Alys, like everyone else, would find out the contents soon enough. “Thank you.” She could sense Alys’s curiosity about the earl’s letter, about what was taking them to Dunoon Castle so suddenly, but she wasn’t ready to alleviate it. Resisting the urge to snatch it back, Lizzie took it casually and tucked it safely in her skirts. Alys reached down and picked up the letter that had fallen to the ground with the tumult. Perhaps that was why Lizzie enjoyed her company so much. “At least we’re dry,” Alys pointed out, always one to see the positive side of a situation. Taking the carriage at all was probably a mistake.” They would have to switch to horses when they passed Stirlingshire, crossed into the Highland divide, and the roads narrowed-or, she should say, became more narrow, as they were barely wide enough for a carriage even in this part of the Lowlands.
But if the roads do not improve, we’ll be a heap of broken bones and bruises before we arrive.” “Aye, my lady,” Alys replied, adjusting herself back on the velvet cushion. She glanced at Alys, who’d suffered a similar fate.
“Ouch,” she moaned, rubbing her arm once she was able to right herself. Hoping to divert her questions, Lizzie said, “I don’t know how you can sew with all this bumping-”īut her words were cut off when, as if to make her point, her bottom rose off the seat for a long beat and then came down with a hard slam that rattled her teeth, as her shoulder careened into the wood-paneled wall of the carriage. Lizzie glanced across the carriage and caught the furtive gaze of her maidservant, Alys, but the other woman quickly shifted her eyes back to her embroidery, feigning a concentration belied by the ill-formed stitches.Īlys was worried about her, though trying not to show it. Recent rain had made the already rough road to the Highlands treacherous, but if they continued like this, it would take a week to reach Dunoon Castle. The carriage bounced along the uneven road, moving at a painstakingly slow pace. No matter how many times she read the letter, it did not change the words. But little have we of the past, As up the dell we ramble, To figure, floating on the blast, Thy banners, Castle Campbell! “Castle Campbell,” by William Gibson Near Castle Campbell, Clackmannanshire, June 1608Įlizabeth Campbell lowered the creased piece of parchment into her lap and looked out the small window, watching the hulking shadow of Castle Campbell fade into the distance with a heavy heart. O Castle Gloom! thy dark defile Throngs not with Scottish story On other towers, O proud Argyle Sits crowned thine ancient glory.
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