Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [201]
‘Do you? Who told you that?’ Lymond said, and Buccleuch, half-roused, looked at him Wearily. ‘It’s the clack of Biggar,’ he said. ‘And the conjecture is fair making the Dowager spit. I hear that she and Culter are at odds about it already. The muckle Fiend fend ye; why don’t you leave the country and let us all be at peace? What is there but untruth and heartbreak wherever you go?’
‘I like to see friends at my bloodsuppers,’ said Lymond with a sudden, intolerable venom. ‘Pass the word round. To fight against me is to resist the Lord, who visits thy sins with such rods.… I am here, Buccleuch. I am staying here. Until winter, at least.’
‘Are ye?’ said Buccleuch. ‘I think ye’ll not. I’ll wager my son’s ring, in fact, to that sapphire ye wear, that the Queen Dowager has ye out before then.… This ring. It’s a good one. Ye’d get a good bit for that,’ said Buccleuch, and threw the band of thick gold on the bed.
It lay between them, glinting emptily, describing the young, big-boned finger where it belonged. ‘Yon Gabriel,’ said Buccleuch suddenly, and the water had begun running innocently down his surprised and angry face again. ‘He gave me a line of prayer to say. I’ve said it, when I thought of it, whiles ever since. “God give me another lad like thee”, it runs. “God give me another lad like thee … and syne take me to His rest”.’
And lifting the ring, he went out, full of thought still.
Soon after that Adam Blacklock, alone in his room, jumped to his feet as the door crashed open on his commander, who slammed it shut and advanced, with what seemed to be a flask in his hand.
In spite of the violence of his entry, Lymond’s voice was quite soft when he spoke. ‘Adam? This has been left by my bed, and I’ve no use for it. Take it, and for God’s sake throw that other rubbish away.’ And as Blacklock’s dilated eyes fixed on him, Francis Crawford added, still speaking quietly, ‘Do you think I don’t know? Or Abernethy? You’re risking other men’s lives, not your own.’
Adam flushed. ‘If you think that, you can always ask me to leave.’ The flask Lymond had given him held aqua-vitæ. He added, ‘Why the sudden crusade? I thought I wasn’t to take spirits? Or don’t you want to drink it alone?’
‘I do,’ said Lymond lightly. ‘Oh, I do. But I have a sad, Calvinist conscience.’
‘Not where girl-children are concerned,’ Blacklock said. He hesitated, and then continued. ‘If the men here ever find out about Malett’s sister, there’ll be hell to pay; you know that.’
‘I know,’ said Lymond. He was listening, expressively white, with dark, tangential planes under his eyes.
‘Then leave her alone!’ Anger and pity, queer companions, flared in the other man’s eyes. ‘Why risk all this for the sake of a—a romp in a cheap, tavern bed? If you can dispense with drink, you can practise self-control in other forms, too. Or do you simply like to live like a child?’
‘Today,’ said Lymond, ‘if you must know, I don’t like living at all. But that’s just immaturity boggling at the sad face of failure. Tomorrow I’ll be bright as a bedbug again.’
Below in the courtyard as he spoke, someone was talking; then a whip cracked, hooves clattered and a wheel creaked, taking the strain. A moment later they both heard quite clearly the rumble of a cart with a heavy escort of riders, crossing the uneven stones of the bailey below. It passed out of the gates of St Mary’s and turned eastwards and south, where Kincurd and Branxholm both lay.
Eager no more: quiet and still in his empty farm wagon, grandly robed in Gabriel’s own famous habit, with the Cross of St John on his breast, Will Scott had parted from Lymond for ever, and was going home to his own.
IX
Terzetto, Played Without Rests
(Flaw Valleys, June 1552)
AT the first possible moment after the Hot Trodd, but several weeks