Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [47]
Betha said, ‘They are good friends already, from what I hear. Why, Nicol?’
Nicholas said, ‘Because he could be a danger, and needn’t be.’
‘I think I might very well agree with you,’ Sinclair said. ‘But I wonder why you should care?’
‘I want to bring my wife and child here,’ Nicholas said. ‘And well-run countries can profit from turmoil abroad.’
‘And what would you do,’ Betha said, ‘aside from holding poor Sandy’s hand?’
Nicholas set down his cup. ‘If you believe that is what I think of him,’ he said, ‘we might as well stop this conversation now.’
‘Forgive Betha. That is her way. But,’ said Oliver Sinclair, ‘I have to ask myself this. Might you not be tempted, as a friend, to foster my lord of Albany’s restlessness, and perhaps even to aid some of his schemes?’
‘My lords of the Council do not think so,’ Nicholas said.
Silence. The cold blue eyes rested on his. Then: ‘I do see,’ said Oliver Sinclair, with his widest, most conciliatory smile. ‘You might have begun with this news, but I see you felt that you should examine my expectations for yourself. Let me therefore repeat them. By the terms of the renunciation of Orkney, my father agreed that he would henceforth hold no post, nor play any part in the governing of Scotland other than his occasional presence, as an observer, in Parliament. The same applies to myself. I seek no power, and I hold no dynastic ambitions. My half-sister married my lord of Albany because she could hope for no better marriage and because we, familiar to him from childhood, might help to guide him through the years of his growth, as we have tried to do for his sisters. But it has not been easy. And I have to admit, with the lords of the Council, that the time has come where—independent—help may well be hoped for. It seems that you are trusted to do this?’
The voice was amiable. The gaze remained, unblinkingly chilly. As a credo, it could hardly be improved upon, and was mostly true, depending on how you defined the term dynastic ambitions. Another of the great Nowie’s sisters had married the King’s half-uncle Atholl and presented him, to date, with two sons and nine daughters, which was presumably nine daughters more than he wanted, but a tribute to something.
‘He’ll do it anyway,’ Betha said. ‘He’s just giving you notice.’
Sinclair smiled. ‘You have an adherent, my dear Nicol,’ he said. ‘So why are we wasting time over this? I am to understand that you will be spending time in Albany’s company, so long as his fancy permits it, which may not be as long as any of us would desire. And if Andrew Avandale regards you as trusthworthy, then so surely should I. And, of course, because Betha says so.’
‘And because of the other reason he’s here,’ Betha said.
Sinclair turned his head. For a long moment, he gazed at his sister, and she sustained the gaze without blinking. He said, ‘I think we leave the other reason aside.’
‘I don’t,’ said Betha. ‘She’s waiting. As for Sandy, why not ask her opinion? She may not know the best or the worst of Nicol here, but she kens more than we do.’
Nicholas rose. He said, ‘I will leave if you want me to.’
‘Oh Christ, man,’ said Betha. ‘D’ye think I’d want you to hurt her, or get her to say or do anything but what she wants? She wants to see you.’
Sinclair said, ‘It’s a pity you told her he was here.’ He stood and walked round to Nicholas. ‘We are speaking of Phemie, our cousin. You knew her at Haddington, where Tom Yare has a brother. It was Yare who suggested you call?’
‘Yes. Then may I see her?’ said Nicholas. He looked at Sinclair, but instead was beholding the past: Phemie, and Kathi, and the rest of the brilliant company at the Priory of Haddington. The stalwart Prioress; the gentle nun Alisia Maitland who had helped to control the wild little red-headed princess; the servant Ada feeding her babies, and not yet married to Crackbene. The whole great, unwieldy, teeming Cistercian convent, with its flocks and its herds