Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [191]
She stood up also. “You think a lot of your self-possession, don’t you?”
“I did, when I had any. One can’t, obviously, control other people unless—”
“And you want to control other people?”
He grinned. “I take your point. I have none now to control. But all the same—”
“You would want it in normal life. Are you ever,” said Kate, driven by her own feelings into asking one of the dangerous questions, “are you ever likely to have a normal life?”
Lymond grinned again, slightly, walking to the door. “That depends on Samuel Harvey. There is, of course, another thing. I might be able to gull the law. But as soon as I appear in public, my brother is likely to get himself hanged for killing me.… We’re devils for complications on our side of the Border.”
Kate accompanied him to the door. She said bluntly, “How much more of it can you stand?”
“Don’t worry,” he said, answering what he took to be her anxiety. “If it’s going to happen, it won’t happen here.”
* * *
Gideon arrived next day, and had Crawford brought to the parlour, where he was standing with Kate. After greeting his prisoner he said without preamble, “The man Harvey is in Haddington; he’s seriously wounded and it’s possible he won’t survive. I came here to tell you.”
“Oh,” said Lymond. After a moment he added, “Then that appears to dispose of my problem.”
Gideon had had a talk with his wife. He said abruptly, “I can’t help you to get into Haddington.”
“I know that, of course.”
“But,” said Gideon, “if you think there is any possibility of doing so yourself and coming out alive, I’m willing to lend you a horse to try.”
There was a pause. Lymond drew a steady breath. “I see you mean it,” he said. “I shan’t sicken you with protestations of gratitude. But it means a great deal.”
“I know. What will you do?” asked Gideon.
“Go to George Douglas,” said Lymond slowly. “I can influence him a little, I think … And try and get Harvey out. Or if that fails, to get in myself.”
“But—” said Kate involuntarily, and Lymond’s eyes moved quickly to hers.
“There really is no other choice,” he said, and she was silent.
Gideon had opened the door. “Come then,” he said. “I came as fast as I could, but there’s no saying how long he’ll live. You’ll need all the speed you can make. Quickly. Kate—”
She was already through the door. “I’ll collect what he needs.”
In a very short time he was mounted, and they watched him canter down the avenue, turning with raised hand at the gates. “The fools!” Gideon said. “Those damned fools at Edinburgh! What a waste of a man.”
And they turned and went about their business while Gideon’s stallion, stretched flat with extended rein and curbless mouth, printed with sharp cloisonné the baked green sides of the hills and glens leading to Scotland.
* * *
While Lymond was in Northumberland, Will Scott was scouring the Lowlands for him. He stayed in the vicinity of Wark Castle until he was sure the Master was no longer near the original rendezvous. He visited the farmyard where he had first joined the troop, and the lairs he had learned to know since.
Only twice did he come across any of the men he had fought with for nine months. The Long Cleg, horse-coping placidly with a string of broken-winded hacks, waved a friendly arm and asked mildly if it was right that he and the Master had had a fight over the money and he’d broken Lymond’s head for him. Scott muttered something and got away as soon as possible. The other encounter took the form of a narrowly averted arrow which met him at one of the biggins where they used to keep fodder. He never found out who it was: he didn’t want to know.
Fourteen days after his uncomfortable meeting with Sybilla at Threave, Scott returned to Branxholm empty-handed and full of misgivings, and Lord Culter, calling that day on Buccleuch, found him there, alone in the hall.
“Will Scott!”
The boy looked up. The square, powerful figure, the direct grey