Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [223]
There was an uncomfortable pause. “I’m doing my best,” said Richard gently. “I haven’t your touch for killing birds.” He walked around, and grasping the edges of his brother’s makeshift pallet, pulled it two or three yards into the shade. “Has Patey Liddell ever been publicly whipped before?”
The change brought such physical relief that Lymond closed his eyes. He opened them again and said, “He only does what he’s told. I thought you’d enjoy a trip to Perth. Good for the olefactory senses.”
Culter shook his head over the fish. “Crawfordmuir gold and Liddell: how dull of us not to connect the two.”
“How dull of some of you. What a delicious smell. You nurse; you cook. Do you sew?”
“I reap. Who was the exception? Mother?”
“And getting quicker, too,” said Lymond’s light voice admiringly. “The country must miss you on the frequent occasions when you are absent. How long were you in prison for?”
Richard rubbed the palm of his hand on his seat, and then held it up, square, clean and unmarked, for Lymond to see. “I was lucky. No one could tell, could they?”
“The point is registered. Pannage, my dear brother. You’re a butterfly as much as I am. You failed Arran, you defaulted at Dumbarton, you walked out on your wife and mother, you engaged Janet Beaton in a charming little conspiracy behind her husband’s back and displayed a remarkable incapacity on the rare occasions when you did set foot on a battlefield. If you contrived to nip the enthusiasms of young Harry a bit quicker at Durisdeer, to mention only one, you might have had Lords Wharton and Lennox behind bars for the asking.”
“And stopped your income?” asked Richard, laying the cleaned fish neatly on his baking stone. “Not when you must have needed every penny to cajole your rabble of thieves into obedience. Or does one simply glut them with women and drugs?”
“One uses force of character. Wo worth your tedyus synne of lechery. That’s a damned silly way to bake fish.”
“It works. You know,” said Richard, rubbing his fingers on a handful of grass, “considering who you are, you choose intriguing subjects for invective. Are you still quite comfortable?”
“In this line of country,” said Lymond, “I have a phenomenal staying power. Probe on, if you want to.”
“Thank you. I thought an exchange of civilized opinion might help pass the time. Until you can travel.”
There was a pause. “All right,” said the Master at length. “That was quite artistically done. Behold me in a state of suitably agitated inquiry. What then?”
“Guess,” said Richard amicably.
“Oh, try somebody else’s sudorific. This really is too damned childish.” Lymond’s eyes were black with fatigue. Richard observed it, as he observed everything about him, eagerly and with a clinical thoroughness.
“Nothing childish about having a respect for the law,” said Culter cheerfully. “Once up on your feet; once up on your horse; and it’s Edinburgh for you. Prison and chains and a series of unpleasant questions. You’re going to stand trial before Parliament as indicted, brother mine.”
No recoil, but a temper as taut as a fishing line. “There’s nothing juvenile either about having a care for one’s family. You know what kind of sensation this will make.”
“Beautiful,” said Richard. “You’ll enjoy it. You know how you like extravagant gestures. Have some fish.”
His brother ignored the outstretched hand. “Look: suspend the godlike poking for a moment. I thought you’d make a clean end of it, at least, even if it was pretty dirty going in the middle—You wouldn’t come to any harm: no one expected me to live.
“The scandal of five years ago will be nothing compared to what they’ll raise in open court. You know damned well I’ll be found guilty: nobody has any illusions about that. But you’ve got the rest of your life to live, and what’s more important, so has Mother and so has your wife. Do you want your sons to have that sort of nauseating exhibition cast up to them?”
“Don’t get excited,” said Richard. “Knowing Mariotta, I should never be perfectly