1601
Alexander held my hand as he guided me into the little rowing boat on the shores of Loch Leven. I sat down on the damp bench, exhausted after three days’ travel. I was looking forward to putting on some clean dry clothes and warming up by the fire. I looked over the early morning mist rising from the water towards the castle. Something did not look quite right.
“Why can we not see any light or smoke coming from the castle, Alexander?”
“It’s too far away and besides, it’s too early; it is not long after dawn. They perhaps do not require candles yet.”
“But surely the kitchen would require fires? And how can the Countess dress if not by candlelight?”
He smiled at me in a strange manner then patted my arm. “I must speak to the ferryman here, Lilias.” He gestured to the man holding on to the mooring rope. “I shall be with you presently.” He nodded at the boatman and the young lad at the oars, then the boat left the reeds, the boy rowing fast.
“Wait! My husband has yet to board!” I cried. I did not like large bodies of water at the best of times, and so being alone in a boat without Alexander made me nervous.
“I said I shall be with you soon, Lilias,” he shouted from the shore. “I must deal with the servants and the luggage.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, wrapping my shawl around my shoulders and looking straight ahead at the castle, some mile or so over the black water. Though in truth I did not really see. Presumably the boat would be met by the Earl and Countess; how would it look 103 when I had to explain that my husband would be along later? I shook my head and a feeling of foreboding swept across me as I stared at the tall grey castle on the tiny green-fringed island, looming clearly out of the mist. I sat rigid and still, terrified that if I moved even one inch the boat would capsize.
When the boat moored on the grassy bank, there was no arrival party nor indeed anyone there apart from a shifty-looking servant who kept sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve.
“Here, give me your hand, My Lady,” he said, grabbing me and pulling me out of the boat onto the grass. I turned around towards the shore but could not see Alexander, nor indeed another boat.
“When shall my husband join me here?” I asked, looking up at the bleak castle walls.
He shrugged and pointed to a short doorway in the thick wall. He pushed the door open then turned immediately right to climb the stairs. I had no choice but to follow him, climbing up to the second floor at the top of the ramparts.
He twisted around and yanked a weighty ring of iron keys from his belt. He selected a key and pushed it into the heavy wooden door in front of us.
“Is this part of the castle the main dwelling or simply where we are to sleep?”
He gave me a strange look but said nothing. Then he gave me a little nudge towards the door so he was standing right beside me; he did not smell good. He pointed down over the walls towards a large courtyard.
“Over there is the Tower House, that’s the Great Hall and beyond there’s the outer courtyard with gardens. But here,” he gestured inside the door, “is the Glassin Tower. And this is where you’ll be staying.”
“Why is everything in darkness?”
Not answering my question, he shoved me inside, as if I were 104 an animal, and as I stood stock still at the entrance, I saw him lock the key from inside. My heart was beating fast; there was something not right. I did not understand what was happening.
“What are you doing? Where’s my husband? Where is the Earl and his Lady?”
He ignored me and went over to the fireplace where a fire was burning. He poked it with an iron poker then tossed on another log. “There’s water in the pitcher there. I will be back with your bag later.”
He unlocked the door and slipped out, and I heard the key turn from outside.
I moved over to the bed and sat down. I felt weak and confused. Surely there was some mistake. What was I doing here all alone? Why was Alexander not here? And why was I locked in? I looked around this dingy room: there was a bed and a stool and a small table with the water jug. Apart from that, nothing. There was no armoire to hang my clothes, nor any mirror.
I rushed towards the tiny unglazed window, which was high up in the thick stone wall. I pushed a stool under it, stepped up then peered out so that I could see the loch all around and the shore. The mist had now cleared and there was a faint January light, so I could now see the reeds where we had left earlier. I was able to make out the other little rowing boat, loaded with, I thought, luggage – but when I looked all around for the servants and my husband, I realised there was no one there.