Amid all this court intrigue and sea of plotting, but aloof from it, stood the Duke of Rothesay, conversing with his friend and follower, the princely heir of Crawford. He saw only Margaret, whom he loved with all the heedless ardour of a boy, and was quite oblivious of the many fair ones, possessing no ordinary amount of charms, who were clustered around the Duchess of Montrose; and there were not a few who whispered into each other's pretty ears many a compliment on Rothesay's handsome figure and face. On this morning he was dressed almost entirely in white satin, slashed with blue and edged with gold. Margaret Drummond was attired in the same colours, which so well became her fair complexion and blonde hair. In the presence of the king, though he seldom addressed her, she always felt a dread, as of one against whom she had committed a wrong in becoming the wife of his son. She was ever apprehensive that his calm, inquiring eye might read her secret. She was pale as marble; and from time to time applied to her little pink nostrils a gold pomander ball, which was filled with scented paste, and such as were then used before the introduction of pouncet boxes. This had been one of Rothesay's earliest love-gifts to her. Kyneff and Sauchie had been closely watching Rothesay and their beautiful victim, but found themselves completely at fault and unable to discover any glances, signs, or tokens of intelligence passing between them; and Kyneff, who, although he could be politic and wary at times, was generally coarse, reckless, and bold, resolved to probe the matter at once, and dared to do so in the following manner:-- "I have a boon to beg of your highness this morning," said he, in his easiest and most familiar tone. "A boon--thou?" asked the prince, with the coldness of instinctive distrust. "Well, Sir Patrick?" "I have taken the liberty of addressing your highness on the dearest secret of my heart," said he in a low voice, and twirling his mustachios, while he drew the prince aside, and with his stealthy eyes bestowed a covert glance on Sir James Shaw; "I crave your influence with one of your most favoured courtiers--for--for--" "For what--do not be _bashful_, Sir Patrick--his purse?" "Nay, his daughter's hand." "I crave in turn to be excused, for I would be exceedingly loth to assist a fowler so deadly as thee in meshing a poor little dove." "But I am one of the most faithful servants of your highness and of the king." "Well--and you are in love?" "Prince, I have just had the honour of saying so." "But with whom, Sir Patrick?" "A woman--" "Of course, I took that for granted. Well; and this woman--" "Is, beyond all compare, most beautiful!" "Pshaw! Sir Patrick, money-bags were more to thy purpose. Is she rich?" "Yea--as a queen in charms." "'Twere better in crowns for thee. But who is she for whom I am to act a proxy lover?"