Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [8]
With a single accord, and no orders spoken, the army of Lord Grey of Wilton broke ranks and rode belly flat on the moss for the haven of Roxburgh.
Much later, riding in rollicking company back to Melrose, Lord Culter expressed his regrets to Buccleuch on the death of his mother. ‘Catslack was burning before ever we reached it,’ he said soberly. ‘But it was her own choice to stay, it seems. And she did some damage first.’
Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch fumbled for a moment under his chin, and then pushed his heavy headpiece roughly back off his brow. He pointed. ‘Did the same tae me once, the auld besom. I’ve got the scar yet. An auld de’il wi’ a chamberpot. Huh!’ He pulled down his helmet. ‘She’ll be able tae keep Yule in hell wi’ her nephews, and they a’ nicked already like targets wi’ the aim o’ their wives.’
*
‘Andrew Kerr was with them,’ Sir Wat counted afterwards, when the gentle festivities of marriage had been resumed at Melrose at dusk on the same day. ‘And the Laird o’ Linton was there, and George Kerr o’ Gateshaw. And I saw Robin Kerr o’ Graden, and of course the hale o’ Cessford’s household and natural bairns and bairns’ bairns and cousins and them that owes him and Ferniehurst a tack all over East Teviotdale. There’s some of them’ll be nursing a guid scratch or two on their hinder-ends this night.… Man, it was a rout.’
‘I imagine,’ said Piero Strozzi, his dark face impassive, ‘that my lord Grey’s army would not relish their defeat either.’
‘Oh, aye, the English,’ said Buccleuch absently.
‘We are, after all, at war with them and not with the Kerrs,’ the Marshal said mildly.
To the Frenchmen risking their lives to drive the English from Scotland, such a feud seemed no doubt an ill-timed indulgence. To Buccleuch, any comment from a foreigner was a piece of damnable impertinence, no less. He said, ‘And what pains the Marshal in that? Because we sit here in bows and silk sarks, it doesna mean we couldna jummle the English and the French off our own turf if need be, and mind our own affairs too. Ye didna fare so sweetly yourselves the other week in yon bicker at Haddington, after raxing yourselves in Edinburgh killing poor folk as they walked their ain causeway.…’
But halfway through this, Lord Culter had kicked the fiddler on the ankle and the fiddler, a man of sense, struck up a dance tune, while every Scott present rose hastily to his or her feet. Among them Sir William Scott, his arm in his bride’s, leant over his father. ‘You’ve a few quarts in you, Faither?’ he said.
‘No more nor him!’ retorted the head of his house, surprised and irritated, with a wave at the Marshal.
‘Aye, well. He isna going-daft in the heid. Take a dance with Janet, Faither,’ said Will Scott kindly, and whirled off with his new lady wife.
Looking round for sympathy, Sir Wat found himself indeed standing eye to eye with his wife. ‘Fegs,’ said the Lady of Buccleuch, fixing him with a calculating eye. ‘If you’re going to fight the English single-handed, you’ll be needing your strength. I’ll dance with Marshal Strozzi, if he’ll have me.’
And as the Marshal, his face marvellously tutored, rose and made her a bow, Janet Beaton of Buccleuch took his hand and led him over to Will Scott and her sister Grizel whose wedding day, if memorable, was not what every girl would expect.
Later, the Florentine made a point of finding Lord Culter and congratulating him on the success of the day.
Richard Crawford, who was by no means a stupid man, smiled slightly and said, ‘I am sure you realize the scheme was not of my devising. The peculiar imagination of the Crawfords is the inheritance of my brother Francis.’
‘I am sorry not to see him tonight,’ said the Marshal politely. Lymond, with the Midculter men, had ridden back to Talla to join his mother and sister-in-law and escort them safely home, leaving Richard to represent the family at the belated