CHAPTER XXIV.

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.