Lammas Read Online Free Page A

that,’ Henry took a pat of butter on his knife, and smeared in on the bread, ‘and wondered what he meant. What is buttock-mail? Is it like a flankart, armour for the arse?’
    â€˜It is the penalty you pay for the sin of fornication, as no doubt you ken,’ Robert answered grimly. ‘The wages of sin. But that is futling in respect of the cost to you, if you are found out. Your father will disown you, and the college too. It will be the ruin of you, and me as well, no doubt. I make no mention of the lass, for her welfare must fall to your conscience, as yours does to mine.’
    Henry had not looked for, and had not expected, so severe a lecture on the first day of his holiday, and Robert was encouraged when he looked a bit abashed. Less so, when he said, ‘Oh, but we are careful.’
    â€˜Careful not to sin, or that you are not caught?’
    Henry answered vaguely, ‘Aye, for certain, that.’
    â€˜To that end,’ Robert said, ‘come back here by nine. I will not have you prey to the evils of the night. Otherwise, you have my blessing and my trust.’
    â€˜I thank you for your kindness, sir. I will keep your trust,’ Henry said.
    He showed he had a gentle heart, and Robert Black was pleased, for he believed that with a steady hand, Henry would be set upon a constant path, naturally inclined to follow what was right. The father was at fault. Savage yet indulgent, both severe and lax, he had set a course designed to ruin the boy.
    Henry, nothing daunted, went to meet his lass. His converse with her secret place was fairly well advanced, a fluency which he thought wise to hide from Robert Black. But he supposed that Robert meant they should not leave the crowd.
    Dozens of young men were gathered in the market place, looking for employment from the factors and the farmers who judged them on experience, provenance and strength. Bargains were made quickly, and were sealed with drink, before the chosen ones took their pick themselves of the giggling lassies waiting in the ranks. Henry found the company, of country lads and lasses let loose from their bounds, a rough and rowdy one. He looked for Mary through the crowd, and found her with her baskets by the butter tron. Beside her was a woman who was full with child, and a little boy with a filthy face. Mary caught his eye, and left the woman’s side, taking up the small boy by the hand. Henry sensed a straining in her smile. Perhaps she felt, like him, uneasy at the herd. She did not offer up a kiss. Instead she whispered to him, ‘What have ye got on?’
    â€˜Do you like it?’ Henry said. Mary had not seen him out of scholar’s weeds. He had dressed that morning in a dark green hunting coat his father had sent up. It was made of fair fine cloth, and cut to flatter him, with a trail of ivy quilted in the sleeve. Lord Balfour had devoted far more thought to choosing it than Henry had that morning when he put it on. The king would be at Falkland for the summer months, and Henry might be called upon to join him at the hunt. The colour of the coat would show off his dark looks, with no thread of gold to cause the king offence. Then Henry might look forward to a place at court. They were close in age.
    Though Henry was aware of his father’s hopes, he did not care for them. He lived for the day, and took chance where it came. The moment was the fair, and he wore the coat because the cut allowed him to move freely with his bow. He thought it good but plain. It perplexed him to find Mary fingering the cuff, tracing with her fingers through the fine relief, as though she had not come across such delicate embroidery. ‘It’s awfy fine,’ she answered him, uncertainly.
    â€˜Fine it is,’ he said. ‘But who is this?’ He gestured to the bairn, a squat, stolid child, who stared back, unsmiling.
    â€˜This is wee Jock, my sister’s boy. Big Jock is my daddie,’ Mary said.
    The