CHAPTER II.
For the better comprehension of the events related in the precedingchapter, it will be necessary to cast a summary glance on matters ofhistorical and domestic import no way irrelevant to our subject, saveand except their having taken place some few years previous to thecommencement of our tale.
The early years of Isabella of Buchan had been passed in happiness. Theonly daughter, indeed for seven years the only child, of Malcolm, Earlof Fife, deprived of her mother on the birth of her brother, her youthhad been nursed in a tenderness and care uncommon in those rude ages;and yet, from being constantly with her father, she imbibed those higherqualities of mind which so ably fitted her for the part which in afteryears it was her lot to play. The last words of his devoted wife,imploring him to educate her child himself, and not to sever the tiebetween them, by following the example of his compeers, and sending hereither to England, France, or Norway, had been zealously observed by theearl; the prosperous calm, which was the happy portion of Scotlandduring the latter years of Alexander III., whose favorite minister hewas, enabled him to adhere to her wishes far more successfully thancould have been the case had he been called forth to war.
In her father's castle, then, were the first thirteen years of the LadyIsabella spent, varied only by occasional visits to the court ofAlexander, where her beauty and vivacity rendered her a universalfavorite. Descended from one of the most ancient Scottish families,whose race it was their boast had never been adulterated by the blood ofa foreigner, no Norman prejudice intermingled with the education ofIsabella, to tarnish in any degree those principles of loyalty andpatriotism which her father, the Earl of Fife, so zealously inculcated.She was a more true, devoted Scottish woman at fourteen, than many ofher own rank whose years might double hers; ready even then to sacrificeeven life itself, were it called for in defence of her sovereign, or thefreedom of her country; and when, on the death of Alexander, cloudsbegan to darken the horizon of Scotland, her father scrupled not toimpart to her, child though she seemed, those fears and anxieties whichclouded his brow, and filled his spirit with foreboding gloom. It wasthen that in her flashing eye and lofty soul, in the undaunted spirit,which bore a while even his colder and more foreseeing mood along withit, that he traced the fruit whose seed he had so carefully sown.
"Why should you fear for Scotland, my father?" she would urge; "is itbecause her queen is but a child and now far distant, that anarchy andgloom shall enfold our land? Is it not shame in ye thus craven to deemher sons, when in thy own breast so much devotion and loyalty have rest?why not judge others by yourself, my father, and know the dark things ofwhich ye dream can never be?"
"Thou speakest as the enthusiast thou art, my child. Yet it is not therule of our maiden queen my foreboding spirit dreads; 'tis that on sucha slender thread as her young life suspends the well-doing or the ruinof her kingdom. If she be permitted to live and reign over us, all maybe well; 'tis on the event of her death for which I tremble."
"Wait till the evil day cometh then, my father; bring it not nearer byanticipation; and should indeed such be, thinkest thou not there arebold hearts and loyal souls to guard our land from foreign foe, and givethe rightful heir his due?"
"I know not, Isabella. There remain but few with the pure Scottish bloodwithin their veins, and it is but to them our land is so dear: theywould peril life and limb in her defence. It is not to the proud barondescended from the intruding Norman, and thinking only of his knightlysports and increase of wealth, by it matters not what war. Nor dare welook with confidence to the wild chiefs of the north and the Lords ofthe Isles; eager to enlarge their own dominions, to extend the terrorsof their name, they will gladly welcome the horrors and confusion thatmay arise; and have we true Scottish blood enough to weigh againstthese, my child? Alas! Isabella, our only hope is in the health andwell-doing of our queen, precarious as that is; but if she fail us, woeto Scotland!"
The young Isabella could not bring forward any solid arguments in answerto this reasoning, and therefore she was silent; but she felt herScottish blood throb quicker in her veins, as he spoke of the few pureScottish men remaining, and inwardly vowed, woman as she was, to devoteboth energy and life to her country and its sovereign.
Unhappily for his children, though perhaps fortunately for himself, theEarl of Fife was spared the witnessing in the miseries of his countryhow true had been his forebodings. Two years after the death of hisking, he was found dead in his bed, not without strong suspicion ofpoison. Public rumor pointed to his uncle, Macduff of Glamis, as theinstigator, if not the actual perpetrator of the deed; but as no decidedproof could be alleged against him, and the High Courts of Scotland notseeming inclined to pursue the investigation, the rumor ceased, andMacduff assumed, with great appearance of zeal, the guardianship of theyoung Earl of Fife and his sister, an office bequeathed to him under thehand and seal of the earl, his nephew.
The character of the Lady Isabella was formed; that of her brother, achild of eight, of course was not; and the deep, voiceless suffering herfather's loss occasioned her individually was painfully heightened bythe idea that to her young brother his death was an infinitely greatermisfortune than to herself. He indeed knew not, felt not the agony whichbound her; he knew not the void which was on her soul; how utterly,unspeakably lonely that heart had become, accustomed as it had been torepose its every thought, and hope, and wish, and feeling on a parent'slove; yet notwithstanding this, her clear mind felt and saw that whilefor herself there was little fear that she should waver in thoseprinciples so carefully instilled, for her brother there was much, verymuch to dread. She did not and could not repose confidence in herkinsman; for her parent's sake she struggled to prevent dislike, tocompel belief that the suavity, even kindness of his manner, thesentiments which he expressed, had their foundation in sincerity; butwhen her young brother became solely and entirely subject to hisinfluence, she could no longer resist the conviction that their guardianwas not the fittest person for the formation of a patriot. She couldnot, she would not believe the rumor which had once, but once, reachedher ears, uniting the hitherto pure line of Macduff with midnightmurder; her own noble mind rejected the idea as a thing utterly andwholly impossible, the more so perhaps, as she knew her father had beenlatterly subject to an insidious disease, baffling all the leech's art,and which he himself had often warned her would terminate suddenly; yetstill an inward shuddering would cross her heart at times, when in hispresence; she could not define the cause, or why she felt it sometimesand not always, and so she sought to subdue it, but she sought in vain.
Meanwhile an event approached materially connected with the LadyIsabella, and whose consummation the late Thane of Fife had earnestlyprayed he might have been permitted to hallow with his blessing.Alexander Comyn, Earl of Buchan and High Constable of Scotland, had beenfrom early youth the brother in arms and dearest friend of the Earl ofFife, and in the romantic enthusiasm which ever characterized thecompanionship of chivalry, they had exchanged a mutual vow that in afteryears, should heaven grant them children, a yet nearer and dearer tieshould unite their houses. The birth of Isabella, two years after thatof an heir to Buchan, was hailed with increased delight by both fathers,and from her earliest years she was accustomed to look to the Lord Johnas her future husband. Perhaps had they been much thrown together,Isabella's high and independent spirit would have rebelled against thiswish of her father, and preferred the choosing for herself; but from theages of eleven and nine they had been separated, the Earl of Buchansending his son, much against the advice of his friend, to England,imagining that there, and under such a knight as Prince Edward, he wouldbetter learn the noble art of war and all chivalric duties, than in themore barbarous realm of Scotland. To Isabella, then, her destinedhusband was a stranger; yet with a heart too young and unsophisticatedto combat her parent's wishes, by any idea of its affections becomingotherwise engaged, and judging of the son by the father, to whom she wasever a welcome guest, and who in himself was indeed a noble example ofchivalry an
d honor, Isabella neither felt nor expressed any repugnanceto her father's wish, that she should sign her name to a contract ofbetrothal, drawn up by the venerable abbot of Buchan, and to which thename of Lord John had been already appended; it was the lingering echoesof that deep, yet gentle voice, blessing her compliance to his wishes,which thrilled again and again to her heart, softening her grief, evenwhen that beloved voice was hushed forever, and she had no thought, nowish to recall that promise, nay, even looked to its consummation withjoy, as a release from the companionship, nay, as at times she felt, thewardance of her kinsman.
But this calm and happy frame of mind was not permitted to be of longcontinuance. In one of the brief intervals of Macduff's absence from thecastle, about eighteen months after her father's death, the young earlprevailed on the aged retainer in whose charge he had been left, toconsent to his going forth to hunt the red deer, a sport of which, boyas he was, he was passionately fond. In joyous spirits, and attended bya gallant train, he set out, calling for and receiving the readysympathy of his sister, who rejoiced as himself in his emancipation fromrestraint, which either was, or seemed to be, adverse to the usualtreatment of noble youths.
Somewhat sooner than Isabella anticipated, they returned. Earl Duncan,with a wilfulness which already characterized him, weary of the extremewatchfulness of his attendants, who, in their anxiety to keep him fromdanger, checked and interfered with his boyish wish to signalize himselfby some daring deed of agility and skill, at length separated himself,except from one or two as wilful, and but little older than himself. Theyoung lord possessed all the daring of his race, but skill and foresighthe needed greatly, and dearly would he have paid for his rashness. Ayoung and fiery bull had chanced to cross his path, and disregarding theentreaties of his followers, he taunted them with cowardice, and goadedthe furious animal to the encounter; too late he discovered that he hadneither skill nor strength for the combat he had provoked, and had itnot been for the strenuous exertions of a stranger youth, who divertedaside the fury of the beast, he must have fallen a victim to histhoughtless daring. Curiously, and almost enviously, he watched thecombat between the stranger and the bull, nor did any emotion ofgratitude rise in the boy's breast to soften the bitterness with whichhe regarded the victory of the former, which the reproaches of hisretainers, who at that instant came up, and their condemnation of hisfolly, did not tend to diminish; and almost sullenly he passed to therear, on their return, leaving Sir Malise Duff to make theacknowledgments, which should have come from him, and courteously invitethe young stranger to accompany them home, an invitation which, somewhatto the discomposure of Earl Duncan, was accepted.
If the stranger had experienced any emotion of anger from the boy'sslight of his services, the gratitude of the Lady Isabella would havebanished it on the instant, and amply repaid them; with cheeks glowing,eyes glistening, and a voice quivering with suppressed emotion, she hadspoken her brief yet eloquent thanks; and had he needed further proof,the embrace she lavished on her young brother, as reluctantly, and aftera long interval, he entered the hall, said yet more than her brokenwords.
"Thou art but a fool, Isabella, craving thy pardon," was his ungraciousaddress, as he sullenly freed himself from her. "Had I brought thee thebull's horns, there might have been some cause for this marvellouslywarm welcome; but as it is--"
"I joy thou wert not punished for thy rashness, Duncan. Yet 'twas not insuch mood I hoped to find thee; knowest thou that 'tis to yon bravestranger thou owest thy life?"
"Better it had been forfeited, than that he should stand between me andmine honor. I thank him not for it, nor owe him aught like gratitude."
"Peace, ungrateful boy, an thou knowest not thy station better," was hissister's calm, yet dignified reply; and the stranger smiled, and by hiscourteous manner, speedily dismissed her fears as to the impression ofher brother's words, regarding them as the mere petulance of a child.
Days passed, and still the stranger lingered; eminently handsome, hiscarriage peculiarly graceful, and even dignified, although it wasevident, from the slight, and as it were, unfinished roundness of hisfigure, that he was but in the first stage of youth, yet his discourseand manner were of a kind that would bespeak him noble, even had hisappearance been less convincing. According to the custom of the time,which would have deemed the questioning a guest as to his name andfamily a breach of all the rules of chivalry and hospitality, heremained unknown.
"Men call me Sir Robert, though I have still my spurs to win," he hadonce said, laughingly, to Lady Isabella and her kinsman, Sir MaliseDuff, "but I would not proclaim my birth till I may bring it honor."
A month passed ere their guest took his departure, leaving regard andregret behind him, in all, perhaps, save in the childish breast of EarlDuncan, whose sullen manner had never changed. There was a freshness andlight-heartedness, and a wild spirit of daring gallantry about thestranger that fascinated, men scarce knew wherefore; a recklessindependence of sentiment which charmed, from the utter absence of allaffectation which it comprised. To all, save to the Lady Isabella, hewas a mere boy, younger even than his years; but in conversation withher his superior mind shone forth, proving he could in truth appreciatehers, and give back intellect for intellect, feeling for feeling;perhaps her beauty and unusual endowments had left their impression uponhim. However it may be, one day, one little day after the departure ofSir Robert, Isabella woke to the consciousness that the calm which hadso long rested on her spirit bad departed, and forever; and to what hadit given place? Had she dared to love, she, the betrothed, the promisedbride of another? No; she could not have sunk thus low, her heart hadbeen too long controlled to rebel now. She might not, she would notlisten to its voice, to its wild, impassioned throbs. Alas! shemiscalculated her own power; the fastnesses she had deemed secure wereforced; they closed upon their subtle foe, and held their conquerorprisoner.
But Isabella was not one to waver in a determination when once formed;how might she break asunder links which the dead had hallowed? Shebecame the bride of Lord John; she sought with her whole soul to forgetthe past, and love him according to her bridal vow, and as time passedshe ceased to think of that beautiful vision of her early youth, save asa dream that had had no resting; and a mother's fond yearnings senttheir deep delicious sweetness as oil on the troubled waters of herheart. She might have done this, but unhappily she too soon discoveredher husband was not one to aid her in her unsuspected task, to sootheand guide, and by his affection demand her gratitude and reverence.Enwrapped in selfishness or haughty indifference, his manner towards herever harsh, unbending, and suspicious, Isabella's pride would havesustained her, had not her previous trial lowered her in self-esteem;but as it was, meekly and silently she bore with the continued outbreakof unrestrained passion, and never wavered from the path of duty herclear mind had laid down.
On the birth of a son, however, her mind regained its tone, and inwardlyyet solemnly she vowed that no mistaken sense of duty to her husbandshould interfere with the education of her son. As widely opposed aswere their individual characters, so were the politics of the now Earland Countess of Buchan. Educated in England, on friendly terms with herking, he had, as the Earl of Fife anticipated, lost all nationality, allinterest in Scotland, and as willingly and unconcernedly taken the vowsof homage to John Baliol, as the mere representative and lieutenant ofEdward, as he would have done to a free and unlimited king. He had beenamong the very first to vote for calling in the King of England asumpire; the most eager to second and carry out all Edward's views, andconsequently high in that monarch's favor, a reputation which his enmityto the house of Bruce, one of the most troublesome competitors of thecrown, did not tend to diminish. Fortunately perhaps for Isabella, thebustling politics of her husband constantly divided them. The births ofa daughter and son had no effect in softening his hard and selfishtemper; he looked on them more as incumbrances than pleasures, andleaving the countess in the strong Tower of Buchan, he himself, with atroop of armed and mounted Comyns, attached hims
elf to the court andinterests of Edward, seeming to forget that such beings as a wife andchildren had existence. Months, often years, would stretch between theearl's visits to his mountain home, and then a week was the longestperiod of his lingering; but no evidence of a gentler spirit or of lessindifference to his children was apparent, and years seemed to haveturned to positive evil, qualities which in youth had merely seemedunamiable.
Desolate as the situation of the countess might perhaps appear, shefound solace and delight in moulding the young minds of her childrenaccording to the pure and elevated cast of her own. All thelong-suppressed tenderness of her nature was lavished upon them, and ontheir innocent love she sought to rest the passionate yearnings of herown. She taught them to be patriots, in the purest, most beautifulappropriation of the term,--to spurn the yoke of the foreigner, and theoppressor, however light and flowery the links of that yoke might seem.She could not bid them love and revere their father as she longed to do,but she taught them that where their duty to their country and theirfree and unchained king interfered not, in all things they must obey andserve their father, and seek to win his love.
Once only had the Countess of Buchan beheld the vision which had crossedher youth. He had come, it seemed unconscious of his track, and askedhospitality for a night, evidently without knowing who was the owner ofthe castle; perhaps his thoughts were preoccupied, for a deep gloom wason his brow, and though he had started with evident pleasure whenrecognizing his beautiful hostess, the gloom speedily resumedascendency. It was but a few weeks after the fatal battle of Falkirk,and therefore Isabella felt there was cause enough for depression anduneasiness. The graces of boyhood had given place to a finishedmanliness of deportment, a calmer expression of feature, denoting thatyears had changed and steadied the character, even as the form. He thenseemed as one laboring under painful and heavy thought, as one broodingover some mighty change within, as if some question of weighty importwere struggling with recollections and visions of the past. He hadspoken little, evidently shrinking in pain from all reference to orinformation on the late engagement. He tarried not long, departing withdawn next day, and they did not meet again.
And what had been the emotions of the countess? perhaps her heart hadthrobbed, and her cheek paled and flushed, at this unexpected meetingwith one she had fervently prayed never to see again; but not onefeeling obtained ascendency in that heart which she would have dreadedto unveil to the eye of her husband. She did indeed feel that had herlot been cast otherwise, it must have been a happy one, but the thoughtwas transient. She was a wife, a mother, and in the happiness of herchildren, her youth, and all its joys and pangs, and dreams and hopes,were merged, to be recalled no more.
The task of instilling patriotic sentiments in the breast of her son hadbeen insensibly aided by the countess's independent position amid theretainers of Buchan. This earldom had only been possessed by the familyof Comyn since the latter years of the reign of William the Lion,passing into their family by the marriage of Margaret Countess of Buchanwith Sir William Comyn, a knight of goodly favor and repute. Thisinterpolation and ascendency of strangers was a continual source ofjealousy and ire to the ancient retainers of the olden heritage, andcontinually threatened to break out into open feud, had not the soothingpolicy of the Countess Margaret and her descendants, by continuallyemploying them together in subjecting other petty clans, contrived tokeep them in good humor. As long as their lords were loyal to Scotlandand her king, and behaved so as to occasion no unpleasant comparisonbetween them and former superiors, all went on smoothly; but the haughtyand often outrageous conduct of the present earl, his utter neglect oftheir interests, his treasonous politics, speedily roused the slumberingfire into flame. A secret yet solemn oath went round the clan, by whichevery fighting man bound himself to rebel against their master, ratherthan betray their country by siding with a foreign tyrant; to deserttheir homes, their all, and disperse singly midst the fastnesses androcks of Scotland, than lift up a sword against her freedom. Thesentiments of the countess were very soon discovered; and even yetstronger than the contempt and loathing with which they looked upon theearl was the love, the veneration they bore to her and to her children.If his mother's lips had been silent, the youthful heir would havelearned loyalty and patriotism from his brave though unletteredretainers, as it was to them he owed the skin and grace with which hesate his fiery steed, and poised his heavy lance, and wielded hisstainless brand--to them he owed all the chivalric accomplishments ofthe day; and though he had never quitted the territories of Buchan, hewould have found few to compete with him in his high and gallant spirit.
Dark and troubled was the political aspect of unhappy Scotland, at theeventful period at which our tale commences. The barbarous and mostunjust execution of Sir William Wallace had struck the whole country aswith a deadly panic, from which it seemed there was not one to rise tocast aside the heavy chains, whose weight it seemed had crushed thewhole kingdom, and taken from it the last gleams of patriotism and ofhope. Every fortress of strength and consequence was in possession ofthe English. English soldiers, English commissioners, English judges,laws, and regulations now filled and governed Scotland. The abrogationof all those ancient customs, which had descended from the Celts andPicts, and Scots, fell upon the hearts of all true Scottish men as thetearing asunder the last links of freedom, and branding them as slaves.Her principal nobles, strangely and traitorously, preferred safety andwealth, in the acknowledgment and servitude of Edward, to glory andhonor in the service of their country; and the spirits of the middleranks yet spurned the inglorious yoke, and throbbed but for one to leadthem on, if not to victory, at least to an honorable death. That oneseemed not to rise; it was as if the mighty soul of Scotland haddeparted, when Wallace slept in death.