The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [123]
‘I asked him the price. It’s a good one. Jordan rears and possesses his namesake, and I become Nicholas de St Pol, legitimate heir to Kilmirren.’
‘And?’
‘Don’t you like the idea? When I die, your son inherits everything: Kilmirren, Ribérac, the House of Niccolò. You won’t see him again, but you will have our other children to console you. I hope you are looking forward to that.’
She was out of bed now, and already a few steps towards him. She said, ‘You can stand there! You can stand there!’
The veils of her bedgown moved and shifted, and he kept his eyes immutably on her face. He said, ‘Could you not foresee all these moves? You married into this family on the strength of your skills. You had assessed your abilities against mine, against Simon’s, against Jordan’s. You must at least have done that. You must surely, however much you protest, have known what would happen to Simon. Perhaps you expected it also to happen to Henry.’
‘No!’ she said.
‘But it brought him into the game. Now your child is in, too. What is the matter? I thought the whole point was that he is expendable.’
She stood still then. ‘Is he?’ she said. ‘Have you promised him to de Ribérac?’
‘Will you give me other children?’ he said. Unmoving, he watched the hem of her robe quivering. Then he lifted his eyes again to her face, but gradually this time.
She coughed again. She was only a little distance, he knew, from being ill. She said, ‘Yes. If I can keep this one.’
‘Oh, good,’ he said; and walking across to the bed drew back the sheets tenderly and held out his hand. ‘Because that’s what I told M. de Ribérac. That I felt you and I might rear the boy better together, despite my illegitimate state. That, in fact, I had an odd feeling that were it otherwise, my life would not be a long one. And that, of course, we had plans for many dear offspring of quite impeccable parentage in the future.
‘I am glad you agree. I hope you will come back to bed. You needn’t fear that I shall climb in beside you. I dare say I shall overcome it, but at the moment I feel a certain repugnance. Will you come to Scotland?’
She stared at him, her skin glistening white.
‘Or Bruges, then. You will come to Bruges, and we shall discuss Scotland. Or if neither of us can contemplate so early a reunion, we shall make other plans for our future. For our long happy future, Gelis, together.’
He threw down the sheet and walked out, carefully closing the door. The guest-master knew where his room was, and he arranged to have his men fed and, indeed, joined them briefly. They made all the usual jokes, so that he hardly had to contribute at all.
He heard by nightfall that his wife had been a little unwell and was resting. He heard the next morning that she was feeling entirely herself, and was sitting in state, prepared to receive such visitors as she must expect before evening. He was supposed to spend the day, naturally, with her. He was not sure, now, that he could. He went to see her, to find out.
He had brought garments proper for a man celebrating the birth of an heir, and was not surprised to see that she, too, was suitably lapped in rich fabrics. She looked well, and showed no sign of illness. A little paint, he thought, had been applied. She watched him cross the room, her expression agreeable. She was one of the most gifted of all his opponents, although she had failed to take his measure last night.
He said, ‘I thought I should be the first to congratulate the proud mother. Did you have a difficult labour?’
She drew a short breath, and then appeared half amused, half resigned. ‘Why the concern? You haven’t asked me before.’
‘I thought you ought to practise some answers. For example, when was he born?’ He returned the smile, spreading his cap with its plumes on the bed and sinking into a seat. ‘Oh, not, of course, the real date.’
‘After midnight,’ she said. ‘An hour before sunrise. Through the night, in the dark.’ Her lips were still smiling, but she spoke with her eyes fixed on his. The words came slowly