HIS HOUR
A girl confined for years in a great house, eager of heart,
rebellious against binding and prisoning Fate, seeing all about her
the sort of happiness her heart craved--the very birds under the eaves
an offence to her as each spring-time came round. Or, more human,
Sholto and his wife with their hourly looks, facile to be interpreted,
their faith in each other, their love and content, together with the
wealth of children who should one day speak with the enemy in the
gate! And then on the other side I, the lady of all--widow and no
wife, a maid with a woman’s name--none save Maud to direct me, and I
oftentimes too proud and too jealous of her happiness to be
directed--surely James Douglas came in the dead ripeness of the time.
William would have ridden alone, coming in unexpectedly with white
froth on his bridle reins at the close of a long day. But James,
according to his nature, must needs gather his knights, lie all night
at Kenmore-on-Deuch, and make a short journey to Thrieve that he might
enter it for the first time as Earl of Douglas with curveting chargers
and the gay flap of pennons.
He took me in that first moment (strange as death’s first certainty it
seems now!). I rejoiced, as one might say, helplessly that there had
come this new thing into my life, this hope which made to thrill and
palpitate all my heart within me. No longer was I to be a state
prisoner, with the isle of Thrieve for my prison, shut in by the
drumly Dee and hidden by the green far-off Cairnsmore and the purple
hills of Balmaghie--the Dornal, Lochenbreck, Barstobrick, and the
rest. Pah, how I had grown to hate them!
So I ran down to meet him, forgetting (alas, that it should be so!)
even my mourning for the man who was dead. James had just leaped down
from his beast, turning the next moment to cry a jolly word of cheer
to his men to fill themselves well with good Mistress Sholto’s best
cakes and ale. Then, quite suddenly, he caught sight of me.
I was standing, somewhat affrayed, on the upper steps of the great
entrance. I think, too, I shrank a little back into the gloom of the
arch--for I had been so long alone and felt it strange to be in
presence of so many men.
I shall never forget what James Douglas did, thus seeing me stand
uncertain. He dropped bridle rein on the instant--cast his loosened
helmet on the ground, to be picked up by any that wished--and with one
bound I was in his arms. He held me as if I had been a little girl he
had gone to the Pays du Retz to save, lifting me clear off the ground,
light as a feather, and before them all kissing me cheek and chin. No
wonder he fairly dazed my heart within me.
Yet when he had set me down, I drew away from him, saying in reproach,
“James, that is but ill done of you--_so soon!_”
But James Douglas would none of my niceties as to times and seasons.
“God!” he cried, “do you think I have waited ten years for only
that?--Another!”
And this time he kissed me almost fiercely and with greed. This was
indeed a man of another sort from William, my cousin. But then--women
are very ready to forgive this manner of love-making. Or, at least I
was; and so, without a word passed or an apology to his men, we went
in together.
I thought to find Maud above, but on some pretext of housewifery, and
the coming of so many men to Thrieve, she had made shift to absent
herself. The great hall was empty, and as soon as the arras fell over
the door, and we were alone, James caught me to him again.
“_At last!_” he cried, with a kind of sob. And I submitted to his
embrace with the same dizzy yet triumphant happiness as in the Lady’s
Bower. I do not remember that I thought at all of William or of
Laurence, or indeed of aught, save that I wished James Douglas to go
on holding me in his arms. They were so strong and firm. Also, I did
not wish to be left alone any more.
Thus it was that James Douglas came home for the first time as Earl of
Douglas to his own castle of Thrieve. Or rather, to _my_ castle; for,
with William’s death, the princessdom of Galloway had returned to me,
with all its dangers and all its powers.
Then again I was to experience the difference between my cousins. In
such a case Will would have wearied me with talk of duties and
responsibilities, “deaving” me concerning the great part I was called
on to play in the world.
But James said only, over and over again, “I love you, Margaret. I
have loved you all my life, and--sore against my will--I have waited
these years for you. I will wait no longer.”
“But how can we be married?” I asked, holding him, as it were, for
form’s sake, some time at arm’s length. It was only for a moment, and
so did not alter things greatly. “We are cousins, and besides, I have
been your brother’s wife. It is forbidden by the Church!”
He laughed one of his own laughs, great and boisterous. Then (a trick
of his) he lifted me up by the elbows, easily as a child’s puppet,
bending to kiss me at the same time.
“You have been my Lady of Douglas, have you?” he cried. “Well, if you
think so, I will show you other of it, little one, and that quickly.
We shall be married, never fear--good and sound--ay, and have benefit
of clergy, too, archbishops, and such-like cattle. Why, there has gone
already to Rome a messenger to crave a second dispensation from His
Popeship, and the king himself hath signed the request, praying that
you and I should graciously be permitted to wed!”
“But,” I cried, thrusting James away, “is he not a murderer, this
king, the slayer of your brother? Will you have aught to say to him,
save at the spear’s point?--surely never!”
And James Douglas laughed again, so that the fine glass on the corner
_armoire_ rattled.
“Ah, little Margaret,” he said, “for your sake I will e’en use James
Stewart whilst I have need of him, and no longer. He is, at any rate,
nothing more than a puppet that is worked with strings, and if he will
help me to wed with you, shall I not pull the cord? Ay, till it
breaks!”
Then I went on to speak sharply to him, still in remonstrance. “Your
brother is dead,” so I told him, “slain by the hand of the man
Stewart. I am but a girl, but I am a right Douglas. And rather than
ask the hand and seal of one so murderous and man-sworn, I would--!”
“What would you do, little spitfire?” he said, holding me and smiling
in plain masculine admiration, very disconcerting.
“I would be drowned in the castle moat!” I cried fiercely. “And hear
you this, James of Douglas, I think but little of the man who takes
his brother’s death so little to heart, and who, instead of rousing
the Marches and putting the traitor’s head on the traitor’s
chopping-block, comes hither--to--!”
“Well, little Margaret,” he said, “what is it I come to Thrieve to
do?”
“_To make love to your brother’s widow, instead of avenging his
death!_”
I meant the words to be bitterly winged, but there was something about
James Douglas that took the bite out of the bitterest saying--a
certain bluff, careless heartiness, which, I fear it, often veiled a
very real heartlessness.
“Nay,” he answered me, not in the least put out “it was so convened
betwixt us, Will and I, that day down in the meadow yonder. And I have
held to it and, God knows, never seen you since--!”
“And William,” I said, “is it you think he has suffered nothing?”
James waved his hand, carelessly as ever.
“Contrariwise, much and nobly,” he said, more soberly; “fear not, I
will avenge him--or I, and all my house, shall die the death! But
first of all I am bound to you. To Will my brother, the house was
all--you nothing. Ye have to deal with another man this day, Maid
Margaret. You are first with me, who love you and shall wed you. Then
by our twain loves made one, we will send the Douglas name across the
world. These things are my whole soul and body. Plots, plans,
dominations, pacts, my lord of this, and his majesty of that, bulk no
more than my little finger when laid in the balance against the
dearest woman in the world and the sweetness of her love.”
This was good talk for a girl to hear who had been so long alone and
so greatly athirst for love.
And indeed, I deny it not--I asked no better than to believe him!
So for certain enchanted weeks James Douglas abode at Thrieve, as it
might be written, expecting with impatience the return of the
ambassador from Rome. So that to me, more and more every morning, the
life of William Douglas seemed as something which had never been--the
ruffle of summer airs which grip for a moment the blue waters of Dee
when the wind blows blithely from the north, as the flecked cloudlets
of sunrise that melt into the wide blue of the highest heavens and are
seen no more.