Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [155]
“And how extraordinary,” said Janet for the sixth time, “that they should meet you like that.”
“Yes, wasn’t it?” said Sybilla.
“And be able to hand Mariotta over to your care.”
“Yes.”
“And go back without being suspected so that he could help his father to trap Lymond.”
“Yes. Here we are,” said Sybilla cheerfully, and entered the convent. Where the first person they saw was Will Scott, talking to Mariotta.
It was hard to know who was most taken aback: Will himself, his stepmother or Sybilla. Janet, the first to find her tongue, said, “God Almighty!” and showed all her teeth in an enormous grin. “Look what we’ve got! Orpheus wriggling rump first out of Hades with his chivalry ashine like a ten-thread twill.”
What Scott mumbled was hardly heard, because Sybilla said quickly, “I think perhaps he’s waiting to see me: he knows I come on Mondays. Will you excuse us a moment?”
Unhappily, Will was flustered, as well as being unaccustomed to the Dowager’s little ways. He said, “It isn’t private, Lady Culter—just a letter I wanted you to pass to Andrew Hunter for me.” And he thrust a paper into Sybilla’s unresisting hand.
“Andrew?” said Janet, gazing fondly at her stepson. “What’s the point, Will? He’s already left with the rest.” He looked puzzled, and she repeated. “You know. Left with Wat and Culter when they got your message.”
“My message?”
“Your second message telling them where Lymond and Lord Grey were going to be.” She gave an apologetic glance at the Dowager. “I didn’t tell you, Sybilla. But Will’s message came through just before we left. Wat and the others should be well on their way to the east coast by now.”
Sybilla sat down abruptly beside Mariotta. Scott said, “But I haven’t sent any messages!”
“Eh!”
“No! This is the first I’ve ever sent anyone since I joined Lymond except—except about Crumhaugh, of course. This is just to ask Sir Andrew to keep his promise to stand by me if—in case—when I leave the Master.”
This time it was Janet who sat down. “You haven’t sent Dandy any messages before?”
“No.”
“Nor any more to Buccleuch?”
“No.”
“Then who,” said Janet, with a tremor in her strong voice, “wrote in your name to all of us today telling us to go immediately to the old manor garden at Heriot where Lymond, Sir George Douglas and Lord Grey of Wilton could be had for the taking?”
There was an appalled silence.
“Lymond,” said Mariotta, and laughed hysterically.
* * *
Mariotta was quite right. Having galvanized both his brother and Buccleuch into five weeks of expectant planning, Lymond arrived at Cockburnspath with Johnnie Bullo in attendance two days before Lord Grey was due to make his next march into Scotland. Under cover of his safe conduct, he and Johnnie were taken direct to Sir George Douglas.
The advance army waiting at the ravine for Lord Grey was under canvas, and Sir George shared a tent with the commander, Sir Robert Bowes, Warden of the East and Middle Marches. He was however alone when Lymond was ushered in, the gypsy waiting outside.
Sir George greeted him, his face a dim, shadowless beige under the sunlit canvas. He was about to lose the most promising ally of years, and he hated the prospect. He said without preamble, “I’ve just come from Lord Grey. You ought to understand that I’ve kept my part of the bargain: I obtained his lordship’s promise to produce this man Harvey for you. But—”
“Ah!” said Lymond, airy and stylish in dark blue. “There’s a but. Like Glaucus, we have a but, but no honey in it. Lord Grey has changed his mind?”
“The Protector changed it for him. Harvey is still in London; he isn’t coming north.”
“—And?”
Douglas said curtly, “And Sir Robert Bowes has orders to see that you send for the boy Scott regardless. You’ll be paid in money, not in kind.”
“And if I don’t?” asked Lymond.
“Your life is not in danger. Only your good health.”
Sir George’s angry glance met Lymond’s sardonic one, and there was an uncomfortable silence. At length the Master stirred. “So. Not the honey barrel, but the tilly-seeds of torture, so that I disgorge