Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [386]
Anselm Adorne, waiting behind, smiled at his niece, just as Jordan, his hat a shade above hers, was bestowing one of his intent, lavish smiles on his father. Nicholas acknowledged him, and Kathi herself, but his first glance, she had seen, was for Crackbene. Then he crossed to his son, throwing his gloves into Jordan’s safe hands and swinging off his furred cloak lumped with ice to carry on his own arm. For a moment they stood talking together: the large, tranquil man with the dimples and deceptive, wide gaze; and the stalwart boy, already broad-shouldered and tall, with worship plain in his eyes.
As, however long they might live, Rankin and Robin would never now stand face to face, although they each had fine looks, and the love between them was as great.
It was still early, two hours before noon. They didn’t have to leave for Whitekirk until the following morning. There was time to talk to Nicholas, and to her uncle. Or so it seemed, then.
Chapter 50
And at his belt his keyis suld he beir
Of lokkis, to kepe his gestis geir.
And to thar gestis suld thir folk be leile,
Thar gudis kepe, and thar secret conseile,
And to defend thar gestis at thar micht,
And supplé thaim in thar quarell richt.
THAT AFTERNOON, THE wind dropped and it snowed, calming the seas and presenting, enduring for once, a tranquil landscape of white hill and plain and clustered cabins, among which was set the sturdy sprawl of the Priory. It would have been possible, then, for a boat to set off on the grey, surging sea that they could glimpse but not hear. Adorne and Nicholas decided against it, for it would have meant losing Mick Crackbene, and exposing vulnerable women and children to risks greater than those they ran in this solid building, with their ten soldiers, and the six more that Adorne had brought.
They did not then know of the changing situation in Edinburgh, or of the meetings in Avandale’s home, or Kilmirren House, or the Canongate; but they had considered most of the probabilities and were fully aware of their danger. It was the vital meeting at Whitekirk, tomorrow, that occupied all of their minds, when they allowed it.
That afternoon, Anselm Adorne did not allow it, but—strategy defined and orders given—laid himself out to please and comfort the religious whose hospitality he was receiving; to speak at length to the Prioress Euphemia; to walk round the grounds and allow himself to be snowballed by Kathi’s children, and watch them make snowmen. Passing through the cloisters, he smiled, observing outside in the garth a well-tried sledge, and a once-painted barrow, and a child’s spade stuck in the snow. He talked for a long time to Jordan and saw, and was pleased by, his friendship with Margaret, his great-niece. Between, he walked with the nuns to their church and prayed there, while Bishop Prospero administered the sacrament in Genoese Latin and heard his confession in Genoese. A worldly man, come late to the priesthood, Camulio was not a bad choice for a man of Adorne’s stature. Nicholas attended the services, but did not confess.
Throughout the strange afternoon, Jordan was close to him. They had been apart once, when Kathi had asked to say something in private. It was about Applegarth, which was all right. Then it was about Andrew Liddell, and it wasn’t all right at all. Mick’s patience had clearly run out, and the bastard was taking a hand. To hell with Mick, and the Prioress.
Nicholas said, ‘I heard about Applegarth, too. It isn’t unlikely that he had that unsigned message sent to Simon at Lochmaben. He works with Davie Purves, another firebrand. I don’t think you need look for anyone else.’
She said, ‘Nicholas. Don’t be stupid. Who is Elizabeth’s son?’
‘How should I know?’ he said.
DARKNESS FELL BETWEEN three and four, over a black sea and a moon-coloured land blinking with light. By five, the younger children had supped in the kitchen and Bishop Prospero visited them there for a while, teaching Rankin some words of Italian,