Sir Piers de Currie remained that night in the castle of Rothesay,
discussing with Earl Kenric their plans for the coming expedition to the
island kings. But Allan Redmain had to bethink himself of his unwilling
task of acting as watchdog on the lonely farmstead of Scalpsie, for the
judgment passed upon him in lawful assize was one which he dared not
attempt to evade. To Scalpsie, therefore, he wended his steps without
even going homeward to Kilmory to doff the fine attire which he had
assumed for the occasion of his presentation to King Alexander, and
there, drawing his plaid over his shoulders, he paced to and fro in the
dark night -- from the sheepfold to the steadings and from the steadings
back to the sheepfold.
Weary work it was in sooth, and much did he deplore the laws that made
it binding upon one of gentle blood to thus demean himself. He listened
to the mournful sound of the waves on the shore, broken sometimes by the
bleating of a restless sheep in the fold. Soon he began to feel his
eyelids getting very heavy, and he sought about for a soft bed of
heather to lie down upon for a while. As he was about to curl himself up
-- trusting that if any night-prowling beast should come to play havoc
among the farm stock the noise of the sheep and goats would surely
awaken him -- he heard footsteps approaching.
"So, my young watchdog," said the voice of the farmer Blair, "you have
bethought yourself of your charge at last, eh? Well is it for you that
you have not neglected my sheep this night as you did last. No more
shall you send that sleepy-headed lad Lulach to be your proxy, for his
sleeping cost me the life of one of my best ewe lambs. So look you well
to your charge now. Here is a cake of bread to keep you from hunger, and
a flagon of good posset to keep you warm -- 'tis your nightly allowance.
And if it so be that you get drowsy, why, sing yourself a song as do the
shipmen in their night watches. But mind you this, young Kilmory, that
for every beast I lose through the slaying of my dog, your father, Sir
Oscar Redmain, shall pay me another of equal value."
"Look you, David Blair," said Allan warmly, "it is not thus that I will
be your watchdog for many nights. The task, I well know, is but a lawful
judgment upon me for my offence, but you have no manner of right to say
that I shall send no proxy. If it please me to send Lulach, then the lad
shall come, and I will pay him for his work. But to come here myself as
often as you please, that I shall not do."
"If Lulach lose me my sheep he cannot return full value for them," said
Blair, bethinking himself of his own interests, "whereas if they be lost
by your unwatchfulness, then can I duly claim my own from your father."
"Why did you refuse the better dog that my father offered you in place
of the one I slew?" asked Allan.
"Because," said the husbandman with simple pride, "it pleases me better
to know that my homestead is nightly watched by a brave and gallant
man-at-arms, who, I trust, will permit no marauding Norsemen or thieving
wolf to come near me while I lie sleeping."
And so saying he turned away.
"A murrain on you and your cattle," growled Allan.
And then he began to pace his rounds, leaving the cake of bread and the
flagon of posset by the gate of the sheepfold.
Not long had he been thus engaged when the heavy dew made him feel cold,
and he took a good drink of the posset. This mixture of strong wine and
curdled milk made him strangely sleepy, whereupon, defying the law and
David Blair together, he rolled himself up in his plaid and lay down
upon the heather, to think of King Alexander and Queen Margaret and of
battling Norsemen. The sound of the waves breaking upon the beach, and
the sighing of the night wind among the neighbouring fir trees, soon
lulled him into a heavy sleep.
It might be that he had slept full four hours when, feeling something
cold against his cheek, he wakened with a start and sprang to his feet.
There was a sharp yelp as of a frightened dog, and he heard the movement
of footsteps upon the heather. Then the footsteps stopped and he saw the
staring eyes of a wolf glaring at him through the black darkness.
Grasping his sword, Allan bounded off in pursuit. The wolf trotted away
at an easy pace towards the woodland. Then as Allan approached nearer,
off again it sped, leading him deep into a quiet dingle to the east of
Loch Quien. But at each time the animal paused Allan came nearer and
nearer than before, until at last it seemed that he had come within
striking distance of the brute. He had not his bow with him, or he might
have made short work of the wolf. But he did not shrink from a close
encounter.
As he heard the low snarling growl before him he raised his weapon,
swinging it round to strike. Lightly the wolf sprang aside and the sword
blade whizzed through the air, striking nothing. And ere Allan,
expecting to find the animal lying dead at his feet, could well
understand how he had missed his aim, the wolf had bounded off and was
lost in the darkness.
Then Allan rubbed his drowsy eyes and questioned if he had not been
dreaming. But suddenly from behind him there came through the still air
a strange, weird, human voice that startled him more than the sight of
any wild animal might have done.
"Allan Redmain," it said hurriedly, "is this you?"
"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Allan, turning round, "who spoke?"
And against the darkness of the tree trunks he again saw two shining
eyes, on a level with his own, and scarce a couple of yards' distance
away from him.
Now, whether it was that those eyes but reflected the wan light of dawn
that was breaking above the eastern hills, or that they did indeed shine
red and green by turns as did the eyes of the wolf, may not be told. But
Allan shrank back at sight of them with a gruesome fear at his heart.
"Hush, hush!" said the voice in a whisper that was scarcely louder than
the sighing of the wind among the trees. "It is I, Aasta of Kilmory."
"Saint Columba help me!" said Allan. "Aasta? Aasta the wolf maiden? What
trick is this you have played me? It is you, then, and no wolf that I
have been following? And I had nearly slain you!"
"Listen, Allan Redmain; and, I beg you, make no noise," said Aasta,
drawing nearer. "Listen if you hear not footsteps on the moor yonder."
Allan held in his breath for a moment, and in the stillness he heard
indeed the pat, pat of a pair of feet hurrying away.
"Well," he said, "I do in truth hear footsteps. But what of that? 'Tis
but the tread of some wild boar or prowling wolf."
"Not so," said Aasta; "they are the footsteps of the fair-haired youth
who came with you in Earl Kenric's ship from Dumbarton."
"Harald of Islay! He?"
"Even so," said Aasta. "Two hours ago he escaped by stealth from the
castle of Rothesay. He is now seeking the means of flying from the
island. I know not wherefore he was brought to Bute; but the manner of
his escaping and his care to avoid being seen were such that I followed
him. I had gone to Rothesay to learn of your return, and to get news for
Elspeth. Setting out for Kilmory I saw this youth steal out by the west
postern, cloaked and armed. Tarry not here; for if it be that the youth
had no right to leave the castle, then he must even be forcibly taken back."
"Even so, Aasta," said Allan, "and much do I commend you for your timely
warning of the lad's escape. Though how by your witchery you brought me
hither I cannot well understand."
"Seek not to learn, then," returned Aasta, leading him forth upon the
open land; "but come ere it be too late to arrest this fugitive."
With no further words the fair maiden led him southward towards the sea
cliffs, skipping over the streamlets that crossed their path, and
passing over wide stretches of barren moorland. And down into every
creek and bay she turned her searching eyes. Suddenly she halted and
drew back a few paces, then crouched upon the ground, bidding Allan do
likewise. Thus she crept to the brink of the cliff that stands frowning
above the bay of Stravannan.
The light of dawn had by this time chased away the shadows of night, and
headlands and rocks stood out clear against the gray sky. Aasta pointed
down to the stony beach below. The tide was at half flood, and lying
above the water's edge was a small fishing boat. Young Harald of Islay
had grasped the boat's gunwale and was pulling and tugging with all his
strength. A few more pulls and the little craft would be launched. Every
effort he made brought it a foot nearer the water.
"Ah, had I but my bow and a good straight arrow!" whispered Allan,
crouching down at Aasta's side.
"Hush! Give me your plaid," said she. "Let him not see you; but go you
down by the farther side of the bay while I take this nearer path. When
you hear me cry as the peewit cries, run as quickly as may be towards
the boat. Methinks by his fair hair that the lad should be of the
Norsemen. Is that so?"
Throwing the plaid about her head and shoulders, Aasta went downward by
the craggy rocks and was soon upon the beach. The boat was already half
in the water. The young Norseman turned with a startled look at hearing
footsteps on the shingle. Aasta walked towards him slowly, bending down
now and again as though she were gathering shellfish. Seeing that it was
only, as he supposed, some harmless fisherwoman, Harald took courage and
waited.
"You are abroad betimes, my young master," said she, speaking in the
Norse. "And methinks you have work that ill befits such white hands and
comely apparel as yours. Let me, I pray you, help you to launch your boat."
"Your words, fair damsel," said the youth as he regarded her in
wondering surprise, "surely betoken that you are not of the people of
this land."
"And yours, my master, that you are equally foreign to these shores. But
tell me, sir, where go you in your boat?"
"I go hence to Islay," said he, "if so be I may without help adventure
so far."
"Methinks," said Aasta, "that it were at least wise in you to have the
help of a pair of oars."
"There is a pair lying at the foot of the cliff there," said the youth,
pointing up the beach.
"Go, then, and bring them," said she, "while I launch your boat; and it
may be that, if you are bound for Islay, I will, if it so please you,
accompany you."
"Sweet damsel," said he, "surely some strange good fortune hath sent you
to my aid!" and at that he ran up the beach to the place where the
fishermen had left their oars.
As he went the cry of a peewit rose in the morning air
"Pee-wit, pee-weet-weet!"
In a few moments Allan Redmain was at Aasta's side. She bade him stand
behind her. Harald the hostage, not seeing him, walked back towards the
boat bearing the two oars over his shoulder. Then suddenly Allan
confronted him.
"So, my brave viking, you would escape, eh?" he said, smiling at the
lad's discomfiture.
Harald frowning and with flashing eyes laid the oars across the boat's
thwarts, and grasping the gunwale tried to launch her. Aasta, making
pretence to help him, pulled the opposite way and the boat did not move.
Then seeing that he was intercepted the lad promptly whipped out his
dirk and sprang towards Allan with his weapon raised.
Allan stepped aside, yet did not attempt to unsheathe his sword. Harald
followed upon him, but in an instant Aasta had leapt behind him and
flung her plaid in a loop over his head. With a vigorous tug at the two
ends of the garment she pulled him over and he fell upon his back. Allan
seized the dirk that dropped from the lad's hand and threw it aside.
Grasping Harald's two wrists he then turned him over, planting his knee
upon his back.
"Now, Aasta," said Allan calmly, "methinks we had best secure his arms
with my plaid. Give me an end of it that we may twist it; so. Now lace
it well under his arms while I bring it round his legs. There; he will
not readily draw himself out of that noose. I will leave him in your
care until I launch Ronald Gray's boat."
Then, as Allan pushed the little craft into the water, Aasta bent by the
young Norseman's side, running her fingers through his flaxen hair.
"So bold a spirit," said she, "is not oft inclosed in so fair a head.
But ah, my young master, beware how you let that spirit escape. 'Twill
do you no manner of good to have thus avoided the castle of Rothesay,
for there in that castle are dungeons deeper than Loch Ascog, and colder
than the snowy peak of Goatfell."
"Oh, deceitful woman that you are!" muttered the youth, "to tell me that
you were not of the people of this land. Had it not been for you I might
even now have been afloat!"
"Had it not been for me," said Aasta, "you would even now have been
dead, for if I had let you use your dirk as you intended, Allan Redmain,
whose prisoner you now are, would certainly have slain you."
"That would I," said Allan, now bending down and taking hold of the lad
in his strong arms and carrying him to the boat.
"'Tis a long pull round to Rothesay Bay," said Aasta, "and it may be
that you will yet have trouble with your charge. Let me go with you."
Allan, standing knee deep in the water, held out his hand and helped her
into the boat. Then as she sat down he pushed off and sprang on board,
taking the oars.
Some four hours afterwards the boat rounded Bogany Point and entered the
bay of Rothesay. By this time many of the men of the castle, led by
Kenric and Sir Piers de Currie, were scouring the island in search of
the fugitive Harald, and when the boat touched at the little pier it was
as though it were one of the fishing craft returning after a night at
sea. Allan carried his prisoner up to the castle gates, followed by a
crowd of wondering children, and meeting the Lady Adela in the hail he
told her how he had passed his first night as watchdog over at Scalpsie.