To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [289]
‘You did not try to interrupt,’ said the King.
Her husband’s lips moved in what could have been a smile. ‘I thought the deed done, and would not wish to have appeared grudging.’
‘It was not done,’ said the King. ‘Would I take advantage of a lady at the moment of her bereavement?’
‘There are those who would,’ Nicholas said. ‘I should have trusted your grace. But the outcome is happy.’
‘Except for the gentleman of Kilmirren,’ said the King. Despite the freckles, he looked older than twenty.
Nicholas was looking at her this time. His voice in that last speech had sounded more normal, but his face remained blank of all expression. She said, ‘I hope I am loyal to both my lord and my King. My lord, you spoke of a disturbance in Haddington?’
Again, he spoke to the King. ‘I heard only just now. An accident, but none of the royal children is harmed, and our own son is untouched. There is no need, I think, to alarm the Countess tonight, but I feel my wife and I ought to ride over. If, that is, it is thought that the Countess would not object.’
‘An accident? In the Priory? We shall send someone at once,’ said the King.
‘My lord,’ Nicholas said. ‘Tomorrow will do. If there is anything to be done tonight, I shall do it. I hope I have your trust.’
The King agreed, flushing.
They did not speak on the journey to Haddington, because Nicholas made it impossible to do so. Their escort galloped beside them, torches streaming. She saw they were Govaerts’s men. She wondered who had sent word from Haddington, and how they had known he was back. She was ready, tonight, to credit him with frightening powers.
No ordinary human being could have activated from afar this single damning stroke against Simon: a sickening sexual conspiracy which traded on the King’s naïveté, his own supposed death, and the precarious continence their duel had imposed on her. He had had her roused, she was sure, quite deliberately. He had been prepared for, had expected, consummation. Any skilled doctor could have dealt with a pregnancy. His talk of disease was untrue, but it would be believed, for it was all too verifiable that Simon was sterile. The handsome Kilmirren would now be a leper, a public procurer, a man who could be accused of attempting to end the royal line. But she would escape, as Simon’s innocent dupe. She had been the King’s choice. She had believed her husband was dead. But of course no one would lie with her either, ever again.
That night, arriving in Haddington, her eyes deep, her head throbbing, Gelis van Borselen found herself for the first time afraid of the future.
It was three hours from dawn. The porter admitted them. The chapel was lit, but the Priory itself lay dark and silent, as did the guest-quarters. She ran to her rooms. Outside, Mistress Clémence met her with a candle, signing for silence. ‘The boy is asleep. All is well.’ Her eyes moved beyond, and Gelis saw that Nicholas was standing behind her.
Gelis said, ‘Lord Beltrees has just come. What happened? We were given no details.’
The woman said, ‘A wagon broke free and rolled down a hillside. Three of the children were struck, only one of them seriously. Jodi received no harm at all, but sleep will help him. I shall tell him you are here in the morning.’
Nicholas said, ‘You are right. We shall hear more about it tomorrow. You must be tired. And in case he wakens, here is something to put by his pillow.’
It was a large, perfect apple, still attached to its stalk, with a leaf. Mistress Clémence received it with a slight smile. ‘He said you had promised one. He shall have it.’ She turned and waited, her hand on the door until they left.
Nicholas said, ‘Where is your room?’
Gelis said, ‘There. Do you want to talk?’ Her limbs ached and she shivered.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t think of a subject I could bring myself to talk about. Go to bed. We shall speak, if we have to speak, in the morning.’
They had been apart for more than four months, and the last time they had met, he had broken every fine thing in the room. She had been told he was dead.