Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [95]
Buccleuch shifted in his chair, casting an inimical look at his wife. “No, no. I’m not out of the wood yet, but Dod, I can hardly hold house all winter like a moulting hen. I’m taking a wee trip here and there betimes but incognito, you understand; without my pennants.”
Richard, continuing with unruffled persistence, said, “What a pity. Then you won’t be with us at the cattle raid?”
“This suggestion of Maxwell’s? Now, there’s a queer thing if you like,” said Buccleuch. “Here’s a man who’s been at Carlisle so often …”
“—Or will you?” said Richard like the crack of a whip.
Sir Wat halted. He said, “Well, as to that …” and stopped again.
“Will you listen to this?” demanded Dame Janet of the ceiling. “The man’s lost his tongue and found a cricket’s hind legs. Wat Scott, will you say plain out what you mean?”
She turned to Lord Culter. “The Queen’s agreed to Wat parleying with the English, provided he gives enough anonymous proof of his good intentions in other directions. So he’ll have to go to the raid, willy-nilly, if we have to put his head in a box to keep it quiet from those sharp-eyed ferrets at Carlisle.”
An echo from Buccleuch’s own words arrested the conversation.
“A suggestion,” demanded Agnes Herries, “of the Master of Maxwell?”
“That’s right.” Buccleuch, offered an escape route, was concerned only with disappearing along it. “The idea was John Maxwell’s, though whether we can trust it is another story. But the man’s offered to send us time and place for Wharton’s next invasion across the Border, and at the very least to hold his own men from interfering. It sounds fair enough when you think of it: he’s dead anxious to keep in with the Queen.”
“The fellow’s fairly running himself to a shadow,” said his wife. “We’ve been busy at it all afternoon reading correspondence from the same Master of Maxwell. Tell Buccleuch your news, Agnes.”
Agnes conveyed, with a certain nonchalance, the gist of Maxwell’s letter. The eyes of the two men met, this time in irresistible speculation. Buccleuch said thoughtfully, “I see. Well, it’ll do no harm. She’s to reply, Sybilla?”
“She has already,” said the Dowager placidly. “I thought it might be best.”
Lady Buccleuch said, “What about it, Wat? Is he safe to deal with?”
Buccleuch took a deep breath. “He might be. The Protector’s got him by the short hairs, of course; his brother’s in London, and Maxwell himself was due to report to Wharton just about now. Add to that the fact that all his lands are two hours out of Carlisle and the Earl of Angus is married to his only sister, and you’ve got the pattern of a harassed man. Harassed, but not stupid,” added Buccleuch. “It’s just possible he may be capable of juggling them all: we’ll have to wait and see.”
When, finally, the Branxholm party rose to go, Dame Janet dropped behind with Lord Culter. “I’m remembering what we spoke of at Branxholm, Richard. Wat’s heard nothing from the boy up to now.”
Culter said briefly, “You know what I think about that.”
“Well, you heard him,” said Janet. “He’s not likely to change. It’s for you to decide how badly you want Lymond.”
He offered no reply and, looking at him, she spoke under her breath. “And if you’d a different look on your face, my dear, I’d give you some damned good advice about your wife as well.”
2. An Exchange of Pawns Is Suggested
For the gentlemen, officers and heads on the west parts of Scotland entered to the King’s service said the notice. Read aloud by a staid, cultivated voice, it proceeded to expect the English gentlemen thus addressed to muster their horsemen at Dumfries on the following Sunday night, when the Earl of Lennox and Lord Wharton’s son Henry would command them in an attack on the Scots.
“Goodness me,” said Kate Somerville, peering at and then watering a rather dilapidated flower in a pot. “What it is to be on holiday when the rest of the school’s at work. How would you spend your vacation, Philippa, if you were Father?”
Philippa, a serious ten-year-old with long straight hair, thought.