To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [288]
Lovers spoke. Lust had no need of a voice, only of signals. He loosed his hands for her turning and then set again to what he had been doing with his fingers. The towel dropped. His lashes were sandy and his lips, a little parted, were pink. The lute had stopped and Georgie Bell, carrying it, had gone to the door.
He had gone, not to depart, but to answer a scratch. Voices murmured. The King stopped and turned his head, angrily. The lutenist said, ‘Lord?’
All the young man’s pent-up breath exploded in anger. ‘What?’
Bell’s face was red. He said, ‘I am sorry, my lord. But Lord Beltrees is waiting to see you.’
Interrupted desire has a peremptory pain of its own. The young man’s hands dropped, his face whitening. Gelis struggled to breathe and then, stooping, pulled up the towel and strained it about her. The King said, ‘You are mistaken.’
‘No, sire. It is the sieur de Fleury, just come in from Leith. He says he will wait.’
‘Does he –?’
‘He would also like to speak to madame. But he says he will wait until the King’s grace has completed his bathing.’
He is alive. He is here. The rest meant nothing.
James turned. Looking at his flushed face, Gelis thought that, from anger and lack of control, he meant to resume. She realised that if she resisted him, he probably would. For a moment she did not know, any more than he did, what she wanted. Then she made herself passive and waited, and James, his breathing slowing, stepped back. Then she saw the whole of what Simon had intended; and further saw that Nicholas had fathomed it, and was making his indifference known. He will wait until the King’s grace has completed his bathing.
He is alive. He is here. It has made no difference.
The King had scented deception as well. It was a common hazard, this kind of conspiracy. And it was hardly credible that Simon’s man should have seen Nicholas dead, and Nicholas should be here, at such a moment, alive. The King looked at her narrowly and saw, could not fail to see, a physical distress matching his own. His face softened and, bending, he set his lips to her breast. Then he released her and went.
She dressed slowly. Her body ached, and once she caught herself in a sob. She heard the King speaking outside the door, his voice metallic and cold. He was expressing his relief at seeing Lord Beltrees in health. A false report of his death had disturbed them. The dame de Fleury had taken it badly, and was only now in a fit state to join them. No doubt he would wish to speak to the lady alone in her chamber, and tomorrow, give them his news.
She heard Nicholas answer, in the familiar, unmistakable voice. She pinned her hair into its caul and walked out of the room to the antechamber where the two stood: the King regal despite his soaking red hair and damp robe; Nicholas tall and collected, dressed in cloth more suitable for the deck of a ship than an audience. She could not look away from him. He was recounting something, it seemed. The King’s face, listening, had already lost its angry suspicion. She heard Simon’s name and a word of medical provenance. As she came forward, Nicholas glanced at her, and stopped. Then he said, ‘Nobil-donna,’ and continued as if she had not been there.
‘I am sorry, my lord, but I cannot stay. There has been a disturbance at Haddington. But what I have said, I will stand by. Anything of mine is my lord’s, except that which might harm him.’
‘She did not tell me,’ said James. He was staring at her.
‘She did not know,’ Nicholas said. ‘She was already carrying my child when she lay with the lord of Kilmirren. But she has been barren ever since. His affliction prevents procreation in himself and in all with whom he has intercourse. Any woman upon whom the King’s eye falls is naturally bewitched: I cannot blame my lord of Kilmirren for what has happened, although it is true that his family bears mine a grudge. I can only