Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (9 page)

Tyndale smiled faintly. "I'd not have cared overmuch for such
a development, I admit." He reached up.

Devenish stared.

Tyndale's eyes glinted. He said without expression, "Give me a
hand, will you?"

Relieved, Devenish obliged, and Tyndale moved rather
erratically to his grey. The big horse nuzzled him affectionately, and,
watching as he bent to inspect the damaged knee, Devenish asked
curiously, "What is it that you call him?"

"Lazzy. Short for Lazarus because he—after a fashion—rose from
the dead." He felt the hock carefully, hove a sigh of relief,
straightened, and reeled unsteadily.

"How?" persisted Devenish.

"Eh? Oh, there was a sort of a battle. At the edge of a
rapids. Between Monty and me."

Awed, Devenish asked, "You mean, he was after your scalp? That
sort of battle?"

Tyndale's mouth twitched. "That sort."

Waiting in vain, Devenish burst out. "Well? Go on, blast it!"

"Monty's mare had just foaled. We caromed into her and scared
her so that she plunged about and the foal went over the edge and into
the river. Monty and I were a bit—er, done up. So it took both of us to
haul him out. When we managed it, Monty insisted the foal was mine and
there was another— ah, discussion. We wound up having to doctor one
another because the foal began trying to die. Between one thing and
another… well, we've been together ever since. All three of us."

There was more to it, Devenish suspected. The Iroquois had
exuded pride, yet he served Tyndale and was very obviously devoted to
him. "Is that where you got that beast of a scar?" he asked. "I wonder
you're still breathing."

Tyndale stiffened and his hand flew to his throat. His
neckcloth had been removed and his shirt unbuttoned. Buttoning it, he
evaded, "It has been said that I'm devilish hard to snuff. Speaking of
which—I will concede you the race."

Devenish gave a gasp. "The devil! Did you think I was really
trying?"

"To win?"

'To snuff you."

"Were you?"

"I should, by God! If only for that bacon-brained remark!" He
stamped to the black, swung into the saddle, and demanded furiously,
"Do you seriously think I would deliberately endanger another man's
life over a stupid race?"

Interested, Tyndale inquired, "Why
would
you deliberately endanger another man's life?"

"Dash it all!" snarled Devenish, setting his mare to capering.
"I did not deliberately— That is, I had thought it would—I—Oh, hell and
the devil confound you!" And he cantered away until he was out of sight.

Craig chuckled. "Lord, what a fire-eater!" He found his
neckcloth and replaced it, then mounted and bent forward to stroke the
grey's neck. "I hope we can find our way home, friend, else—" He broke
off as rapid hoofbeats announced his cousin's return. Hair windblown,
cheeks flushed, and eyes shooting sparks of wrath, Devenish came up at
the gallop and, as if there had been no pause, gritted, "Furthermore,
since I did
not
win, or if I had it would have
been by cheating—"

"Cheating, coz?" Tyndale demurred mildly. "I would not say you
cheated—exactly."

Devenish fixed him with a baleful eye. "We will call it a tie.
Satisfactory?"

"Oh, perfectly."

They started off, side by side, Devenish stiff, Tyndale
relaxed. After a few moments, Tyndale enquired, "What do you do,
cousin?"

"
Do
? What the deuce do you mean '
do"?
A
gentleman don't
do
anything."

"My apologies. Not being a gentleman, I didn't understand."

"Oh, Lord," groaned Devenish. "
Now
what
fustian are you about? Of course you're a gentleman. You're a Tyndale,
ain't you?"

"I'll admit that. But—I do not think I'll be a gentleman.
Thanks just the same."

"Don't think you'll… !" gasped Devenish. "You
are
short of a sheet! Damme if you ain't!"

"Why? Because I don't choose to be a gentleman?" Tyndale
laughed. "Gad, Dev, I couldn't abide it! The life of a do-nothing would
drive me straight into the boughs! I'd a sight liefer be a coal-heaver!"

"Yes, and probably should be! And do not call me Dev! Only my
friends call me that!" He thought, "Cousin's almost more than I can
bear!" and added irritably, "Besides, I had not meant
nothing
exactly."

"Oh, I should have guessed. You've likely just come down from
University, correct, er, Mr. Devenish?"

Turning in the saddle the better to direct a hard stare at
that bland smile, Devenish refuted, "Incorrect. I was sent down."

"Wrong again, alas. Perhaps I had better have addressed you as
Lieutenant Devenish?"

Gritting his teeth, Devenish imparted, "I was obliged to sell
out of the military. Damn near cashiered. Does that satisfy you?"

"By all means. If it satisfied you, I've no quarrel with it."

"
Satisfies
me? Why, you Colonial
clod-crasher! Is there no end to your impudence?"

Tyndale threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter. "My
apologies, Sir Cousin."

"Do you know…" Devenish pulled his mount to a halt, and
glowered at his tormenter. "I have been wondering of whom you put me in
mind, and now I know. It is Leith, by God."

Briefly, Tyndale looked startled. Then he muttered, "Leith.
Oh, yes. Colonel Tristram Leith. A proper dirty dish, eh?"

The amusement that had begun to creep into Devenish's eyes,
vanished. He sat straighten "Your pardon?"

"I said I had heard of Leith. What you people over here would
call a wrong 'un, no?"

Devenish swung one leg across the saddle and slid to the
ground. There was no trace of temperament about him now, but an icy
coldness that, had he known his kinsman better, would have warned
Tyndale. "Will you favour me by dismounting for a moment," he invited
with a smile.

Tyndale obliged.

Eyes of blue ice fixed themselves upon his face. Stripping off
his gloves, Devenish murmured, "You are likely at least a stone heavier
than I, Tyndale. On the other hand, you just suffered a bad fall. That
should, I think, even the odds." He flung his gloves into his cousin's
startled countenance. "Put up your fists, you damned scaly
gabblemonger!"

"Hey! Wait! I only—"

Devenish jumped forward and with surprising power landed an
open-handed blow to the jaw. Dancing back again, he shouted, "Fight,
curse you!"

Sighing, Tyndale took off his own gloves, tossed them aside,
and crouched.

The battle was short-lived, but interesting. Never had two men
fought in more diverse styles. His eyes ablaze with excitement,
Devenish feinted, shifted, leapt in to unleash a lightning fist, and
danced out of reach again. Tyndale, shoulders hunched, eyes watchful,
moved very little, as unflustered by his cousin's antics as Devenish
was elated. And somehow, as fast as Devenish undeniably was, as lethal
the blows that he aimed, at the end of five minutes, there was not a
mark on either man, but while Tyndale was as calm and easily breathing
as at the start, Devenish was slowing noticeably, his face paler, his
movements less springy, some of his enthusiasm replaced by grimness.
"Fight, you churlish clod!" he raged. "Do not just stand there like a
lump! Fight!"

Tyndale smiled, but did not reply. And it was borne in on
Devenish that when the bigger man did move, it was with amazing
efficiency, his tall figure swaying easily and never more than was
necessary to elude the blows flying at him. Tiring, Devenish's fists
lowered, his shoulders slumped. He was breathing distressfully and,
watching him, Tyndale dropped his guard a little. In that instant,
Devenish sprang. His right rammed home to the jaw. Tyndale staggered
and, hurt at last, retaliated immediately and instinctively…

Flat on his back, Devenish smiled up at blurred skies.
"Beautiful…" he sighed.

Standing over him, Tyndale asked, "Are you much damaged, Sir
Cousin?"

"I beg leave… to tell you that… I shall lie here until my head
rejoins… the rest of me and… be damned t'you."

Tyndale grinned and sat down also, feeling his jaw
experimentally.

"Let us have no more of your… Canterbury tales," Devenish
exhorted. "I know blasted well I scarce laid a fist on you."

"One. Whereby I seem to have several loose teeth."

"No, truly?" Devenish rolled onto his side and, supporting his
cheek on one hand, said gleefully, "Egad, but I did mark you a little,
at that! Coz—where in the name of all that's wonderful did you learn
that left jab?"

"Oh, I sort of—er, developed it. With help. Here and—and
there." Tyndale saw Devenish's mouth opening for an indignant retort
and added a hasty, "Though why you attacked me so viciously is more
than I can comprehend."

Reminded, Devenish sat up, clutched his head, and uttered a
trifle thickly, "I do not suffer my friends to… to be slandered, in my
hearing."

"Leith? But, from what I have heard, he's not worthy of—"

"Tristram Leith," Devenish stated deliberately, "happens to be
one of my closest friends. And whatever you may have heard, quite apart
from being as far removed from a rogue as it is possible for a man to
be, he is a valiant and honourable gentleman. I owe him my life."

Tyndale stared at him. "Then surely it ain't proper that you
should so dislike the fellow."

"Dislike
Leith
? Are you mad? I do not
dislike him!"

"But—you distinctly said that I reminded you of him."

Frowning into the innocent grey eyes, Devenish declared, "Even
Leith has a few mannerisms that are irksome."

"And those you detect in me, eh, sir? Heigh-ho. Life is a
sorry thing!" He drew out his handkerchief and handed it over. "Your
mouth is bleeding."

Devenish accepted the handkerchief and dabbed at his mouth.
Tyndale helped him to his feet.

Setting one foot into the stirrup, Devenish muttered,
"Coal-heaver, indeed!"

Tyndale laughed.

As the horses passed through the gate at the eastern end of
the meadow, and entered the lane, a pink nose and then the rest of a
large hare emerged with caution from beneath the hedgerow. For a moment
it paused there, very stiff and still, nostrils twitching and ears
erect, staring after the departing humans. The sound of Tyndale's laugh
had not fallen unpleasantly on its ears, and, reassured, the wild
creature proceeded busily about his tasks.

Colonel Alastair Tyndale stood before the hearth of the book
room, one booted foot on the gleaming brass fender, and brooding gaze
on the flames. He had heard his nephews ride in some half-hour
previously and, by means of a casual remark dropped to his omniscient
butler, had culled the information that there looked to have been "some
sort of dispute." His gaze lifted to the two neatly folded sheets of
parchment that lay on the mantelpiece. When those letters were read,
the very obvious and mutual dislike between the young men might well
harden into all-out hatred, even before he—

The door swung open and Devenish entered, saying in his
pleasant voice, "Good afternoon, sir."

Following, Craig offered the hope that they had not kept the
Colonel waiting.

Alastair regarded them gravely. They had changed for luncheon
and each in his own way was impressive. Craig wore a jacket of maroon
that hugged his broad shoulders admirably, and if his neckloth was less
than expertly tied, his pantaloons displayed excellent legs, and his
lack of jewellery did not earn him any censure in his uncle's eyes.
Devenish, his curls carelessly tumbled, wore a navy blue coat of
superfine, his neckcloth was a work of art, and although he lacked his
cousin's powerful figure, his physique was in perfect proportion to his
size.

Despite the fact that the morning had darkened, no candles
were as yet lit in the room, but as the two men moved rather hesitantly
towards him, Colonel Tyndale noted the darkening bruise along Craig's
jaw, and Alain's puffy and split lip, and his own jaw hardened. He made
no comment, however, waving to the sideboard, and suggesting they help
themselves from the tray of decanters which the butler had left.
"Before we go in to luncheon," he added when they all were seated
around the fire, "there is something I must say to you." In silence, he
handed a letter to each man.

Glancing at the superscription, Devenish muttered, "Yolande!
What the deuce? Good God! Sir, it's not little Rosemary?"

The Colonel shook his head. "I doubt it. But read it—then we
will talk."

To a point, the letters were similar, Yolande informing her
cousins that she had departed for Scotland and would spend the summer
at her grandfather's home in Ayrshire. The closing paragraphs, however,
were quite different.

Craig's letter ended:

I am most pleased that I was given the opportunity to meet
you, and I take this opportunity to once again express my thanks for
your gallant efforts in my behalf. You will, I am assured, have
returned to Canada by the time I come back to Sussex. I wish you
Godspeed in your long journey.

Although we have been acquainted for so short a time, I think
you may be interested to know that I expect to be married this year,
and thus, by the time we meet again shall probably no longer sign
myself,

Yr. affectionate cousin, Yolande Drammond

Devenish, meanwhile, read:

Papa has only now told me the true facts concerning your
father's tragic death. I was never more shocked. As you know, I have
always deplored violence, and I send you my sincerest sympathies, dear
Dev. I can only beg you to allow the past to remain so.

On a happier note, I mean to discuss our formal betrothal with
my grandfather and, in the event that nothing untoward occurs by the
time I return to Sussex, and if it is still your wish, I think we
should at that time fix upon a date for the wedding. Until then, I
remain,