‘I never fitted it together. Aye, he did, sir.’
‘I must,’ said Maistre Pierre with reluctance, ‘go back to the chantier before dark. Madame, j’suis enchanté de vous connaıtre. ’ He bowed
across the hearth to Dorothea, and she inclined her head in response. ‘Perhaps your brother would bring you to supper with us tomorrow?’
‘Indeed, aye, sir,’ said Dorothea. ‘Herbert and I are to spend the day with men of law, about the rents from our Glasgow properties. I’ll be glad of something to look
forward to at the end of it. Will I meet your daughter?’
‘For certain.’
Dorothea smiled, her face lighting up in the way Gil recalled. ‘I’m truly impatient to meet her, maister. A lassie who can wrench my brother from his destined career, and then
convince Mother it was right, must be worth knowing. I hope he values her as high as she does him.’
Tib’s face darkened. Gil was aware that his own expression changed, and also that Dorothea, as acute as their mother, had noticed both.
‘How long can you stay?’ he asked hastily. ‘Have they found you somewhere to lie at the castle?’
Tib’s expression soured still further, but she said nothing. Dorothea admitted to lodging at the castle, and began a lively account of a disastrous visit she had made to another Cistercian
house which she forbore to name, and the moment passed.
But later, when she was bundled up in her travelling cloak again and striding down Rottenrow beside Gil, she said, ‘What’s eating at Tib?’
Gil shrugged. ‘Who kens? She read me a fine rigma-role this morn when she arrived, about no being passed about like a parcel, and no wishing to stay wi Mother or Margaret or Kate. Likely
it’s to do wi first Kate marrying and now me, and she’s left at home wi no tocher.’
‘Kate was wedded wi no tocher,’ said Dorothea thoughtfully.
‘Augie Morison’s doing well enough no to look for either coin or land wi her,’ said Gil, smiling. ‘The man’s besotted on her, besides. Who we’d get to take a
wild wee termagant like Tib I wouldny ken.’
They reached the end of Rottenrow and crossed the Wyndhead before Dorothea went on, ‘Gil, did Mother no tell me this is a love match, you and Alys Mason?’
‘It is,’ said Gil.
She looked up at him through the drizzle. ‘On both sides?’
He opened his mouth to say, Yes, of course , and closed it, recalling again the tension in Alys’s slender body within his arms, the way she withdrew from his kiss. Dorothea fixed her
gaze on the towers of St Mungo’s, and after a moment remarked, ‘I mind Marion Veitch well. It seems she was left with nothing.’
‘I never heard,’ said Gil. ‘I knew John went to sea.’
It is a love match, he wanted to say. Alys feels as I do, I know she does. I love my lady pure, And she loves me again. But the words would not come to his mouth.
‘I’d a word wi our uncle just now,’ said Dorothea. ‘The oldest brother died in the rebellion and they couldny pay the fines. John was at sea already, and the middle
brother – William, was it? – had gone for a priest, and it seems as if Marion didny fancy keeping house for him and took this man Naismith’s offer when it came to her.’
‘William Veitch was a sleekit wee nyaff,’ said Gil intemperately ‘I mind once he got me into a fight wi John with his lies, and got us both a beating. I’d not blame
Marion if she didny want to share his rooftree.’
The directions Maggie had provided led them to a wynd off the Drygate. The houses along its muddy length were small, but seemed in good repair. Gossiping maidservants sheltered in the doorways,
and the high wooden walls of the Caichpele were visible beyond the rooftops, though it seemed unlikely that tennis was being played in the steady rain.
The furthest house along the wynd was a two-storey structure of wood and lime-washed plaster, with a well-built chimney issuing from the centre of the thatched roof, and a tiny stone
‘I must,’ said Maistre Pierre with reluctance, ‘go back to the chantier before dark. Madame, j’suis enchanté de vous connaıtre. ’ He bowed
across the hearth to Dorothea, and she inclined her head in response. ‘Perhaps your brother would bring you to supper with us tomorrow?’
‘Indeed, aye, sir,’ said Dorothea. ‘Herbert and I are to spend the day with men of law, about the rents from our Glasgow properties. I’ll be glad of something to look
forward to at the end of it. Will I meet your daughter?’
‘For certain.’
Dorothea smiled, her face lighting up in the way Gil recalled. ‘I’m truly impatient to meet her, maister. A lassie who can wrench my brother from his destined career, and then
convince Mother it was right, must be worth knowing. I hope he values her as high as she does him.’
Tib’s face darkened. Gil was aware that his own expression changed, and also that Dorothea, as acute as their mother, had noticed both.
‘How long can you stay?’ he asked hastily. ‘Have they found you somewhere to lie at the castle?’
Tib’s expression soured still further, but she said nothing. Dorothea admitted to lodging at the castle, and began a lively account of a disastrous visit she had made to another Cistercian
house which she forbore to name, and the moment passed.
But later, when she was bundled up in her travelling cloak again and striding down Rottenrow beside Gil, she said, ‘What’s eating at Tib?’
Gil shrugged. ‘Who kens? She read me a fine rigma-role this morn when she arrived, about no being passed about like a parcel, and no wishing to stay wi Mother or Margaret or Kate. Likely
it’s to do wi first Kate marrying and now me, and she’s left at home wi no tocher.’
‘Kate was wedded wi no tocher,’ said Dorothea thoughtfully.
‘Augie Morison’s doing well enough no to look for either coin or land wi her,’ said Gil, smiling. ‘The man’s besotted on her, besides. Who we’d get to take a
wild wee termagant like Tib I wouldny ken.’
They reached the end of Rottenrow and crossed the Wyndhead before Dorothea went on, ‘Gil, did Mother no tell me this is a love match, you and Alys Mason?’
‘It is,’ said Gil.
She looked up at him through the drizzle. ‘On both sides?’
He opened his mouth to say, Yes, of course , and closed it, recalling again the tension in Alys’s slender body within his arms, the way she withdrew from his kiss. Dorothea fixed her
gaze on the towers of St Mungo’s, and after a moment remarked, ‘I mind Marion Veitch well. It seems she was left with nothing.’
‘I never heard,’ said Gil. ‘I knew John went to sea.’
It is a love match, he wanted to say. Alys feels as I do, I know she does. I love my lady pure, And she loves me again. But the words would not come to his mouth.
‘I’d a word wi our uncle just now,’ said Dorothea. ‘The oldest brother died in the rebellion and they couldny pay the fines. John was at sea already, and the middle
brother – William, was it? – had gone for a priest, and it seems as if Marion didny fancy keeping house for him and took this man Naismith’s offer when it came to her.’
‘William Veitch was a sleekit wee nyaff,’ said Gil intemperately ‘I mind once he got me into a fight wi John with his lies, and got us both a beating. I’d not blame
Marion if she didny want to share his rooftree.’
The directions Maggie had provided led them to a wynd off the Drygate. The houses along its muddy length were small, but seemed in good repair. Gossiping maidservants sheltered in the doorways,
and the high wooden walls of the Caichpele were visible beyond the rooftops, though it seemed unlikely that tennis was being played in the steady rain.
The furthest house along the wynd was a two-storey structure of wood and lime-washed plaster, with a well-built chimney issuing from the centre of the thatched roof, and a tiny stone
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