The plot thickens!
I really enjoyed Part 2.
First off, I loved the exchanges between Lord Culter and his wife:
Babies bounced and abounded in the Scott household: babies with mouths round and adhesive as lampreys; babies like Pandean pipes, of diminishing size and resonant voice; babies rendering torture and catalysis among the animate, the inanimate and the comatose. The Buccleuchs themselves were totally immune. While their younglings fought, and nurses and tutors swooped and called like starlings, Sir Wat and Dame Janet pursued their own highly individual courses, and talked to each other about whatever came into their heads.
Today, a morose and pallid Friday in November, the subject was Lymond. In a childless oasis at one end of the big hall Sir Wat glowered uneasily in his big chair, feet in furred boots stuck out before him in the rushes, a woollen nightshirt peeping through the folds of his ample damask nightgown, and a variety of dogs heaped panting about his legs. Dame Janet, her gown napped with tufts and trails of wool, was spinning and swearing indiscriminately when the thread broke and when her husband roused her temper.
From the wall behind them both, his eyes still on the battered hangings, Lord Cutler said, ‘I’ve already gathered you have no intention of helping me. I wondered if, perhaps, you meant actively to hinder me instead?’
Sir Wat irritably shoved from one knee a heavy jowl which confidingly and automatically replaced itself, chumbling. ‘Man, have I to go yap, yap all day with the same tale? I’ve told you. I’m sick.’
Dame Janet gave a bark of laughter. ‘Sick to the tune of two flounders, a pike, a cod, a quart of claret and a quince pie. Hah! You’ll do yourself a hurt, Wat; forcing the nourishment down at all costs, and you a sick man.’
These two cracked me up.
And then we have all of the action taking place at the cattle raid....and Lymond.
Loved it. But I'll stop here for the night.