Free Unicorn Rampant by Nigel Tranter

lost lamb, when his strangely lustrous eye fell on John Stewart, standing listening beside his father and mother. The royal expression lightened somewhat and he pointed at his humble kinsman, whom he obviously considered to be Edinburgh's answer to most problems.
    "You, Johnnie Stewart, knight—God be thankit! You'll find Steenie Villiers for me. You'll ken where to look in this ill toun! Belike some wicked rogues and scoundrels ha' taken hold o' him ..."
    "I think that highly unlikely, James," Ludovick said. He sounded a little sour this morning. "The entire city has been waiting to welcome you. All sturdy beggars, sorners and wastrels have been driven out, by your own express orders. All remaining seek to pleasure you. None would mistake George Villiers for anything but one of your company! None could be more safe in Edinburgh today."
    "I agree, Sire," the Secretary of State said.
    "I'm no' sae sure. There's ay ill folk aboot, seeking whom they may devour. I blame mysel', mind. The puir laddie was no' right when he left your house last night, Tam Hamilton. I shouldna hae let him go alone. Neither should you. I should hae seen him to his bit bed, the innocent loon!"
    The Duke somehow managed to disguise his choke as a cough. "That would have been ridiculous, James! He is not a child, God knows! He will be sleeping it off somewhere.
    We should be on our way. They await us at Linlithgow and then at Stirling. Johnnie Mar will have all ready for you ..."
    "Easy for you to talk, Vicky! You'll find him for me, Johnnie Stewart? You're a guid lad. Aye, and wi' mair gumption than your faither! Bring him safe after us. And quickly, mind."
    "I will do my best, Sire."
    "Aye, you will! Tak a troop o' the Guard, if you need them."
    "I would not think that to be necessary, Your Majesty." John bowed and hurried to his horse, before he got any further extravagant instructions.
    Trotting away from the crowded palace-forecourt, he pondered his problem. Probably the suggestion that Villiers would have found his way into one of the innumerable taverns and ale-houses was the most likely answer. The trouble was where to start looking. If he was in an inebriated state when he left Hamilton's house, or feeling sick as he might well be, he might not get far. So it would be sensible to start at the top end.
    John rode up the Cowgate, the street and its offshooting wynds all but deserted at this hour, save for scavenging dogs and rooting pigs and poultry—and noted gloomily that none of the numerous hostelries and dens appeared to be open yet. It was the best part of a mile to the French Ambassador's House.
    There he dismounted, after riding into the courtyard, hitched his horse to a post and went to rap on the door. Since the owner was with the King at Holyrood, presumably his servants had long been up and about. John was not so well acquainted with Edinburgh's amenities as his liege-lord assumed.
    The serving-wench who answered thereafter produced the establishment's major-domo whom, in the King's name, John promptly enlisted in the project, assuming that he would be likely to be more knowledgeable as to the Cowgate than himself. This worthy, at first doubtful, warmed to the quest when he learned that the monarch's favourite was involved. He was able to recollect a young man leaving the house considerably b efore the others, and indicated, without actually saying so, that he had been considerably the worse for liquor but had brushed aside suggestions of an escort. Further enquiry from the night-porter at the courtyard-gate—who had to be roused from his bed to answer—revealed that the illustrious young reveller had in fact turned left-handed, westwards, on issuing from the gate, instead of right, in other words up Cowgate not down towards Holyrood—presumably too drunk to know the difference.
    This information put a different complexion on the matter—unless of course Buckingham had presently discovered his mistake and turned back. For it was