nsinuation. He was allowed free hands
and his own horse, which was perhaps well for the Englishmen, for Ringan
Raefoot, running by his stirrup, showed him a long knife, and said with
a grin--

'Ready for the first who daurs to lay hands on the Master! Gin I could
have come up in time, the loon had never risen from the ground.'

George endeavoured in vain to represent how much worse this would have
made their condition.

Sir Patrick, joining the ladies, informed them of the necessity of
turning aside to Fotheringay, which he had done not very willingly,
being ignorant of the character of the Duke of York, except as one of
the war party against France and Scotland, whereas the Beauforts were
for peace. As a vigorous governor of Normandy, he had not commended
him self to one whose sympathies were French. Lady Drummond, however,
remembered that his wife, Cicely Nevil, the Rose of Raby, was younger
sister to that Ralf Nevil who had married the friend of her youth, Alice
Montagu, now Countess of Salisbury in her own right.

Sir Patrick did not let Jean escape a rebuke.

'So, lady, you see what perils to brave men you maids can cause by a
little heedlessness.'

'I never asked Geordie to put his finger in,' returned Jean saucily.
'I could have brought off Skywing for myself without such a clamjamfrie
after me.'

But Eleanor and Annis agreed that it was as good as a ballad, and ought
to be sung in one, only Jean would have to figure as the 'dour lassie.'
For she continued to aver, by turns, that Geordie need never have
meddled, and that of course it was his bounden duty to stand by his
King's sister, and that she owed him no thanks. If he were hanged for it
he had run his craig into the noose.

So she tossed her proud head, and toyed with her falcon, as all rode on
their way to Fotheringay, with Geordie in the midst of the rangers.

It was so many years since there had been serious war in England,
that the castles of the interior were far less of fortresses than of
magnificent abodes for the baronage, who had just then attained their
fullest splendour. It may be observed that the Wars of the Roses were
for the most part fought out in battles, not by sieges. Thus Fotheringay
had spread out into a huge pile, which crowned the hill above, with a
strong inner court and lofty donjon tower indeed, and with mighty
walls, but with buildings for retainers all round, reaching down to
the beautiful newly-built octagon-towered ch