Chapter 14

T he minute Giff left the cabin, Sidony remembered how she had fastened her thoughts on him the previous day to shut out de Gredin’s list of horrible methods Fife might use to question her. Picturing Giff then had soothed her fears. Picturing him now as he would be by the end of the day, handing her over to some stern bishop who as likely as not lived in Fife’s pocket, made her want to shake him.

The thought of shaking a man a foot taller and many pounds heavier than she was made her smile. Then, as she tried putting weight on her feet again, she wondered how one man could stir so many contradictory feelings in her. Most people she knew seemed relatively uncomplicated, but she did not know from one minute to the next what to make of Giff MacLennan.

He had seen nothing amiss in her ramble through the abbey woods until she had mentioned Hugo. Even then, he had seemed only amused.

He had kissed her, too, three times. The first he had stolen, the others . . .

“Faith, the man is by nature a thief!” She was standing now with no ill effects save some slight dizziness from the motion of the ship added to a lingering sense of confinement in the dimly lighted cabin and a sad lack of sustenance.

Surely, though, he would not expect her to eat alone in the cabin.

Making her way carefully to the door, she opened it and stepped outside.

The helmsman’s position was to her right, and oarsmen, two to an oar, rowed rhythmically despite a billowing sail larger than any she had seen before. In the Isles, a galley that carried cargo was called a birlinn, but this was unlike any birlinn she had seen. Not only was the Serpent longer, and wider astern, but its gunwales were stepped, higher at stem and stern than amidships—and it boasted two cabins.

The sky looked threatening, darkening under flying layers of clouds. The air felt chilly and damp but was still much fresher than the stuffy cabin.

She saw that they were in the narrowest part of the firth, and seeing an island ahead, she was certain from its high cliffs and the old stone priory atop them that it must be the Isle of May. They were entering the outermost part of the firth.

Seeing Giff coming toward her along the central plank, or gangway, running fore to aft atop the benches, she pulled the door shut behind her and braced herself.

His expression was nearly as threatening as the weather, for his eyes looked stormy, his irises all black, as he stepped down and said, “I told you to stay inside.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, looking away with a mixed sense of shock and delight that once again she’d actually said what she was thinking. “I’ve been crated up too long and I must breathe. No man on this ship is going to harm me unless . . .” She paused, then looked right at him. “Do you fear you cannot control them, sir?”

“Nay, lass, I don’t fear that,” Giff said. Her sober expression as she had asked the question stirred his sense of humor, but he suppressed it, not wanting her to think he laughed at her. To be sure, she was a sight. Her green riding dress was rumpled and streaked with dust. Her face bore dusty streaks, too, and he suspected some were the result of tears. For that alone he looked forward to bringing de Gredin to account.

“If you insist on staying outside, we’ll sit on that bench yonder,” he said, indicating the aft corner opposite the helmsman’s post. “Do not suppose you can always manage me so easily, though,” he warned. “Remember that I am master of this ship, and a ship’s master wields the powers of life and death over all aboard. I will not tolerate insubordination from you any more than from one of my crew.”

“I don’t think I am insubordinate,” she said. “I’m just hungry.”

“Well, I’ve got rolls and salted beef, so come now and sit.”

He eyed the men. Despite the strong wind, he had set them two to an oar, to reach open water as quickly as possible. Then, the oarsmen could leave the work to the sail. Those not rowing awaited their next turn by resting in the spaces between benches, known as their “rooms,” or pacing to stretch cramped legs or doing chores, such as picking old ropes apart to mix with tar for oakum to caulk the ship’s seams.

Two men talked near the forecastle, and Hob Grant stood atop it, clinging to the stempost and the backstay as he watched the water ahead. None looked Giff’s way, but he knew that not one man had missed seeing him walk there with her.

Maxwell, having taken the helmsman’s post, watched the rolling seas ahead.

“Where’s Jake?” Giff asked him.

Maxwell nodded toward the stempost, and Giff saw him kneeling in the “room” of the steerboard-bow oarsmen, near the gangway, with his arms folded on the bench and his chin resting on them. The men seemed content with him there, but if they were not, Giff doubted Jake would notice, because he was intently watching Sidony. Perhaps sensing Giff’s gaze, the lad looked at him, and his face reddened.

Giff motioned to him with an index finger.

With visible reluctance, Jake climbed onto the gangway and, easily matching his stride to the ship’s motion, made his way toward them.

Giff said quietly to Sidony, “You have that lad to thank for your release, my lady. He feared you were a boggart.”

“I must have terrified him,” she said. “But I’m glad someone heard me.”

“You might thank him for the pail, too,” Giff said with a chuckle.

She flushed but said stoutly, “Laugh all you want, sir. If he is Jake o’ the Pail, I am even more grateful to him.”

“Jake, this is the lady Sidony Macleod,” Giff said when Jake reached them.

Scarcely waiting until he had swept off his cap and made a jerky little bow to her, Jake said, “How’d ye get in that wee hold, me lady?”

“A bad man put me there,” she said, smiling. “Sir Giffard tells me that you are the one I have to thank for hearing me pound on the wall.”

“I heard, but the noise fair shoogled up me internals, I can tell ye! I thought boggarts had come t’ carry us all off. Did ye no’ bring a comb wi’ ye, me lady?”

Clapping a hand to her hair, she looked at her skirt, then at Giff, clearly not having given thought to her appearance until that moment. “Mercy! How bad is it?”

“Ye look a rare mess, me lady,” Jake said without hesitation. “Ye’ve a gey fine bruise on your gizz, too. How’d ye get that?”

“The same bad man hit me,” she answered, glancing at Giff.

Having guessed the bruise was de Gredin’s doing, making yet another score to settle with the man, he said evenly, “You’re as beautiful as ever, lass, albeit quite the first woman I’ve ever met who did not think first and always of how she looks.”

She grimaced.

“Nay, then,” Jake protested. “She canna look so weel as she would wi’ her hair combed proper and them muddy streaks washed off her gizz. There’ll be a wee basin in the master’s cabin, me lady, and if ye dinna ha’ a comb, ye can use mine.”

“Thank you, Jake,” she said with her beautiful smile. “You are very kind.”

Giff put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I, too, owe you thanks for your sharp ears, Jake. You have more than repaid your debt to me.”

Jake’s eyes grew round. “I dinna ha’ to pay ye back?”

“You have done us both a great service,” Giff said. Then, sternly, he added, “But don’t ever let me catch you stealing again, for you won’t just have to make restitution next time. I’ll give you a good hiding, as well. Do you understand me?”

“Aye, sir, and me da’ said I’d no’ ha’ me sorrows to seek ’cause he’d give me a rare skelping, too,” the boy said soberly. “I’ll no’ take what isna mine again.”

He reached inside his jacket and felt around, producing a broken comb of ordinary bone and handing it to Sidony with another of his jerky bows.

Giff said, “You’ve no need to—”

“Thank you, Jake,” Sidony said, accepting the comb with another smile. “I have not one thing of my own that I am not wearing, so I am doubly grateful to you.”

“Ye’re right welcome,” the boy said. Then looking at Giff, he said, “D’ye swear I’ll no’ ha’ to pay ye back yon cat-witted shilling?”

“Are you calling me a cat-wit?”

“Nay, I’m no’ so daft. But to give the meatman a whole shilling were daft.”

A slender, warm hand on Giff’s forearm changed the words about to leave his tongue to a simple, “I do swear it, Jake.” But then he turned to Sidony and said, “I was just going to suggest that as Fife’s people brought at least some of his personal gear aboard, we may find a comb or brush amongst them.”

She tossed her head. “I’d not let a comb or brush belonging to that awful man touch me. Jake’s comb will serve me very well.”

The lad beamed, and Giff said, “Take yourself off now, Jake. Don’t annoy the oarsmen, and tell the men tending the sail that I say they have made the luff too taut and must ease it a bit.”

“Aye, sir,” Jake said, grinning and running to obey.

“How does he run like that on that narrow plank?” Sidony asked. “I have all I can do just to stand up without grabbing hold of something to support me.”

“Jake has lived most of his life on a boat,” Giff said, watching as one man at the mast signed to another to help him increase the forward curve of the sail. “I’d wager he has to make greater adjustment to lack of motion underfoot when he’s on land. You’ll grow accustomed to the motion, lass. That is, you would if you were to stay aboard her long enough,” he amended.

Making no response, she tried to smooth her skirt, then said casually a moment later, “How will you know where we are after we leave the firth behind?”

“Do you fear I’ll get lost?” he asked, smiling.

Her expression remained serious. “No, of course not. I told you, I have sailed before, and although in most parts of the Isles one can see the mainland or another island, I have seen shores disappear, especially in dense fog. But we always arrived safely at our destination. I just wondered how sailors do that.”

Forcing himself to think for the first time in years about how he did things that now seemed instinctive, he said, “We use a compass, of course, but we also observe the color of the sky and the courses of the sun, moon, or stars. When we can see a shoreline, we note identifiable points. One uses the glass to heed passing hours, too, to calculate distance. And one learns to mark the movements of the sea.”

She had put a hand to her hair, trying to smooth it, but she paused to stare at him. “Sakes, what does watching the sea’s movement accomplish, other than to note if it is rough or calm?”

“A good sailor observes many things. For example, most of the time, the waves all roll the same direction. A sailor can judge his course by them as long as he pays close heed to any changes in their nature. The closer one gets to shore, the more likely one is to encounter crosscurrents and even some that run counter to the incoming swells. Such things can give a man timely warning of hazards.”

“But surely, close to shore, there are many dangers that the waves conceal.”

“There are, indeed, and to learn of them, most captains carry a rutter, wherein they note details they’ve learned from experience or from others about every mile of coastline along their routes. They note landmarks, and they measure time, distance, tides, direction, and depth, to name just a few things.”

“Do you carry such a rutter?”

“I do on my own ship, and Maxwell has one for our present route, because Fife planned to travel this same way. I can read the waters gey well, too, lass,” he added to reassure her. “Sithee, I grew up sailing not just on the sea and sounds near Kintail but on sea-lochs, where conditions of wind and tide are particularly treacherous. Doubtless, you have been on Loch Hourn, just south of Glenelg.”

“Aye, sure,” she said.

“Its steep-sided glen funnels wind with fearful ferocity in all directions. Sakes, there, the wind can blow hard from behind one minute and broadside or head-on the next. At Dunclathy, we sailed cobles on Loch Earn, which is much the same. Oars help, but a good captain learns to expect such shifts and to read the waves as they change. Such skills prove especially useful in fog, helping one follow the water’s motions to shore and beach civilly on sand or shingle without hitting rocks.”

As he’d talked, she glanced several times at the oarsmen, fidgeting with her skirt or fussing with her hair, and Giff realized that thanks to Jake’s guileless remarks, her newfound self-consciousness was distracting her from their conversation.

He said gently, “You must want to go back inside, lass. Why do you not simply say so? Sakes, you’re even shivering!”

She flushed, met his gaze, and said ruefully, “I did not want to give you the satisfaction of telling me that I ought to have obeyed you in the first place.”

He chuckled as he got up and offered a hand. When she placed hers in it, he noted how well it fit there. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “We’ll see what my lord Fife has gifted us by way of combs and clothing and such.”

Sidony did her best to untangle her hair with Jake’s broken-toothed comb while Giff searched through the cubbies and kists that contained what gear the Earl of Fife’s men had stowed in the master’s cabin. He unearthed several fine shirts that he said cheerfully would augment his wardrobe as well as hers, a silver comb and brush—both of which she rejected disdainfully—a clothes brush, two black doublets, one edged with silver lace, and four pairs of black silk trunk hose, and a pair of boots too small for him and way too large for her that he said Maxwell might like.

“I don’t want to wear his clothes,” she said.

“You’ll not have to,” he said. “You will be warm and dry inside the bishop’s palace by sundown. I’ve found a nice, thick wool cloak in this kist, though, that will serve you well if it grows much colder before then.”

“I don’t want—”

“See here, lass, a comb is one thing,” he interjected, looking stern. “But if you think I’ll let you freeze from pride rather than be sensibly warm, think again.”

Noting that he had left the door open so that it banged against the wall with the motion of the ship, she moved to shut it.

“Let it be,” he said. “I don’t want more scandal than we can avoid. Except for Jake, his father, and one other, they’re all Sinclair men, but I’d not be surprised to learn that even some of them suspect I somehow spirited you aboard myself.”

“But how could that be?”

“’Tis enough for them that I’ve a reputation for acting on impulse and accomplishing the impossible,” he said. “So whilst you remain aboard, we’ll avoid giving them cause to imagine that we might be doing anything improper.”

Sidony left the door alone and tried to ignore its thumps and bangs as the boat rose and fell. She could do nothing about her skirt, bodice, or riding doublet; and her hair was as tidy as she could make it without a veil or caul, but she could certainly wash her face and hands and even a bit more of herself after Giff left.

“Jake mentioned a basin, sir. Have you fresh water aboard other than for drinking, and perhaps a towel?”

“Use what water you need. We can collect more at St. Andrews if we need it. As to a towel and mayhap some soap . . .”

He found both in the washstand cunningly attached to the wall opposite the shelf beds, just beyond the trapdoor that had confined her below.

“I must go now to talk to Captain Maxwell,” he said then, explaining that although Maxwell had been Fife’s captain of the Serpent, he had agreed to remain with them and to share his knowledge of both the ship and the coastal waters.

“Do you trust him?” she asked as he began to pull the door to behind him.

Pausing, he said, “I think so. He seems to care more for the ship than for any loyalty he has toward Fife. He may prove disloyal to me, too, in the end, but I need his knowledge of this boat and these waters, and I doubt he’ll risk the lad’s safety.”

She nodded, understanding that it would do neither the captain nor his son any good to fall into Fife’s clutches after losing the ship to Giff. She understood Giff’s need, too, and also that expediency ruled such men more often than compassion did.

However, stealing Fife’s captain as well as his ship was sure to infuriate the earl even more, and increase his thirst for revenge. She suspected that such certainty would delight and exhilarate the man who had achieved the feat. But she wondered if such emotions might not cloud his judgment of Captain Maxwell’s reliability. With these thoughts for company, she returned to the task of tidying herself.

Despite Fife’s fury at the loss of his ship, a more primitive instinct and bitter memory stirred when de Gredin blandly declared that he had two ships in the harbor.

“What do you mean two longships ?” Fife demanded. “You first promised me a flotilla of well-armed papal ships. Then you promised six or more, not two!”

“They are merely the first two,” de Gredin replied calmly. “Their speed is the very reason they are already here. I expect the others will be along shortly, but it is as well that the two are here now, is it not, because we can follow the Serpent at once. Mayhap, if we act swiftly, we can even get ahead of them and lie in wait.”

“Do you expect me to climb into a coble this minute and just sail off with you?” Fife asked, wishing he had a navy of his own. “In troth, I do not trust you enough to do any such thing, no matter how badly I want to catch MacLennan.”

“Nor would I expect you to, my lord. You will want your own well-trusted men to attend you. We have sufficient time for you to collect them and any personal gear, as well, whilst I give orders to prepare the ships for sailing and arrange to leave word for those others to follow.”

“Take care you do not say too much,” Fife warned. “The men aboard those ships need know nothing about our purpose. They must simply follow orders.”

“They’ll obey us,” de Gredin said. “In any case, we don’t know exactly what MacLennan is transporting. But whatever it is, they’ve had no time since Isabella traveled to Edinburgh to move it from Roslin, so they must have done that earlier.”

“Aye, sure they did,” Fife said. “We ought to have examined every wool cart in Scotland, although I haven’t a notion how we could have managed such a feat at this time of year. And we did examine every cart or wagon that left Roslin Castle.”

“We thought we did,” de Gredin said.

“Faugh,” Fife said rudely. “You seek a vast treasure, sir, one you yourself have said filled any number of ships. If, as we believe, the Sinclairs concealed it in Roslin Castle or the gorge, it would take time and many journeys to move it all.”

“That only means that whatever they’re moving now is but a portion of it. We’ve no notion when, or even if, they moved the rest. Waldron was sure they had moved some of it, though, and ’tis clear that they are moving something now. If we can follow them, we may learn much more from where they lead us.”

“We know they hid something last year, and we came close to learning where,” Fife said, glowering to remind him whose fault it was that they had failed.

“That is true,” de Gredin admitted without remorse. “But we had only your own belief then, as we do now, that what they guarded was part of the treasure.”

Certain, thanks to his own informants, that as far as Scotland was concerned what he sought was the most valuable, most significant item the Templars held, but unwilling to say so to de Gredin, Fife said with a shrug, “If it was not part of the treasure, why keep it so close to home till now or act as they have been acting?”

“As to that, my lord, we’ll ask them when we catch them. Might one suggest that a royal banner for our ship may prove useful at some time or other?”

Fife nodded, resenting de Gredin’s assumption that he’d go but deciding he’d have to risk it or let him go after MacLennan alone, a quite unacceptable alternative. He preferred taking time to think carefully, to plot the possibilities and risks, before making decisions. But he had no time, and for that matter, he had little choice if he wanted either to lay hands on the Stone of Destiny or recover his splendid Serpent .

They had not spoken of the lady Sidony, but there was little need. If she was aboard the Serpent , they could do nothing to keep MacLennan from finding her.

Fortunately, the only villain she could name was de Gredin.

Fife decided that such an accusation might well serve his own purpose later better than any more devious plan. He was growing tired of the chevalier.

Although Giff had been to the town of St. Andrews only twice before, he easily recognized the outline of its twin cathedral spires and bishop’s palace atop the jutting sea cliff that formed the south tip of the bay. As darkness fell, lights glowed in a wing of the palace and began to dot the shore of the harbor below.

The lass had just come back outside, clearly having slept or otherwise occupied herself in the tiny cabin for the past hours. Seeing her about to step onto the gangway, he strode to meet her and suggested she sit where they had before.

Her eyes widened, telling him that his tone had been brusquer than he had intended, but a recent conversation with Maxwell still disturbed him.

“I ken fine that ye told our Jake to keep his mouth shut about the lass and how ye found her, sir,” Maxwell had said, grimacing. “Sage advice, I thought, but he’s just told me some o’ the lads ha’ been talking amongst themselves.”

His temper stirred. “Have they, indeed?”

“Aye, but ye canna blame them,” Maxwell said. “Nae man amongst them could ha’ any notion she came out o’ a hole in the floor. Sithee, Jake said nowt when ye found her, because he said ye’d told him straightaway to keep mum.”

“That was a mistake,” Giff admitted. “But they must know I haven’t been with her. You and Jake slept in that cabin last night. Did the lad say aught of that?”

“He’d nae cause, knowing nowt o’ what they’d think, but he doesna like their talk, so I thought I’d tell ye afore he puts a foot wrong. Ye’ll be setting her ashore here, in any event, will ye no? The bishop will see her safe to her kinfolk.”

Although that had been his plan, and although he’d told Maxwell that it was, Giff had stiffened at hearing it on the other man’s lips. As he looked into her widened eyes now, he wondered why the plan had suddenly felt wrong. He had no reason to distrust Maxwell yet, certainly not where her welfare was concerned.

Fife was the one he distrusted, and although the town did lie within the earl’s domain, St. Andrews was the ecclesiastical capital of Scotland. Its good citizens looked more to the Kirk for governance than to Fife or the King of Scots. But even so, Fife’s known political skill made it likely that he’d cultivated strong allies there, perhaps even the bishop. If the bishop mentioned that she was in St. Andrews . . .

She had turned to walk silently beside him to the bench where they had sat earlier and he noted that she had nearly gained her sea legs. She still looked unsteady, but he made no attempt to touch her or to speak to her.

Her silence made him feel uncomfortable, though, and even a bit guilty.

When they reached the bench, he gently touched her arm and said quietly, “I did not mean to speak so sharply to you, lass. I hope you are not vexed.”

“No, sir. Is that St. Andrews yonder?” Her voice lacked its usual spirit.

“It is,” he said. “Those tall spires are its famous cathedral.”

“Will you take me ashore yourself?”

“Of course, but not until I make sure the bishop is in residence and willing to undertake the responsibility for returning you safely to Edinburgh.”

“I am sure that is the best plan.”

Her still, lifeless voice told him what she really thought but likewise stiffened his resolve. He had a duty to keep her safe, and he could not be sure of doing so on any ship, certainly not one hunted by Fife and carrying such precious cargo.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Doubtless the bishop will feed me. Do you think Fife is following us yet?”

“Perhaps not yet,” he said. “But, sithee, he has no other ship of his own.”

“He is powerful, though,” she said. “He could make someone else bring him here, and he would soon discover that his ship had put into the harbor here.”

“Do you fear for the bishop’s safety if he aids you, or for your own if I leave you?” he asked, amused at the obvious tactic despite his own lingering concern.

Stiffly, clearly annoyed now, she said, “I doubt even Fife would dare to harm the Bishop of St. Andrews. But what will you tell the bishop about me?”

“Sakes, I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

“Would it not be better to plan first what to say? You can hardly tell him the truth, that after I was hidden aboard Fife’s boat you stole it and found me.”

“I shan’t mention the Earl of Fife or his boat,” he said coolly.

“The Serpent is a distinctive boat, sir. I’ve not seen its like before.”

“Your experience is limited, lass. It is different, to be sure, but it shares common traits of many Norse galleys and cargo ships that ply this coast.”

“Even so, surely Fife will know his own ship!”

“He might if he were to pursue us himself, although we did hang a new name board. We are now the Ormen Lange , so his recognizing her is not a certainty.”

Her words did stir him to think, though.

“Sit down now,” he said. “I want a word with Maxwell before we enter the harbor. And as we draw nearer, I want you to stay well out of sight, so I’m afraid it must be the wee cabin again then until our course here is clear.”

“What will you do when we arrive?”

“Seek an audience with the bishop,” he said. “I’ll explain that due to rougher seas than usual, this voyage has made you ill and that you therefore want to return to Edinburgh by land rather than travel any farther by sea. How does that sound?”

“You will have to explain my lack of a maidservant or chaperone.”

“I’ll think of something,” he promised. “Are you sure you don’t want food?”

When she shook her head, he got up to speak to Maxwell, a few feet away at the helm, saying, “You carry long sheets of canvas, do you not, to drape over the lowered mast for shelter, if needed, when we must remain at sea overnight?”

“Aye, sure, sir,” Maxwell said. “’Tis stowed in the forward hold.”

“Have some of the lads fetch out enough to conceal the lowest portions of the gunwales and make them look as high as the next level. They’ll have to manage without getting canvas in the way of the oars, too, or we’ll have to take her into the harbor against this wind under sail alone. I just want to disguise the ship’s lines, and it should soon be dark enough, I’m thinking, for canvas to do the job.”

“The oarports are low enough, but that can work only until it grows light.”

“I mean to be away again as soon my business here is done,” Giff said.

A short time later, Sidony watched through the open doorway of the aft cabin as men affixed canvas to make the lowest portion of the gunwale even with the next. Then, furling the sail, they rowed the ship to its anchorage below the town.

She watched as they lowered the coble, and saw Giff climb over the side to get into it. She lost sight of him then until the coble pulled away. Watching it vanish behind another ship moments later, she tried to imagine what he could say to the bishop that would not destroy what little reputation she had left after her ordeal.

“I got ye cheese and hard rolls, me lady,” Jake said, abruptly appearing in the doorway. “Will I bring it in to ye, or no’?”

“Bring it in, Jake,” Sidony said, deciding she was hungry after all. “Would you like some yourself?” she added when she saw how much he had brought.

“Aye, sure,” the boy said, squatting beside her and handing her a roll, then slicing hunks of the cheese for each of them with his eating knife.

Encouraging him to talk to her, she learned some of his history and found him most entertaining. He shifted easily from one topic to another, touching on his mother’s death with no more than a shadow flitting across his face at the memory before moving on to how much he enjoyed life aboard his father’s boats.

“How did he come to be captain for the Earl of Fife?”

Jake shrugged. “His lordship did tell his men to find the best, and that be me da’, o’ course. I think he looks like Auld Clootie, Fife does, all in black and that, but when I said that, me da’ skelped me good, so I dinna say it anymore.”

Suppressing a smile, Sidony said, “I agree that he looks like the devil, Jake, but mayhap you should not say so to anyone but me. He’s a gey dangerous man.”

“Aye, me da’ doesna love him neither,” Jake said, chewing around the words. “He says his lordship’s a bad example t’ set for a lad like me.”

“He is that,” she said, wondering if his da’ thought Giff any better for Jake.

Maxwell appeared in the doorway then and said curtly, “Jake, stay wi’ her ladyship and dinna the pair o’ ye come out for nowt. Beg pardon for me curtness, m’lady, but there be ships a-coming in, two Frenchies as were in Leith Harbor.”

“Surely, we do not fear the French, sir,” Sidony said.

“Nay, m’lady, but now they both be flying the banner o’ the King o’ Scots.”