Free Lammas by Shirley McKay Page B

though. Here is my advice. Tell him that to marry is all well and good, but that he should wait till he is twenty-one. He should finish his degree, so he can provide for her. For his father will no doubt deprive him of his wealth. This threat to his inheritance will help to fix his mind. First love is fierce, but does not last long. To fight it will simply add fuel to its fire. But let it run its course, and the wind may blow it out. Courage, Robert. Henry is your lot. You will make a man of him, or he a man of you, before the harvest’s done.’

    (3)
    Hew had no will to take on Robert’s troubles, for he had sufficient of his own. He went to look for Giles, but Giles was not at home. The house was closed and dark. He crossed over to the kirk, and on to Market Street. The market was long done. Crumpled flowers and fly-blown fruit were left to blow about the dust. The wind picked listless over all, snatching at a twist of paper or a withered leaf, and dropping it again.
    The North Street, too, was still. The doors to the chapel and the college court were locked. But Hew saw a window at the top of Giles Locke’s tower, where often he had sat and looked out on the street, open to the sun. Giles was in his room. And the welcome in his smile as he caught sight of Hew helped to lift his heart.
    Now the Whitsun visitors were gone, Giles had filled his shelves again with instruments and books. In the circle at the top of the spiral stair, he had placed an astrolabe, so bright and broad in girth its compass seemed to mark the centre of the world.
    Hew said, ‘Still at your charts?’
    â€˜In effect,’ said Giles, ‘the essential one is done. But I have just been told some grave, unsettling news, and I came to mark it on the map. I met a man just now who came up from the coast, who saw a lighted beacon over from Fife Ness; Spanish ships are sighted in the Firth of Forth.’
    â€˜Can it be true? Why would they come there?’
    â€˜Such rumours often may be underpinned by truth. Perhaps they have been driven back, by the English fleet.’
    â€˜Or the threat of storm.’
    â€˜Fiddle. Did I not tell ye there will be no storms? Have ye no faith in my forecasts?’
    Hew replied, ‘Not much. It is a concern, if they approach our coasts. There are some here preparing to encourage and receive them.’
    Giles said, enigmatically, ‘So I have been told.’
    â€˜You are not among them, I suppose?’
    The doctor looked startled, and hurt. ‘I? You cannot think that I would chance the lives that I hold dear, your own life, and Meg’s? My hope is that a man might live in peace and faith, whatever that may be, without fear or force, which comfort we had here before this present threat. You call me traitor, now? The foe that makes that rift between us has achieved his end before he ever sets a foot upon this soil.’
    The passion in his words made Hew ashamed. ‘I spoke ill. Forgive me,’ he said.
    â€˜Ill words may be forgiven, Hew, but that ye thought them, no.’
    â€˜I never, on my life, thought any ill of you. But I am out of humour, thrawn, and ken not what to think.’
    Giles did not sulk long. He looked his close friend over with a doctor’s eye. ‘Your spirits are thrown thwart, and your temper, too. You are pale and cross. What is the matter, Hew? Is it Walter Bone, the man who died today?’
    Hew flung himself into the doctor’s gossip chair, where often in the past he had sought for resolution, spilling out the trouble on his mind. ‘I cannot help but think that it was all my fault.’
    Giles belonged to a faith that believed in absolution, but Hew did not want to be absolved. He wanted to be showered with bitter words and blamed.
    Giles did not indulge him in his wish. He listened to his words, before concluding reasonably and quietly, ‘You were not to blame.'
    It was rare enough that Giles was unequivocal, and