"A storm is needed to clear the air," he replied; "then the rose may bloom once more."
With that the two leapt up and followed me, and when they caught me up they passed another word or two for certainty, and then spoke freely enough. Then I learnt that I had met with none other than De Brezè himself and his squire Varennes, who had come back to seek their lost Queen, leaving their few followers in some nook of the hills to wait their return.
What their joy was when they heard all that I had to tell them, and how they met the Queen, is beyond my writing; but I had heavy news for poor Annot, which filled my thoughts now that the care of the Queen seemed to be shifted from my shoulders for a little.
She bore them very bravely, having made up her mind for the worst, and she told me that now she would bide with the Queen as long as she had need of her. I had promised the same to De Brezè, for I could guide the flight across the moors well, and so I was content, for I should be at hand to help Annot if need was, while doubtless the Queen would find her some place in a great house in Scotland, were she asked.
Now Varennes went to his men presently and all was planned well, so that in the grey of the next morning we rode safely northwards, joining presently the Duke of Exeter, and some other nobles with their men, thus making a strong party against any attack. And even as I thought that all was well, there rose one shadow to dim my content, though I hardly knew why.
Across the moor rode toward us one man, who hastened to put a stretch of boggy land between us and him before he met us, and that was natural enough in that place and time, so that we paid no heed to him. But, as we passed nearer, I knew him, and it was Cork himself; and I thought, as he reined up and stared after us, that he recognised the Queen as his captive, and that what he had found in the waggon had told him whom he had lost. I said nothing, however, for we had no time to waste in chasing him, and I could not see what harm he could do, since, ride as hard as he might, he could not bring any force on us in time to stay our passing the border. Yet, as I say, he brought me a feeling as of ill omen, and I was uneasy until we could see him no longer. I thought that he lingered as if watching us, though indeed one might have wondered if any man did not do so.
Now our journey was safe and unhindered, and well was I thanked for my guidance. I thought that I should be dismissed when we reached Scotland, but the Queen herself asked me if I would not remain in her service, taking my place as a Barvill should among her gentlemen-at-arms, for she would prove that she was not ungrateful for what I had done for her and the prince. And one may suppose that I gladly did so, the more willingly that I should be near Annot, if the truth is told.
Thus, for good or ill, my fortunes were cast in with Margaret of Anjou, and I thought that my troubles were over.
Maybe one may say that they were, for the trouble to come yet was the Queen's, and though I had part in it, that is a different matter to being an outlaw on one's own account. Outlaw, as it were, in truth our poor mistress was yet, but in sharing her distress was truest honour.
For no sooner were we over the border than we learnt that all that the Queen could hope for was to be unnoticed at the most. The surrender of Berwick, that should have made Scotland her lasting friend, had been forgotten in new treaties made with York, and she was warned that she might even be given up to him. So we rode westward along the border until we came to Kirkcudbright, where the Queen had been in hiding before, and there bided in poor lodgings enough as nothing more than a noble Lancastrian lady with her household. None knew her to be the Queen, but even were she to be recognised, we supposed that the Scots king would hear no more than he knew already of her whereabouts.