Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [114]
The man’s voice was low. Nicholas turned to him, smiling; and resumed the steep climb in his company. ‘Did my lady send you?’
‘Oh no. It was Master Lowrie was worried, my lord. Mistress Gelis is fine. She could heckle on Satan himself and never mind it, begging your pardon.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Nicholas said, with genuine amusement. Then he sent the man off, for they were approaching his house, and he could hear, muffled, the voice of Henry de St Pol raised in contention inside.
• • •
THE CONFRONTATION WITH Satan, aged sixteen, in the full panoply of an Archer of the King’s Guard, had begun a short time before, when Kilmirren’s grandson had arrived on the doorstep and the demands had begun. Even when Gelis had him admitted and he saw for himself that she was alone, Henry had refused to leave. She had time to be thankful that she was alone: that Nicholas for once was spared this; that Jodi was elsewhere, doggedly perfecting his martial arts, and would not be required to face the cousin who had once tried to kill him, a baby of three. She knew why that had happened. She supposed that Nicholas knew as well.
Meantime, Nicholas was away, and here was … Here was his other son, about whom Diniz knew, and Dr Tobie, and Father Moriz, and Nicholas and herself. But no one else.
His beauty was breathtaking. Enhanced by young manhood, the fine skin, the brilliant eyes, the gilded hair were carried now by an athlete, slender and straight-backed and graceful. She did not know, she would never know why her sister Katelina, wilfully importuning the servant she took him to be, had contrived to bear this glorious infant to Nicholas but had not allowed him to claim it. Instead, she had found a surrogate father, and married him, and passed the coming child off as his. Simon de St Pol believed that Henry was his only son and true heir. Henry would fight to the death anyone who implied otherwise, and despised Nicholas as a bastard. She, Gelis, had come close to spoiling Nicholas’s life and her own over her jealousy. She had forgiven Nicholas, who was the victim of his own generous nature (so happy, so often). It had taken her longer to forgive her dead sister.
Now the boy, white with hatred, confronted her, cuirass glinting under his tunic, powerful sword sheathed at his side. He had flung his plate gloves aside, scoring the wood of a table. ‘Well?’ he said.
She sat in a chair with a back and arms: always an advantage. She tented her fingers. ‘Henry, you heard me the first time. I don’t know where your uncle is. I don’t know when he’ll return. You don’t want to come back another day?’
‘No.’
‘You wouldn’t like him to come and see you?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t want to tell me what it’s about?’
He stared at her. ‘It amuses you? It won’t if I send the Guard to roust through every tavern and house till they find him.’
Gelis said, ‘The Guard? Henry, I’m sorry. If it’s as serious as that, then let me go myself to Sir David. I’ll get my cloak. You should have said. In fact, I think your uncle is with the King at this moment. I was told not to say so, but if Nicholas is to be arrested, then it must be made public.’ She had left her chair and was already crossing the room. She stopped beside him. ‘What has he done, Henry? He’s killed somebody? Will it harm you, because you’re related?’
‘I’m not related!’ he said.
She frowned. ‘But you always call him Uncle,’ she said. ‘He told me. I know he likes it. And I’m your aunt and he is my husband.’
Henry smiled. He backed to the door and stood against it. ‘You are clever,’ he said. ‘I grant you that. No, you’re not going out. Neither am I. Suppose we both sit over there, and you tell me about all these delightful family ties. You are his wife, but you slept with my father. Of course, everyone did. So whose son is Jordan? Do you know?’
‘He happens to be mine,’ Nicholas said from the door. ‘So who is your mother? Do you know?’
Gelis drew in her breath. Nicholas, in the grip of real anger, for a second had a look of his son. She said sharply, ‘Stop it, both of you.