The Bishop’s Heir (42 page)

“The lord Llewell is visiting his sister, Sire,” Meraude warned, restraining Kelson with a hand on one forearm as he started toward the girl. “Well, it
is
Christmas,” she added, at his expression of annoyance as he stopped to stare down at her. “No one said they couldn't see one another—and it was only for an hour. Should I not have let him come?”

Sighing, Kelson shook his head and continued toward the embrasure until he could see Llewell sitting stiff and indignant at the far end. He had hoped not to have the Mearan prince present for this conversation, but perhaps it was for the best. If he could win Llewell's cooperation, it would be easier for Sidana.

But Llewell stood as their eyes met, defiance like a wall between them, hand going automatically to his belt for the weapon which was not there. For just an instant, Sidana looked like a trapped, frightened bird.

“No, there's no harm done, Aunt,” Kelson replied easily. “What I have to say concerns Lord Llewell as well as the Lady Sidana. I must warn you, though, Llewell: I intend this to be a civilized, reasoned discussion. Any disruption on your part will be dealt with. Do I make myself clear?”

For an instant Llewell only stood there glowering, right hand flexing and unflexing where the hilt of his dagger would have been, and Kelson wondered whether he and Duncan were going to have to deal with a physical confrontation. He sensed Duncan tensing beside him in readiness, and knew Duncan wondered, too. But Llewell was stayed from any further indiscretion by Sidana's urgent touch on his arm, the slight shake of her head.

“Let be, brother,” she whispered. “I would not be the cause of your hurt. If he wills, he will speak with me. There is nothing you can do to stop it.”

“Your sister is very wise, Llewell,” Meraude agreed. “You must accept what is. Do not make me regret I allowed you to come.”

Sullenly Llewell turned a long, bitter gaze on Kelson and dropped his hands to his sides, forcing the wound-up tension from his body with visible effort. In answer, Kelson inclined his head in cool acknowledgment. Llewell continued to stare at him for several seconds before dropping his head to murmur something to Sidana that no one else could hear. Then the prince turned his back on his sister's royal caller, to stare out the window. Even Sidana looked embarrassed at his rudeness and wrung her hands worriedly as she stole a glance at the king.

“Please go and make the Duchess Richenda welcome, Aunt,” Kelson said to Meraude, not taking his eyes from Sidana. “Father Duncan and I have matters well in hand.”

As Meraude curtseyed and departed, closing the door behind her, Kelson tried not to give any outward sign that he even noticed the scared, drained look on Sidana's face, only gesturing mildly for Duncan to precede him up the steep steps to the embrasure. Llewell turned warily at their approach, and Sidana backed off, both of them standing finally in the right-hand corner of the compartment, she with her back pressed close against her brother's side, he with a protective arm around his sister's shoulders.

“Please sit down—both of you,” Kelson said quietly, gesturing toward the cushions behind them, then taking a seat himself, Duncan to his left. “There's no need to make this more difficult than it already is. I don't intend to threaten either of you, but there are things which must be said. Sit down!” he repeated, when neither of them moved. “I'd rather not crane my neck looking up at you.”

Blanching even whiter, Sidana eased herself onto a cushion, back ramrod straight, hands balled into fists at her sides, though she tried to hide them under the folds of her skirt. Llewell, sinking down beyond her, looked just as scared, but he did a fair job of hiding it behind a façade of bravado. Suddenly Kelson was aware how he must look to them, crowned and wearing his state robes of crimson and ermine, with a Deryni bishop at his side. He tried to soften his expression a little as he glanced from one to the other of them, but knew he must be firm. He was glad of Duncan's tempering presence.

“I've had word from your mother,” he said to both of them, resting his hands awkwardly on his thighs. “Her emissary arrived this morning.”

Sidana gave a little gasp, closing her eyes for just an instant. Her brother flushed scarlet.

“She still defies you, doesn't she?” Llewell crowed. “She's going to stand against you!”

“She executed my bishop, who was her hostage,” Kelson said evenly, refusing to be baited. “Do you know what that means?”

As Sidana glanced fearfully at her brother, Llewell drew himself up even more haughtily.

“Do you intend to execute us as well, then? We are not afraid to die!”

“No one has accused you of being afraid,” Kelson said sharply. “And I am trying to insure that
no one
else need die—though I think even you will agree that I would be within my rights to kill you.”

“Deryni bastard!” Llewell muttered.

“I will admit to being Deryni,” Kelson replied softly. “And I shall attribute your use of the other term to your anger and the brashness of youth. But do not interrupt me again, or I shall ask Bishop McLain to deal with you.”

He sensed they knew the threat was not an empty one. As Sidana stifled another little gasp and both of them glanced automatically at Duncan, Llewell closed his mouth and sat back sullenly in his place. Duncan wore no weapons and presented no particular physical threat in size or even expression, but they must suspect he was also a “Deryni bastard.” Neither had had a taste of his particular talents, but they had both felt Morgan's magic. The threat was sufficient for the moment.

“Very well, then. I trust we understand each other on that point,” Kelson breathed. “Please believe that it is not my wish to execute
anyone
, especially my own kinsmen and women, but I would be less than true to my coronation vows if I allowed treachery to go unpunished. I am Meara's lawful, anointed king, as well as Gwynedd's. Your mother has risen in rebellion against me and taken an innocent life.”

Sidana continued to stare at him numbly, and Llewell appeared to be on the verge of another outburst; but, at least for the moment, the threat of Duncan sitting across from him kept him silent as Kelson went on.

“But I wish to spend no further lives in this matter,” Kelson said in a more conciliatory tone. “It is my earnest desire that Meara and Gwynedd may be one, as our great-grandfathers intended. And if that can be accomplished peaceably, then that is what I choose. You can help me do that.”

“Us? Help a Haldane?” Llewell sneered.

Even as Llewell said it, Kelson was glaring at him angrily and signing to Duncan.

“One more word out of him …” he said with deliberate menace.

Casually but purposefully, Duncan moved closer to the end of the embrasure, within easy reach of Llewell. The boy subsided immediately, and Kelson turned his full attention on Sidana. He almost hoped Llewell did say something else; his constant interference was not making this any easier.

“What I say next must be directed to you, my lady,” he said patiently. “I do not expect you to do anything for
me
, but I do hope you will do what you must for the sake of Meara. I offer you a way to resolve the conflict between our two lands without further shedding of blood. I ask that you join your royal line with mine—that our children may reign as undisputable rulers of a united Gwynedd and Meara.”

He hardly flickered an eyelid at Llewell's strangled cry, only shooting out a hand to seize Sidana's right wrist when she would have tried to stop Duncan. The bishop was across the intervening space before Llewell could even leave his seat, imposing control so swiftly that Llewell had time for only a futile gesture in Kelson's direction. The prince's eyelids fluttered once and then closed as he crumpled into Duncan's arms, his head lolling against the episcopal purple without resistance. In repose, with the defiant lines erased from his face, he looked even younger than his fifteen years.

“He was warned,” Duncan murmured, shifting Llewell's head and shoulders to a more comfortable position across his lap and glancing up a Sidana. “I haven't harmed him. He can hear what's going on around him; he simply can't react. I promise you, he felt no pain. Nor is he feeling any now. His Majesty has asked a question of you, my lady. I suggest you answer him.”

With a startled gasp, Sidana jerked her wrist away from Kelson and stood, apparently only then remembering that he still had held it. She was too proud to cry, but Kelson could sense the effort it took her to bite back her tears as she retreated to the left-hand corner of the embrasure, as far from all of them as she could get. Hugging her arms across her breast, she stared blindly out the window for several seconds, her long hair cloaking her to her knees. When first she tried to speak, her voice broke. Embarrassed, she turned the strangled sound into a nervous cough.

“Do I—correctly discern a proposal of marriage?” she managed to ask at last.

“You do,” Kelson replied.

“And does the king truly ask, or does he command?” she whispered bitterly. “If I refuse, will he take me by force?”

Kelson managed a mirthless smile, choosing to ignore the jibe.

“Here, in front of witnesses, my lady?” he said lightly. “And a bishop, at that?”

“A
Deryni
bishop,” she countered, lifting her chin defiantly, “who has already bent my brother to your will. Why should he not do the same to me, if you desire it? Or
you
could do it if you wished. We have heard how you won your crown with black magic.”

Duncan glanced at the king indignantly, but Kelson shook his head, his own denial already forming on his lips.

“Do you truly believe I would force you into marriage?” he asked softly. “Or that a bishop would countenance it, much less be part of such coercion?”

“You are Deryni—both of you. I do not know what you might do.”

“I would not use
any
power at my command, whether physical or Deryni, to force you to an act against your conscience, Sidana. Marriage is a sacrament. That means something to me—something very important. But also important is what our marriage might mean to our two lands: an end to the bloodshed over disputes of succession; peace in our time. Is the thought of being a queen so abhorrent to you?”

She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking silently for just a moment.

“What of my parents?” she asked at last. “And my brothers?”

Kelson glanced at the motionless Llewell and sighed. “I would offer Llewell the opportunity to renounce his rights to the Mearan titles your family claims. Once I had his parole, I would honor him with all the estate appropriate to the brother of my queen.”

“And Ithel? My mother and father?”

“I know what you desire to hear,” he replied, “but I cannot offer you any false hopes. One way or another, if there is to be a lasting peace, I must break the succession ahead of you so that there will be no question of the right of our heirs to rule both Gwynedd and Meara. The fate of your parents and your brothers is dependent upon their further actions. I do not seek their lives, but I shall not hesitate to take them if it will save hundreds, perhaps thousands of others.”

“I see.”

Slowly she glanced at her brother and moved listlessly to the window itself, laying both hands flat against the glass as she gazed out at the freedom of the hills beyond Rhemuth, white-bronze in the dying sun.

“I have no true options, then,” she said after a few seconds. “Whether or not I refuse you, my family is doomed, as is my country. We posture grandly, but we are a small land compared to Gwynedd—and human. We cannot stand against the might of a Deryni overlord. I have known that all along, I suppose. Our cause was lost before it began, even if my mother would not recognize it. And regardless of what
I
do, I know the rest of my family will die. They will not surrender.”

“Then, think of your people,” Kelson murmured, standing slowly to gaze at her and wishing he could offer further comfort. “Is it so terrible to be the instrument of peace? Could you not find some contentment in being queen?”

“Queen of a land besides my own—”

“Queen of a land which
encompasses
your own,” Kelson amended. “And wife to a man who would do his utmost to make you happy.”

“In a marriage of state and convenience, wed to the enemy of my people,” she replied, lowering her eyes. “A pawn in the game of dynasties and kings, as has ever been the fate of women.”

“As has ever been the fate of kings as well, my lady.”

Trembling, Kelson removed his circlet and set it aside, sinking to one knee behind her. He longed to reach out to her, to touch even one strand of the shimmering hair, but he was too nervous, all too conscious of Duncan sitting silently to his right, with Llewell sprawled quiet but aware across his lap.

“I am—as much a pawn in this as you, Sidana,” he continued softly. “Father Duncan will tell you that I always hoped to marry for love, or at least affection, but I have also always known that dynastic considerations must come before personal desires, when eventually I took a wife.”

He cleared his throat nervously. “Still, even a marriage of state can be one of at least contentment. I cannot promise that you will be happy if you marry me. I do give you my word as a king and as a man that I will deal fairly with you, and try with all my might to be a kind and gentle husband—and pray that love might grow between us in time. Perhaps it is not all you would have wished for—it is not all
I
would have wished for—but it is all I have to offer. Will you at least consider my proposal?”

For a long moment she did not move, and he was sure she would refuse. Against all prudence, he reached out with his mind and read a little of her turmoil: helpless anger mixed with duty and honor and just a hint of compassion, which gave him cause to hope.