"Yes; son of that Duke Murdoch, who, with his second son, and Duncan, earl of Lennox, was foully butchered at the Lady's Rock, before the castle gates of Stirling. Vengeance has a long and bitter memory! and by that extrajudicial murder, for such I will maintain it to be in the face of Europe, I have been since boyhood an exile, a wanderer, and now, when little more than thirty years of age, my hair is greyer than my poor old father's was, when his venerable head rolled in the sand beneath the doomster's axe." Gray bowed low, for respect to the royal blood was strongly graven then in the hearts of the Scots, in none more than his, and Albany, though exiled and outlawed, in consequence of the malpractices of his father (who had been regent during the detention of James I. in England), was the cousin of King James II. "And _you_, sir?" asked Albany, loftily. "I am your grace's most humble servant," replied Gray pausing, as he dreaded to tell his name before Achanna, lest it might reveal to the Douglases his royal mission, and blight his hope of meeting Murielle. "But your name, sir," said the duke, with growing displeasure; "your name?" "Yes," added Achanna, imitating him, "we must have your name." "I am the laird of Luaig," replied Gray, with ready wit, taking the name of a little obscure loch, which lies in a narrow glen near his father's castle of Foulis. CHAPTER XXX. BOLD SCHEMES. Many have ruined their fortunes; many have escaped ruin by want of fortune. To obtain it the great have become little, and the little great.--ZIMMERMAN. "Luaig, laird of Luaig," said Albany, ponderingly; "I do not recognize the name." "Lairds are plenty as heather hills in the far north country," said Achanna, sneeringly. "And I have been long enough in France and elsewhere to forget even my mother tongue, as well as my dear mother's face; yet she was Isabel of Lennox," said Albany, sadly; "but lairds in the north are plenty, I know." "And poor as plenty," added Achanna. "True, sir," said Gray, "and hence my mission here in Flanders." "How; I was just about to inquire," observed the duke; "seek you knight's service?" "Yes; fortune has made me a free lance." "And ready to follow any banner?" "Yes; provided it find me in food, horse, and armour." "Then follow _me_," said Albany, "and ere long, my friend, I may find work for your sword at home." "At _home_; do you mean in Scotland?" "Aye, in Scotland; how now, Achanna, why the devil dost twitch my sleeve?" "As a warning that your grace should be wary." "Here thought and speech are free. True, we have not eaten a peck of salt with our new friend, the laird of Luaig, but at this distance from that bloody rock which lies before Stirling gate, we may trust him nevertheless," said the reckless Albany, draining his wine cup at a draught; "wilt follow me, Luaig--is it a bargain?" he added, holding out his hand. "But whither goes your grace?"