Sentence The Sixhundredandeightysixth

Now, as it happens, Tavish had been able to make the acquaintance of The Maister o Kilquhenny, an old goat of a man who divided his attentions between the very young lassies he employed as servants and bedfellows in his house, just across the High from MacFarlane House, and Isabella MacFarlane, whom he was seriously courting – being rather pleased that her husband had been most foully murdered in Melrose Abbey, which Tavish knew begged the question of whether presumed death in one time, did not preclude certifiable life in another; and one night he confided to Tavish – believing him to be a Monk – that he hoped to further his intentions with Lady MacFarlane in her grief (a hint of sarcasm there, thought Tavish) and would Brother Tavish be willing to assist him, in return for a place in a convivial – and secret – fellowship of which he was now President; and Tavish, convinced that this could only be The Ring of Gold, agreed without a moment's hesitation; the plan was simple: that very night, he, Brother Tavish, would knock loudly at the side door of the MacFarlane's, which would bring Mistress Doubleday to open it; Tavish would beg admission for an urgent
communication with Lady MacFarlane, concerning her dear, departed husband and, once quickly in, would lock Marie out and admit The Maister at the front door, who would plight his troth with Isabella and conquer her by force if not entreaty; the plan seemed sound enough and an hour later, when the street was quiet, Brother Tavish made an almighty racket at the Close door until it was opened by a visibly pregnant Marie Doubleday in her chemise and a shawl, having come crossly down from her bed; the message was given and he was invited in, pushed Marie out and slammed, then locked and barred the door and hurried to the front of the House to admit the old roué, who first headed through to the kitchen for a bottle of wine – being too mean to bring one of his own; there, catching sight of Mistress Doubleday attempting to gain access by an open window, old Kilquhenny slammed down the window with such force that it nearly decapitated the poor woman, and would have if Tavish had not managed to block it's descent with a fish kettle; the poor woman was senseless and collapsed in a heap outside; so, while Kilquhenny – oblivious or regardless, to the state of the pregnant servant, mounted the stairs, Tavish let himself out of the Close door and went round to the back: the window was still held up by the kettle, but of Marie Doubleday, there was no sign, she had simply vanished into thin air! which gave Tavish some pause for thought – this was become too frequent an event and he wondered if she had, in fact, entered into a Worm-Hole? there were many tales of bodies going about their legitimate business in Edinburgh who, venturing down one or other of it's numerous closes, were never seen again, and he wondered if Ludmilla Lermontova would be able to compile a list of Edinburgh's Mispers over the past 2000 years, it might make interesting reading; and meanwhile, The Maister had burst in on Lady Isabella, finding her awake and
dishevelled, one of her maids between her legs enthusiastically licking and sucking at her motte; "if 
ye'll merry me Mistress, ye kin bring ye'r freend an aw, an av ither weans wha'll dae thon," indicating the gamahuching still continuing, despite his unexpected entry, "oo'll be a maist Haily Alliance," which Tavish earwigging at the door, wondered at the mumpsimus being voiced by the ancient fornicator in his description of the marriage being prosecuted was truly his belief or simply an ingratiating approach to win her hand, "an ye kin suck me at yin end while ye'r sucked yersel at t'ither," and Isabella, her body approaching it's crisis, while her mind was still capable of rational thought, gasped: "aye, Maister Kilquhenny, av nae objections tae that: pray consider yer proposal accepted, but gie me a wee minnit till Molly here, ooooh, aaaah, oh, Deo Divinitas! yesss, yesss, YESSS!!!"