Lochinvar: A Novel

  CHAPTER LI

  THE BRIDE'S LOVING-CUP

  But just at the weary traverse across the moor of the Bennan, afterthe shining levels of Loch Ken were left behind, and before the sylvanquietnesses of the Lane of Grenoch had been encountered, Wat Gordoncame suddenly on a troop of cavalry that rode northward, tinkling spurand jingling bit. So long had the country folk of Galloway been in thehabit of fleeing at the sound, that, as the troop advanced, ridingeasily, heads were hastily popped out of the whitewashed cottages ofMossdale, where it sits blithely on the brae. There came a rush ofwhite-headed bairns; then a good-wife who took the heather rather morereluctantly, like a motherly hen disturbed from off her comfortablenest; and then, last of all, followed the good-man, keeping well behindthe yard dike, and driving the family pig before him. For this picture,in sixteen hundred and eighty-nine, affords the exact estimate of thecharacter and conduct of his Majesty's dragoons, which the experienceof thirty years had taught the moorland folk of Galloway.

  Yet, in the present pacified state of the country, these were doubtlesstroopers in the service of King William, and the old bad, days goneforever--that is, from the point of view of the good-man of Mossdale.Nevertheless, with such a pig, that worthy man considered that it waswell to run no risks.

  But it was otherwise with Wat Gordon of Lochinvar. He had fought atKilliekrankie, and had twice been outlawed by the government of KingWilliam.

  "Halt!" cried the officer in command to him; "whither away, riding sogayly, young sir?"

  "To the wedding at Balmaghie," Wat replied, tossing his lace kerchief,as if he had been a gallant shedding perfume over the Mall under theeyes of the maids-in-waiting.

  "Your name and possessions?" continued the officer, noways inclined tobe impressed by butterfly graces.

  "I am Gordon of Gordonstoun--a kinsman of Alexander Gordon ofEarlstoun, to whose house I presume you are going," replied Wat,subtly. "This is, indeed, my cousin's war-horse on which I ride, if sobe any of you are acquainted with him."

  "Aye, by my faith, that do I all too well," said one of the troopers;"the uncanny devil came nigh to taking my arm off the other morningbetween his teeth, when I would have shifted him out of his stall tomake room for the horse of your honor."

  "Well done, Drumclog!" said Wat, leaning over and patting his neck, aseasily as if he had been a councillor of the king himself, instead of arebel twice attainted and mansworn.

  "A good Cameronian horse," smiled the officer. "I thank you, laird ofGordonstoun, for your courteous answers. I would not keep you a momentfrom the bridal to which you go. Gay footing to you! I would it weremine to lead the dance this night with the maids of Balmaghie, and todrink the bride's stirrup-cup this morning."

  "Aye," said Wat, "it is indeed good to drink the loving-cup from thebride's fair hands. 'Tis to taste it that I go. I have risen from asick bed to do it."

  "So my eyes tell me, brave lad," said the officer. "I trust yourillness has not been grievous?"

  "Nothing but what the bright eyes of a maid have power to cure!" criedWat, looking back and waving his hand.

  "Faith, right gallantly said," replied the officer; "with a tongue soattuned to compliment I will not detain thee a moment. 'Twere a pitysuch speeches should be wasted on a troop of his Majesty's dragoons."

  So with a courteous wave of his hand the young captain swept northward,followed by his clanking troopers. And as he went little did he knowhis own escape from death, or guess that Wat Gordon, fingering at hissword and pistols so daintily and featly as he sat his horse, had inhis mind the exact spot where the bullet would strike if it had chancedthat any in the troop knew him for a rebel. For that light grip andeasy swing of the sword indicated nothing less than a desperate resolveto cut his way singly through a whole command, rather than be stoppedon his way to the bridal of Kate McGhie and my Lord of Barra.

  A group of retainers stood irregularly about the outer gate ofBalmaghie when Wat rode up. They greeted him with honor, one afteranother sweeping the ground with their plumed hats as they swervedaside to let him pass. But the ancient gardener stood open-mouthed, asif trying to recall a memory or fix a puzzling resemblance.

  As Lochinvar rode through the glinting dewy woodlands he saw youths anddamsels parading the glades in couples--keeping, however, their facescarefully towards the house for the signal that the bride was coming.Already the bridegroom had arrived with his company, and, indeed, mostof them were even now in the hall drinking prosperity and posterity tothe wedding.

  "Haste you, my lord!" cried one malapert damsel to Wat, as he rode pasta group of chattering minxes, "or you will be too late to win yourloving-cup of luck from the hands of the bride, ere she goes to don herveil."

  To her Wat Gorden bowed with his gayest air, and so passed by. Thecompany was just coming out of the hall as he rode up. There, first ofall, was my lady. Behind her came Roger McGhie, looking wan and frail,but carrying himself with his old dignity and gentle courtesy. Andthere, talking gayly to my lady, was Murdo, Lord of Barra, now proudand elate, having come to the height of his estate and with the cup ofdesire at his lip.

  These three stopped dead when they saw the gay rider on the blackhorse, reining his steed at the foot of the steps of the house ofBalmaghie. For a space they stood speechless. But the master of thehouse, Roger McGhie, it was who spoke first.

  "'Tis a marvel and a pleasure to see you here, my Lord Lochinvar, onthis our bridal day--a welcome guest, indeed, if you come in peace tothe house which once gave you shelter in time of need."

  "Or come you to visit your ancient friends, who have not wholly castyou off, Lochinvar, though you have forgotten them?" added my lady,dimpling with a pleasure more than half malicious, on the broad terraceabove him.

  But Murdo of Barra said no word, as he stood on the upper steps gnawinghis thin mustache, and talking aside to his groomsman as though thatwhich was happening below were but some trifling matter which concernedhim not.

  "Light down and lead the dance, my lord," said Roger McGhie,courteously. "None like you, they say, can tread a measure, none soreadily win a lady's favor--so runs the repute of you."

  "I thank you, Balmaghie," answered Wat, courteously; "but I camewithout invitation, without summons, to ask but that last favor--theloving-cup of good luck from the bride's fair hands ere I ride to meetmy fate. For I must needs ride fast and far this day."

  "It is well and knightly asked, and shall be granted," said RogerMcGhie. "Bid Kate bring hither a loving-cup of wine for my Lord ofLochinvar, who bides her coming at the hall-door."

  Black Murdo of Barra moved his hand impatiently.

  "Let a bridesmaid fetch it," he said. "The bride is doubtless at herdressing and brooks not to be disturbed."

  "Give me but the moment, and to you I leave the rest," said WalterGordon, looking up at him with the light of a desperate challengeshining clear in his eye.

  Then the maidens of the bridal standing about whispered eagerly to eachother.

  "Ah, that were a bridegroom, indeed! See him sit in the saddle like agod--fitter for our bonny Kate than yon black, scowling Murdo."

  Then out through the open doorway of the hall there came a vision ofdelight. The young bride came forth, clad in white, daintily slender,divinely fair. Not yet had she assumed her bridal veil. In simple whiteshe moved, her hair rippling in sunlit curls to her neck, her maidensnood still for the last time binding it up. A silver beaker brimmedwith the red claret wine in her hand. And as she came bearing it in,the wedding guests opened a way for her to pass, murmuring content andadmiration. Barra stepped forward as if to relieve her of the burden,but she passed him by as though she had not seen him.

  Presently she stood at the side of Wat Gordon's charger, which lookedback at her over his shoulder as though he, too, marvelled at herbeauty.

  The true-lovers were met for the last time.

  "Would that they need never part!" said a wise bridesmaid, leaning overand whispering to her mate. For their story was known, and all theyou
ng were very pitiful.

  "Amen to that! Look at Murdo, how black and gash he glowers at them!"said her companion.

  Wat Gordon took the cup and held it high in one brown gauntlet, stillkeeping the hand that gave it in his other.

  "I pledge the bride--the bride and her own true-love!" he said, loudenough for all to hear.

  Then he drank and leaned towards Kate as though to return the cup withcourteous salutation.

  None heard the word he whispered. None save she who loved him can everknow, for Kate has not revealed it. But the word was spoken. The wordwas heard. A moment only the bride's eyes sought her lover's. The nexthis arm was about her waist, and her foot left the gravel with a springairy as a bird's first morning flight. The reins were gathered in Wat'shand, his love was safe on the saddle before him. The spurs were set inDrumclog's dark flanks, the brave horse sprang forward, and before everso much as a cry could go up from that watching assembly, Wat Gordonwas riding straight for Dee water with his love between his arms.