‘Lord Montgomery knew we were there,’ said Alys. ‘I could see him wondering what our business might be.’
‘It was obvious that we could assist, so we assisted,’ said Lady Cunningham simply.
‘Speaking of Robert our Archbishop,’ said Canon Cunningham, drawing a paper from the breast of his long gown, ‘as you were this moment, Gelis, I had a letter from him this morning in the bag that came to St Mungo’s.’ He unfolded it, and settled his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. ‘A scrape in his own hand, what’s more, none of your secretary copies. He sends that he’s minded to do something for you, Gilbert, after the other matter you sorted out, about the bairn’s mother, and that he has two suitable posts in mind, each with a living attached, and he’ll tell us more when he knows which is free.’
‘Let us hope his gratitude is cumulative,’ said Maistre Pierre.
‘It sounds promising,’ said Gil. He looked down along his shoulder at Alys, and she smiled quickly at him, then looked away in sudden shyness. ‘We won’t starve, then.’
‘Well, if all else fails,’ said the mason, ‘you may set up a pavilion in my courtyard, and Alys may continue to oversee the household. Then I can send you the broken meats from the dinners Alys cooks for me.’
‘That might not be such a bad idea,’ Gil said, struck by it. ‘Perhaps not a pavilion, in a Glasgow winter, but we could live somewhere about the place, if you had space for us.’
‘You’d be in the midst of the burgh,’ said Alys, ‘and you could hang out your sign as a notary and get the passing trade.’
They looked at each other. There was what seemed to Gil a long pause, as if time was standing still; then Canon Cunningham said in resigned tones, ‘We ’ll have little sense out of either of them the rest of the evening. Take that dog into the garden, Gilbert,’ he ordered, raising his voice slightly, ‘and we’ll get a look at the last few points of that contract while you’re gone. If we can all agree on the wording, it should be ready for signing by the time you can hold a pen.’
The garden was warm in the evening light, full of scents of green stuff and damp soil. A blackbird was singing from the top of the roof, and the occasional sweet, heady waft from the bean patch further down the slope reached them as they walked slowly along the gravel path, Socrates ranging round them.
‘I want to invite Dorothea,’ said Gil, and paused at the gap in the hedge to look out over the burgh. Another blackbird shot across the view, calling in alarm, and the dog turned his head to watch it, ears pricked.
‘To the marriage, you mean?’ He nodded. ‘That’s your sister who is a nun,’ she recalled.
‘That’s the one. And my other sisters as well, I suppose,’ he added.
‘We have no kin in Scotland,’ she observed, ‘but we have friends in plenty in the burgh. It may be a very great feast.’
‘Soon?’ Gil said hopefully. He drew her to a stone bench by the hedge, and Socrates came and sat at her feet.
‘Soon,’ she said. ‘As soon as we can arrange all.’
‘And as soon as we’re certain we have enough to live on,’ he said ruefully. He took her in his arms. ‘But Alys, what did you say to my mother, to make her change her mind?’
She turned within his clasp to look at him.
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I wanted to speak to her. I thought I would assure her of my duty too, just as you said.’ He nodded. ‘So I dressed in my best, and took Catherine, and we had the horses brought and rode up here.’
‘That took courage,’ he said.
‘No, no, for she was perfectly civil to me yesterday, Gil. And so she was today. Maggie served wine and cakes, and I said what I had come for, and then I said I hoped Our Lady would send that we would give her grandchildren, and that we would both wish her to have an eye to their upbringing.’ Gil tightened his arms about her, and she looked down, then shyly up at him again. He bent his head to kiss her. After a while she went on.
‘Catherine talked genealogy with her for a long time. Perhaps it was that,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘I think they found a connection somewhere, though it involved three marriages.’
‘What, between your family and mine?’ he said, alarmed. The wolfhound looked at him anxiously, then put his nose down on his paws again.
‘Between Catherine’s and your mother’s,’ she reassured him, her elusive smile flickering. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t need a dispensation.’
‘Praise Heaven for that!’
‘Amen, indeed. And then your mother asked me about this matter – William’s death, and the messages, and the spying. I told her what we knew, and she saw that what she knew about Father Bernard could be of use to you. So she also put on her best gown, and we went down to the college. But that was all we discussed. I don’t know what made her change her mind.’
‘Garneist with governance so gude Nae deeming suld her deir.
She had brought that court dress with her?’ said Gil. Alys nodded. ‘She keeps it for great occasions. I wonder if she came prepared to be talked round?’
‘She certainly seems to favour the marriage now.’ She giggled. ‘And I haven’t heard my father making flowery compliments like that since we left Paris.’
Gil grinned. He had not yet had time for a private conversation with either Maistre Pierre or his mother. By the time he had extracted himself from the University she and Alys had already returned to Rottenrow, and when he and the mason arrived at the house in mid-afternoon she had come down in her everyday clothes to greet them, closely followed by his uncle. The compliments Alys referred to had gone in all directions, even Canon Cunningham making stately puns which not everyone noticed.
‘So we can be married soon,’ he said again.
They sat close in silence for a while. Gil found his mind ranging back over the day again, and further back, to the feast and all its consequences. Some of those young men at the University would be worth keeping an eye on. Ninian Boyd was probably destined to be a small laird and a good master, but the Douglas boy was promising, and Lowrie Livingstone was a very interesting character. Was I like that at seventeen? he wondered. Did our teachers look at Nick and me with that resigned expression? He thought of the Dean, glowering at Alys across the room, and then of Maister Forsyth, who had intercepted him just before he left the college.
‘That was a very impressive discourse just now,’ the old man had said, in the same tone in which he had commended Gil’s last disputation outside the crumbling chapel of St Thomas. ‘You made all clear to us, grounded it in the truth and showed us the inevitable conclusions without fear of an armed adversary. The outcome is grievous for all of us,’ he admitted, ‘but Justice is a harsh mistress, and you have served her well.’ He smiled at Gil’s stammering response. ‘It’s a great pleasure to a teacher, Gilbert, when a student continues so far beyond what one has taught him. And that is your bride,’ he continued, without waiting for a reply.
Gil nodded, bracing himself for a gentler response to the old man’s adverse comments than the remote politeness he had used on Sunday against the Dean.
‘A very good choice,’ said Maister Forsyth, nodding. ‘Clever, discreet and modest. A very good choice for you, Gilbert, and I wish you happy with her.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Gil had said ineptly, and bowed. His former teacher had acknowledged the bow and moved off, leaving Gil staring after him.
The clever, discreet and modest girl in his arms, her thoughts clearly mirroring his, turned to look up at him, putting up one hand to cup his jaw, brown eyes glowing in the last of the sunlight, and said, ‘You know, Gil, that was quite magnificent. In the Principal’s lodging, I mean,’ she expanded. ‘All those learned old men, and you telling them what happened and making all clear to them. And Lord Montgomery was so threatening, and you never flinched from him. I’m glad I was present.’
He turned his head to kiss her palm.
‘I’m glad you were present too,’ he admitted, ‘for I’d never have got so far without you. You deserved to be there.’
‘We make a good team, I think,’ she said diffidently.
‘None better.’ He kissed her palm again, then ran one finger lightly round the scooped neckline of her gown, over the fine linen of her shift, and she shivered. At their feet, the wolfhound turned his head to look at them, then ostentatiously rose and lay down again with his back to them, sighed, and laid his nose on his paws. In a small corner of his mind Gil was aware of his dog’s actions, commended the animal’s patience and admired his discretion.
‘Sweet St Giles, Alys, I must be the luckiest man in Scotland.’ She made a small enquiring noise. ‘
An hendy hap ich hab yhent
,’ he quoted, as he had done to his mother, and continued the verse, ‘
From alle wommen my love is lent, And light on Alisoun
.’
‘And mine on you,’ she said. He drew her closer, very conscious of the warmth of her flesh and the movement of her ribcage under the blue gown, and bent his head to kiss her. She put her arms round him, a little shyly, reaching under his jerkin, and leaned into his embrace.
On the ridge tiles the blackbird sang on, the golden notes dropping through the still air as the shadows lengthened in the garden and the first lights pricked in the houses round them.
Socrates sighed again, rolled on to his side and shut his eyes.