Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [138]
“By letter.” Smiling, she produced from her cloak and held out a longish letter which Lymond read, one hand still arranging his shirt. She watched him. “Can you make out the writing? She was captured by young Wharton during the march north on Wednesday, and should be with my husband now at Annan. He wanted me to join him quickly and chaperone her. Then he was going to hold her to ransom.”
She relinquished the letter, still watching him cynically. “And that, my dear Francis, makes me an awkward possession. When Lennox hears I am missing, he has one simple remedy—to offer the life of the young Lady Culter in exchange for mine. And that means that the whole weight and power of your brother and his friends will be bent toward finding me.”
“I am distraught at the prospect.” Lymond spoke readily enough, though his hands were white at the knuckles. “He’s exceedingly unlikely to do so. And what makes you think that Mariotta’s future—or lack of it—has any interest for me?”
“My dear Francis,” said Margaret blandly. “Of course it interests you. Her death brings you one step nearer Midculter, doesn’t it?”
His unemotional face seemed to stir a curious animation in her. She went on swiftly. “Send me back to England and the Scots have lost their counterhostage. Send me back, and I promise to see that your sister-in-law lives for thirty years apart from her husband—and that her child fails to survive.”
“I have a better idea,” said Lymond, and finished lacing his shirt with both hands, his eyes resting on her. “Suppose we have an accident with you. Her death will naturally follow.”
“But then your brother would be free to remarry.”
“True.” He had crossed the room to a writing table, and was inscribing a long message on the back of the letter she had given him. Her voice sharpened a little, and she moved toward him. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t look up, but continued to write quickly and fluently. “I prefer to be my own butcher.”
He finished, opened the door, and called Turkey Mat. When the big man appeared, red with the climb and with open curiosity in his eyes, Lymond gave him the letter. “This is a message to the Earl of Lennox offering to exchange his wife for the young Lady Culter, whom he holds prisoner. He was known to have her at Annan, but he may be in Carlisle by now. This gives a time and place for the exchange, and also asks for a safe-conduct for our escort. I want someone to deliver it now, and a reply brought back as soon as possible. Can you arrange that?”
“Easily enough.” Mat opened his mouth to say something else, caught the Master’s eye and thought better of it. He clattered down the stairs while Lymond stayed by the door, holding it open for Lady Lennox to pass through. “Let me speed you to your slumbers,” he said sardonically. “It has been a fascinating evening.”
Triumph glowed in her face. “You concede me my victory?”
“Out, alas! Now goeth away my prisoners and all my prey. If you mean do I agree that you’ve saved your offspring at the expense of Lady Culter’s, the answer is yes.”
For a moment the black eyes lingered. “You would have been wiser to come with me.”
“I prefer to be unwise and safe.”
Margaret moved slowly to the door. “And Lady Culter? Are you reserving for her one of those filled positions you were speaking of?”
“What—Mariotta too, do you think?” asked Lymond. “Good God, is there no peace? Is there no privacy, even in my present squalid estate? Shall I send you each an eye on a thorny stick like St. Triduana to preserve my chastity?”
Standing close beside him, her face was as hard as his. “How you hate women! They succumb too easily. They give you no contest for power. They don’t understand the ironies and the obscure literary jokes. You make love with your nerve ends and all the time the brain under that yellow hair is scheming, planning, preparing, analyzing.… Worn machinery may rattle on for a time, my dear; but there comes a day when