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his male company at table well into the
night, long after the ladies had retired - even after his young wife,
new married just before Montrose had left on his travels, reappeared
on the minstrels' gallery above the Great Hall for a few moments,
sought to attract her lord's attention, failed, and raising eloquent
eyebrows implying complicity with the watching James Graham,
departed.
    When
at last he managed to escape, and made his way across the courtyard,
in the wan northern half-light, to the flanking-tower which his wife
and children occupied, he went quietly. But light still gleamed from
the window of the first-floor bed-chamber. And when he entered,
seeking to keep the door from creaking, it was to find Magdalen lying
awake on the great four-poster bed, staring up at the dusty canopy.
She did not look at him, after the first quick glance.
    'I
believed that you would be asleep,' he said. 'I have been long. Your
father had much to talk over. I am sorry. I have come home, it seems
to a realm seething with unrest like a porridge-pot on a hob!'
    "Yes,"
she said.
    'If
you are wearied, Magdalen, would be alone, I will sleep tonight in
the boys' chamber?' ‘No,' she said.
    "Very
well.' He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. It has
been a long time, my dear,' he said slowly. ‘Yes.'
    .•Your
letters - I thank you for them. You arc good with letters.'
    "Better,
better than with ... other things.'
    â€˜ Do
not say it. You never thought sufficiently highly of yourself. I
think more kindly.'
    'Yet ... you stayed away. For long.'
    â€˜ Yes.
There was so much to be done. To be seen. To be learned. And I am
scarce likely ever to go back. A different world, Magdalen. A wider,
richer world. Of great experiences, of treasures, of thought and
learning. Of a quality of living far beyond anything we know here in
Scotland. It behoves any who will have rule in this realm to learn of
it all they
may.'
    She
did not answer.
    'This
custom, to make the Grand Tour, is wise, lass. It broadens a man.
Those who are born to lead require such broadening. Without it, those
they lead can only suffer .. .'
    'My
brother Jamie. He went likewise. On his Tour. And came home in but
one year. From Padua.'
    â€˜ Did
he not come home when Davie died? As new heir. But - what of it? I am
not Jamie Carnegie. Moreover, I had a task, a quest, which he had
not.'
    'You never
found her? Katherine? No trace?'
    'No
trace,' he agreed, sombrely.
    'I
am sorry for that.' For the first time, she turned her eyes on him.
‘You were close, I know. Closer to her than to any. It must
hurt you sorely.’
    'Yes.
I did all that a man could. Searched the length and breadth of
Europe. Had enquirers in every land. I wonder if, indeed, she still
lives.'
    'Poor
Kate...’
    "No
— not poor Kate! Whatever else she is, or was, not poor! She
lived ever richly, rashly, but to the full. Expended herself, never
counting the cost. Foolish, often. Headstrong, yes. Unkind at times.
But in herself, her life, rich. Not poor Kate.'
    The
woman turned her head away. 'Perhaps. And you -you are of the same
stamp. As ... as sure of yourself. And I am ... otherwise. It is poor Magdalen, I think!' Her voice choked a little.
‘You would not . . . have spent three years searching for me!'
    Shaking
his head unhappily, he eyed her. 'You would
never have required such search. Run away with your own sister's
husband. And then abandoned him, likewise. Gone off, heedless of all,
God knows where! You would not, could not. But, had Magdalen Carnegie
indeed done that, I would have gone seeking for her, likewise.'
    â€˜ Would
you? I wonder! No - Magdalen Carnegie stays at home. A good wife.
Dutiful. Waiting. Always waiting. Her husband's pleasure. A dutiful
wife, mother of his bairns. Dutiful mother. Waiting — since the
day we were wed. Bairns ourselves!'
    'Waiting,
lass? Waiting - for what? Not, I think, just for this return of
mine?’
    'Dear
God - I do not know!'