The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [202]
Scars were all he had in common with the only other man with whom she was intimate, and even these differed. Simon’s had been earned in knightly combat and war. Those of Nicholas were the weals of the servant and the hacks of hand-to-hand combat. Simon had asked her, once, to demonstrate where and how the skin of Nicholas had been marked. The kernel of intercourse, with Simon, was always sunk in a fruit called comparison.
She had responded, although not necessarily truthfully. It irritated her that, recalling such details with ease, the face of Nicholas often seemed to evade her except as a sculpture of some ancient Celt: the spaced roundels of eyes; the bladed nose; the lax lips; the dimples – those baleful footprints – that straddled them. All that was living about it seemed to erase itself for long spells from her memory, whereas for example she could at any moment have drawn the shape of his hands, which were large, and did not taper.
Simon was sitting at ease. He always sat consciously well (so did Nicholas). He said, ‘Why didn’t you come to Scotland? I was hoping your husband would bring you, but I realise he may have some misgivings. So you have settled for a future in matrimony?’
‘You mean, why have I not ended the marriage?’ said Gelis.
‘Not exactly,’ Simon said. ‘I mean that you are rich, and are living in a manner that suits you. The day of your marriage! Nicholas, oblivious, solemnly releasing me from every commitment! When did he find out? You might have warned me.’
‘It slipped out,’ she said. ‘Did it matter?’
His expression deepened into one of rebuke. ‘Not to me. But if you marry a savage, you have certain responsibilities. He murdered Lucia my sister.’
‘I heard –’ said Gelis.
‘You heard she drowned in an accident. She drowned because he thought she was me. I shouldn’t blame you. What should a well-bred woman know of primitive impulses?’
She stared at him. He brought his gaze down from the ceiling and spoke warmly. ‘But you aren’t afraid? He made no threats? What did he say? I wish I had been there when you told him.’
‘Do you?’ Gelis said. ‘Oh yes, I see. At least he would have killed the right person.’
‘Acid as ever,’ he said. His voice was comfortable. ‘Well, at least you have come to no harm. And now, let me see this wonderful child.’
She had never thought he would come. She had weighed it – put yourself in the other man’s place – and concluded that she was safe: that Jordan, if no one else, would stop Simon proclaiming this connection, or claiming whatever child she produced. The trading power of the van Borselens would protect her. And the damaging power of Nicholas, capable of informing the world that this was the child of his wife and his father. She said, ‘I’m afraid the child isn’t here.’
Her voice must have been strained. Simon said, ‘Oh come! What do you think? I don’t want to steal the brat: Henry would kill him in a moment. I just want to see what he looks like.’ His smile deepened. ‘A father’s natural pride. What have you called him?’
She was composed enough now. ‘Jordan,’ she said. ‘I named him myself. And I’m afraid he really is not here. He will live with his nurse until he is older.’
‘Jordan!’ he said. He had white, unbroken teeth; unusual in a champion jouster. ‘You do dislike Nicholas, don’t you? Forced to pass off the child as his own, or admit he can’t satisfy his own wife. Forced to rear a son of mine whose very looks –’ His voice quickened. ‘Is that why the child is not here? Nicholas hates it so much?’
‘He has never seen it,’ said Gelis. ‘That is why it is in the country. There is no need to concern yourself. He doesn’t know where it is.’
‘He knows where you are,’ Simon said. ‘I’d spend some of that money, if I were you, on good bodyguards. You can’t hide a young lad for ever.’
‘No. But at the moment, as you’ll understand, the place ought to be secret. I have protection. He has his own way of punishing people,