Queen's Play - Dorothy Dunnett [169]
They were involving him in something bitter and dangerous, in which he had neither responsibility nor concern. O’LiamRoe had no intention of spending a minute more than he need now at Hackney. But equally he was bent, single-mindedly, on shutting Francis Crawford’s affairs out of his life. He had no wish to go to Durham House. He would go to an inn. He intimated this last, briefly.
Margaret smiled at them both, her ribboned sleeves slack in her lap. ‘My dear man, your charming juggler, your Abdallah al Kaddah here, won’t allow that. He wants you to help him take Robin Stewart back to France.’ And holding the herald’s eyes with her own, she laughed.
His bright head resting on the chair, Lymond watched her undisturbed. ‘Would you care to wager?’ he said.
‘Wager with me.’ It was a new voice: a grating tenor, breaking in from the open door at their backs. O’LiamRoe turned as Matthew Lennox came in, his pouched eyes glittering, something black and gold turning between his white hands. ‘Your boy was loth to give it up, Crawford, but I felt you might need its support.’ He threw the herald’s baton lightly, and Vervassal caught it. ‘Wager with me,’ said Matthew Stewart, Earl of Lennox, standing hands clasped before the fire, his bright gaze on them all. ‘I have more to lose.’
Then, smoothly, he moved to refresh their wine. ‘If you set foot in France you will be arrested as the late Master Ballagh, who designed the treasonable accident in Amboise castle. George is no lover of yours.’
‘George’s son’s wife is now the heiress of Morton,’ said Francis Crawford. ‘And however much anyone may suspect that Thady Boy Ballagh and I are one, no one can prove it.’
‘Forgive me,’ said O’LiamRoe. They all looked at him, and he twiddled his fingers. ‘ ’Tis over-curious I am, that I know—but tell me, why should any of us escort Robin Stewart to France? Has he not confessed?’
Lennox smiled; and after a moment Lymond acknowledged it. ‘Yes, quite. Thus perishes a minor state secret, que Dieus assolile.—He has confessed, Phelim; but for his own manly reasons Warwick is unlikely to provide us with a copy of the confession, however expurgated. It is, after all, the only direct evidence against Stewart, and if Warwick withholds it, Stewart might be persuaded to be discreet in what he says about his lordship himself. And lacking that confession, my dear, Stewart might possibly prove hard to convict. Hence the desire for your testimony.’
‘What a shame, now,’ said O’LiamRoe blandly, his smooth face milk-warm in the sun, his shining elbows raised, smoothing his hair. ‘The ill-lucky thing that it is; but I shall be needed straight back in the Slieve Bloom this summer, and time to travel to France I have not.’
‘You needn’t trouble,’ said Matthew Lennox. ‘You won’t be needed. Stewart’ll never leave the Tower alive.’
O’LiamRoe was tired of being regarded as foolish. ‘Do you say so? I would say, from my reading of matters, that Warwick’s whole standing depends on Stewart getting safely to France.’
It was the Countess who answered, out of the brittle silence, her husband knew so well how to induce. ‘Naturally Lord Warwick wants him alive,’ she said. ‘No one is more concerned about this than his lordship. But Stewart, you see, has attempted suicide twice and is now trying to starve himself to death.’ She rose slowly, a tall woman, splendidly built. ‘Matthew, the Prince is leaving us. Forgive me; I have things to arrange.’
In this vast house, packed with servants, there was no need for her to go. Lymond’s voice pleasantly said, ‘Don’t retreat, Countess. You are not being pursued.’
She halted, her head up; but her husband broke in. Where do you go, O’LiamRoe? To an inn?’
‘The Master of Culter will maybe advise me.’ In this bandying of titles he had remembered, suddenly, Lymond’s own.
‘Who?’ It was Lady Lennox’s voice. Then she laughed, a laugh of free and genuine amusement, her eyes not on him but on Lymond, his head back, his gaze perfectly unmoved.