The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [68]
He blew his horn and signalled his men, once again, to ring the group with their torches and head them away from such snow-mounded dykes and rickles of stone as would spoil the legs of their horses. The ponds and burns were all safe: they were hard enough to bear a wain and four bullocks.
They looked well, his young men and women, you had to grant that. He had trained the best ones himself. Jamie the King, and Alexander, that used to cry himself Sandy until he came back from foreign. parts with a Flemish saddle and an English style with a crossbow. And the royal wee red-head, Bleezie Meg, as the stable-boys had it, that nocked her arrow and drew her bit bow as stout as a man, when he could get her away from the nuns. Better advised than the uncles, at times, although he’d had the polishing of the two of them too.
He liked them all, and wished he could have found them better sport, but there was little good scent to be had in the snow, and the wolves had gone to ground, it would seem. All they had got was a score of dazzled fowl in a tree and a hare or two, and the clouds were beginning to draw over the moon. He was ready for them to give up, when they started to talk of calling in at Kinneil yonder, where the Hamiltons always had a few barrels of wine in the cellar, in the days when the Lady was living. And so they did, and were welcomed, although Lord James was away, and it was the lassie, Joneta, who did them the honours.
And when the daft idea of the boar came up, it was no surprise when Sim of Kilmirren went off with the lassie to look for it. Everyone kent that the Hamilton girl had been moonstruck over her bonnie Simon, and was again, it would seem. The master huntsman wished he had a cross-bolt for every lass who had offered Kilmirren a shot. He sighed, getting the dogs under control, and the horses kept moving until their lordships had had their drink and were ready to ride out again.
It pleased but didn’t surprise Simon when Joneta put her arm inside his and, sheltered under his cloak, guided him across the crisp, crumpled snow of the yard to the outbuildings. If the boar was still there as she thought, he would bring back some helpers to tie it. Then, loosed a good distance off, it would give them some sort of a run.
Hamilton wouldn’t mind. Simon was on good terms with James, Lord Hamilton, having bought some expensive land off him, and denied it to Claes. He had enjoyed telling Claes, who would appreciate this pause at Kinneil all the less for it. Not that Claes was, in any case, having the luckiest day in his life. Wherever he went, he drew stifled amusement.
And meanwhile, there was no hurry to look for the boar. As he recalled, there was a bakehouse nearby which was generally warm and often empty. Remembering, he let his palm winnow down Joneta’s flank, pausing to diverge now and then. Amid the increasing haze of pleasure, he hoped Claes had seen them depart.
He almost wished Claes was here now, as Henry was present occasionally, stimulatingly – reprehensibly, he supposed – at Kilmirren. With Joneta held expertly against him, Simon opened the bakehouse door.
Warmth emerged, and rosy light, and the delicious smell of hot bread, and three men who seized his arms as his grip of Joneta loosened, and then stuffed a rag into his mouth, binding it before he could shout.
Joneta, instead of running for help, stood holding her throat. She had pulled his cloak with her. It lay on the ground, exposing his hunting-dagger and sword. Both were taken, and his hands wrenched behind him and tied. He kicked and fought, using his spurred boots until, with difficulty, they pulled them off. Then they bound his feet. He hurled his weight from one side to the other.
Fighting with lance and sword were his forte, but he was well trained in combat of other kinds. You couldn’t go to war on the Borders without being able to hold your own with your fists. But against three in ambush at night, when off his guard and roused for a girl …
Joneta. He glared at her.