Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [224]
It was then that one remembered that Francis very rarely acted without purpose. Lord Cutter’s horse was too spent to outrace the other. And now Richard had left neither the violence nor the will to silence his brother by force. For a moment longer, he stared in silence at his cadet. Then Lord Cutter said, ‘Very well. Since you have forced the encounter, ask the question. Then I have some news for you. If there is time.’
Lymond said quickly, ‘Tell me your news.’ But Richard merely waited in negative silence, his brows raised, while behind them both, the sound of hammering hoof beats told how near were his men, and how slender their privacy was.
Then his lordship of Sevigny said abruptly, as he had to, ‘All right. Richard, how is our … difference so widely known? Did you spread it abroad? Did Sybilla?’
Nothing of Richard’s surprise was allowed to show in his voice. He said, ‘Mother knew nothing herself until she began to hear rumours.’
‘Started by whom?’ Quick, level, precise, it hardly seemed the voice you had heard, a short time before, prostituting unspeakably the wise text of Islâm. Richard said, ‘You, in your cups, I presume.’
‘No. And if you said nothing, and I didn’t either, how did the tale spread that Joleta spent an unchaperoned, unexplained night, and that next day you and I had occasion to quarrel? I haven’t been noticeably absent from Midculter: there hasn’t been time. Yet Buccleuch’s heard it; everyone’s heard it. Not everyone has yet linked the two facts, but they will. If Gabriel had been a shade more persuasive back there and I had been a shade less insensitive, the fair Joleta would have been ruined for ever.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t much care either,’ said Richard. The fore-runners of his band were nearly upon them. ‘Sybilla knows already. It’s too late to shield her now. And everyone else will know soon. I would have told Graham Malett myself, as you feared, except that I couldn’t bear … I couldn’t bear.…’
He halted, rather than attempt the impossible. You did not try to explain goodness to Francis, or gentleness, or humility, or love. Or how you would break the news to a great and generous man that the protégé on whom he had set his heart had rewarded him by forcing his sister.
Against the darkening sky of the east, the Midculter horses were jostling, not yet within earshot but eagerly on the watch. There was only a moment more. ‘So I believe you had better come home,’ said Richard levelly. ‘And soon. There is a certain amount to arrange.’ And as Francis, very still on his horse, continued to stare without speaking, Richard had, with aversion, to put his news into words. ‘It was your mother, you will be proud to hear, who made the discovery. Joleta is to bear you a child.’
Remorse, Richard hadn’t expected to see. But shock, perhaps; and horror perhaps, and consternation certainly. Instead, he realized that the fair, fine-boned face opposite him was livid with pure irritation; an exasperation which not even the failing light could soften or hide.
‘I thought so. God damn it, I thought so,’ said Lymond bitterly. ‘She’s pregnant, the slovenly bitch.’
And sat, gazing frowningly after, as Richard rode precipitately off.
*
The dispositions of St Mary that day were quite perfect. Every man, woman and child for which the company were responsible reached home safely and remained safe. In hilarity at length all those not on guard duty returned at dusk to their base; and the line of torches, ermine-tails in the night, danced in the mirror of the loch as they approached St Mary’s, song and laughter falling aside with their sparks.
Lymond led them. Of the malignant humour of a few hours before there was no trace. Rather he encouraged them to wilder and wilder humour, to chant, to whistle, to recite. To play, once back, on their loose-gutted fiddles in front of the fire, and stamp their feet, and sharpen their wits on each other.
And in their response to Lymond, Jerott noted, silent in the background, a bonhomie that had been missing before. It was not the