheek and wild of eye.

He paused unsteadily in the middle of the kitchen and flung down a great key on the table.

"Take care of that till the morn's morn," he said. "I would maybe loss it. I am going out to drink till I be drunk."

And with this simple declaration of policy he strode out as he had come.

As soon as he had gone, Bess threw a damp turf over the clear peat fire on the hearth of the outer kitchen, which in a trice raised a dense smoke and rendered everything within dark and gloomy.

"Come awa'," she said, putting her head into the room where Kate, her heart beating wildly with the joy of reprieve and the presence of her beloved, was clinging to Wat's arm, as he stood on the floor with his dagger still ready and bare in his hand. "Haste ye and come away," she said; "there'll be time and to spare when ye get him safe to yourself, my lass, for a hale world o' cuikin' and joein'."

Wat and Kate came out quickly and Bess shut the door behind them. Outside the sharp air off the Atlantic chilled them like a drench of well-water on a summer's day, breathing keenly into their lungs after the close atmosphere of the hut.

They made their way up the steep to the castle. Across the door of the vault where John Scarlett was confined lay the prostrate body of a Celt, inert and stertorous.

Mistress McAlister stirred him with her foot, and then turned him completely over.

"As I thocht," she said, "it is just Misfortunate Colin. It will be an ill day for him the morn. But he is aye in the way o' mischances, onyway. He canna keep clear o' them. If a stane were to slip frae a rock tap in a' the isle, it is on Colin it wad light. If a rope break at the egg-harvest, 'tis Colin that's at the end o' the tow. I think a pity o' him, too – for barrin' the drink and the ill luck, he's a decent soul. But it juist canna be helpit."

So with that Bess undid the door with the key which Alister had thrown upon the table, and then carefully tucked it into the waist-belt of Colin the Misfortunate.

"It's a peety," she said; "but after a' it is a deal mair faceable and natural that the like o' this should hae happened to Colin than to ony ither man in the isle."

Jack Scarlett lay on his bed of heather tops, wrapped in his plaid, and slept the sleep of the easy of conscience.

"What's a' the tirrivee?"⁶ he growled, when Wat shook him. "Get up and escape – what's the terrible fyke and hurry? Disturbin' a man in his first sleep. Surely, ye could either hae comed afore he fell ower or let him hae his sleep oot. A man's health is afore a'thing when it comes to my time o' life. And it is no havers and nonsense – far frae't! But ye hae no consideration, Wat Gordon – never had, ever since I kenned ye."

So, growling and grumbling as was his wont, old Jack gathered his belongings together with soldierly practicality, pocketing the remains of his evening's meal, and bringing all sorts of treasures out of numberless hiding-places here and there about his dungeon.

"Now I am at your service," he said, as he stood erect.