Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [286]
There was a shade of deprecation in the voice: a hint perhaps deliberate which had already put Jerott on his guard. But Sybilla, silent for a single, blocked moment, simply said, brightly, ‘Dear me. Of course. The offspring of the bereft Mr O’Connor. So she was pregnant when she was captured, was she? Poor child.’
Nicolas de Nicolay hesitated.
‘Well?’ said Sybilla, and her lip suddenly trembled.
‘I am told,’ de Nicolay went on, his exuberance absent; his voice very flat, ‘that the child, a son, has none of Cormac O’Connor’s size or girth, or his or Oonagh’s black hair. I am told that it is the fairest ever seen in or out of Africa, with blue eyes and hair pale as flax. She will not say who the father is, so it has been called Khaireddin.’
In the long, ensuing silence, neither man looked at Sybilla. Then, ‘Does Francis know?’ said the Dowager, clear-voiced and dogged, with the tearstains spreading dark on her dress.
‘No, ma’am,’ said de Nicolay shortly. ‘The young man, I believe, has anxieties enough. I had no intention when I came to Scotland of telling him, or informing you. But this I now say. It is nothing if it is not a weapon. Be on your guard. Say nothing. But pray to your gods, and the gods of the Turks, that Gabriel does not know what we know.’
Soon after that, Alec Guthrie arrived, very wary of Jerott at first, and then exceedingly business-like. He came from Lymond, to whom he had reported when his work at Branxholm was done. They had traced Gabriel’s connexion with the Hot Trodd. The route taken by St Mary’s and by the Scotts in their search for the lost herds had been anything but fortuitous: they had found the men bribed to keep each force, by false clues, on the wrong path. If Adam Blacklock succeeded in his interrupted quest with the Turnbulls, they could prove how the Trodd was planned to take place and fail.
He had further news. A large force of French troops under M. d’Oisel, with artillery and dogs, had arrived at St Mary’s, sequestering the buildings and placing their inmates under detention; and a country-wide search for Francis Crawford had been launched. News of the Magdalena, obviously, had reached Falkland. Guthrie had orders to tell Nicolas de Nicolay, and the Chevalier Blyth, if the circumstances were right, that Cormac O’Connor had left for Falkland again. Further, that only Nicolas de Nicolay, on whom no suspicion rested, might return, if he wished, to St Mary’s again. All the others who had been with Lymond the previous day at Boghall were to remain at large, since at St Mary’s their liberty might be curtailed by the Ambassador. Their continuing absence Gabriel also would put down to this reason.
‘Mr Guthrie,’ said Sybilla. ‘Tell me. How did you discover Francis?’
The soldier-lecturer grinned. ‘Forethought, my lady. He drew up a route, just before he left Boghall, and tacked it all into us like soling a floor. A day in this cabin and two days in that cave, two days on the journey, and three in a friendly farm. We all know where he is any day you like to choose, and can report to him, and get our orders. And those who are watching St Mary’s report, too.’
‘How is he?’ said Sybilla with equal composure. ‘I am told he received a thrashing. I am sure he has one or two owing him.’
‘Yes. Well, not one of this order,’ said Guthrie, glancing up at Jerott and de Nicolay. ‘Someone thought they were taking dust from a floor-claith. Ye’ll no can pat him on the back for a week or two. But otherwise he’ll do. He’s food and drink and all the blankets he needs,’ he added kindly, for the Dowager’s benefit. ‘And a purpose that’ll see him through, were he holed like a thurible. I’m afraid, ma’am, a high-handed young despot is what you’ve bred, you and your husband.’
‘I suspected as much,’ said Sybilla. ‘Gaineth me no garland