The Bishop’s Heir (43 page)

Withdrawing, for her emotions were too intense to bear for long, read unbidden and without her knowledge, he raised a hand to brush one errant chestnut lock caught in a fold of her gown, intending to beseech her further. Its touch was like captive lightning, jarring him so profoundly that he nearly gasped. As if stung, he jerked back his hand and stared up at her face set in profile against the darkening glass, swaying a little on his knees. He dared not allow the thoughts which went coursing through his mind, but he could not stop them. If she continued to refuse, he knew the possibility of force was
not
wholly ruled out, regardless of what he had said before.

He was saved from himself by Sidana's own action, however. After a few more seconds, though she still did not look at him, her right hand dropped to her side and opened.

“I will marry you,” she whispered, a tear at last trickling down her cheek.

Reverently, not daring to speak for fear of changing her mind, Kelson took her hand and kissed it, damping the surge of relief and pleasure which coursed through him anew at her touch. Even so, she felt some of it. As he turned her hand to press his lips against her palm, he felt her shudder. He rose with new confidence, keeping her hand in his as he turned awkwardly toward Duncan.

“Will you witness the lady's consent, Father?”

Nodding, Duncan shifted Llewell to a sitting position and stood, laying his priestly hands on their joined ones. Llewell stirred slightly and opened his eyes, but could not seem to summon sufficient will to do more.

“Have you a date in mind, Sire?”

“Twelve days hence, at Epiphany.”

“A fitting day to crown a queen,” Duncan said gently, with a compassionate smile for the trembling princess. “Sidana of Meara, do you promise and covenant, of your own free will and desire, to contract honorable marriage with Kelson of Gwynedd twelve days hence, according to the rites of our Holy Mother the Church?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she swallowed and gave a quick dip with her chin.

“I do promise and covenant it, so help me God.”

“Kelson of Gwynedd, do you promise and covenant, of your own free will and desire, to contract honorable marriage with Sidana of Meara twelve days hence, according to the rites of our Holy Mother the Church?”

“I do promise and covenant it, so help me God,” Kelson said steadily.

“Then I do witness and affirm that a contract to marry has been solemnized between Sidana of Meara and Kelson of Gwynedd, to be joined in holy matrimony twelve days hence, according to the rites of our Holy Mother the Church. The banns shall be published on the morrow. And this covenant shall be as binding as the vows of matrimony, and shall not be put asunder.” He made the sign of the Cross over their joined hands. “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.”

She drew her hand away at that, to turn and sink sobbing to the cushions by the window. Kelson would have tried to comfort her, but Duncan shook his head and summoned Meraude and Richenda instead, telling them briefly what had happened before leading Llewell and Kelson out of the room. The dazed Llewell he placed in the custody of a guard, to be returned to his own quarters.

Kelson he led back to the royal apartments, where Morgan, Dhugal, and Nigel waited. There he and Kelson told them what had been decided, and the king commanded preparations to go forward.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

A
merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones
.

—Proverbs 17:22

During the week and a half that followed, Kelson avoided all further contact with his bride-to-be, hopeful that time for reflection would win her to less tearful acceptance of both their duties. Richenda's continued presence proved a godsend, for Sidana soon preferred her company over that of any other lady at court, despite the undisguisable fact that Richenda was wife to a Deryni. Kelson did not ask whether Richenda had helped the relationship along in any extraordinary way; the knowledge that his own wooing had been accomplished without Deryni advantage was sufficient for his own conscience.

However Richenda managed it, though, Sidana's fits of near-hysterical weeping gradually abated to stony endurance, resigned tolerance, and even occasional shy excitement as gowns were cut and fitted and Richenda began gently instructing her young charge in some of the privileges as well as the duties of her life to come. The only major setback occurred at midweek, after a private audience with her brother degenerated into a shouting and weeping bout. On hearing of it, Kelson forbade all further sibling contact until after the wedding day and asked that Richenda remain with the princess day and night for the interim. Morgan regretted his empty bed, but Sidana's progress after that was so tangible that he counted the sacrifice well worth while. Once, passing near the queen's solar, he even heard Sidana singing with Richenda. When told, Kelson beamed for the rest of the evening.

On the military and ecclesiastical front, preparations also went forward as Twelfth Night approached. The morning after Christmas, the archbishops loosed the next offensive in their attempt to bring Loris to his knees, extending their earlier excommunication of rebel bishops and Mearan royal family to a general interdict of all of Meara. Kelson doubted the long-range usefulness of the measure, for it was unlikely that Loris would observe it, but he allowed it to be sent along with his formal declaration of war in the spring. As was only honorable, he also sent notice of his intentions regarding Sidana: a stark, official copy of the banns of marriage published in Rhemuth that same morning, witnessed by nearly a dozen bishops and lords of state as well as by both principals. There was no chance of Mearan interference with the latter, for no messenger could reach Ratharkin and return before the wedding took place; and as for the rest, spring would decide the future from that point.

“Her parents would probably rather she were dead,” Kelson said gloomily, sipping rich Fianna wine with his closest friends the night before his wedding. “Maybe she would, too. I suspect Llewell would. I'm sure he wishes
I
were.”

Dhugal, showing the effects of the evening's indulgence far more than the king, shook his head and chuckled, exchanging an exaggerated wink with Morgan and Duncan.

“Of
course
Llewell wishes you were dead, Sire,” he said lightly. “Llewell is her brother. What brother ever thinks
any
man is good enough for his sister?”

“There was once one good enough for
my
sister,” Morgan replied, glancing over his cup at Duncan with a sad, wistful smile.

The comment caught both younger men by surprise—Dhugal, who had no idea what Morgan was talking about, and Kelson, who understood the reference all too well. As Kelson lowered his eyes, obviously saddened by the memory, Dhugal turned puzzled gaze on Duncan, who sighed and raised his cup slightly in remembrance.

“To Kevin and Bronwyn: together for all eternity.”

He grimaced and drank the toast, not looking up as Morgan and Kelson silently followed suit. Dhugal, even more mystified, turned to Kelson in question.

“Did they die or something?” he whispered, much sobered.

Kelson leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. “Or something.”

“What does that mean?” Dhugal persisted. “Weren't they—Deryni?”

Sighing, Morgan picked up the wine pitcher and began carefully refilling his and Duncan's cups, not meeting any of their eyes.

“Bronwyn was. She was my only sister. Kevin was Duncan's half-brother, and human. There was also at Duke Jared's court a young architect named Rimmell who'd taken a fancy to Bronwyn, though no one knew that at the time—least of all Bronwyn. In any event, Rimmell formed an insane jealousy of Kevin. Two days before Bronwyn and Kevin were to be married, Rimmell apparently decided he must eliminate his rival.”

“You mean he killed Kevin?” Dhugal breathed.

Morgan paused with the wine pitcher in his hand to gaze unseeing at the fire.

“Not—directly,” he said after a slight pause. “He obtained a love charm from an old witch woman up in the hills. She told him it would turn Bronwyn's love away from Kevin and toward himself. The charm was ill-set. It backfired. Bronwyn—tried to protect Kevin. Both of them died.”

“How awful!”

With another sigh, Morgan shook his head and resumed pouring wine for the king, obviously trying to shake the mood as well.

“I'm sorry. I thought everyone knew. And I apologize to you as well, my prince.” He set the pitcher on the hearth and glanced at Kelson. “This is hardly fit conversation for the night before your wedding. We should speak of less ill-fated unions: your aunt and uncle, your parents—”

“Your own marriage, perhaps?” Kelson asked with a faint smile, his lips red with the wine of which he had just drunk deeply.

As Morgan demurred, unreadable emotions flickering across his face, and Duncan chuckled politely, Dhugal gave a tipsy giggle and raised his cup in unsteady salute.

“Here, here, Your Grace! You're the only married man among us. Tell my virgin brother what he can expect on his wedding night!”

“I—doubt our lord the king needs any serious instruction in that regard,” Morgan said after a slight pause, suspecting that Kelson might, but reluctant to go into too intimate detail in front of one of Kelson's apparently more experienced peers, and with all of them increasingly in their cups.

“What makes a marriage is not the wedding night, however,” he went on, “but what comes after. I suspect that Kelson's marriage will be rather like everyone else's in that respect. Regardless of how much he and his bride eventually may come to care for one another—and God grant that love
will
grow between them—there will be good days … and days that are not so good.” He shrugged and smiled. “One works things out.”

Kelson looked at him strangely. “Is that the voice of experience, Alaric?” he said softly. “Odd, but it never even occurred to me that you and Richenda were anything but deliriously happy. You seemed so much in love—”

“And we're still in love,” Morgan said, raising an eyebrow wistfully. “That doesn't mean there aren't occasional problems, however. She's an intelligent, headstrong woman, Kelson—and I'm as headstrong a man as you're ever likely to meet. I wouldn't lie to you and say we haven't had our bad days, but I
will
assure you that the nights are almost always good.”

“I'll bet they are.” Dhugal chuckled, raising his cup in oblivious salute as Kelson looked at him in astonishment. “I've heard about your wife, Your Grace!”

“
Have
you, now?”

Morgan's dry tone of affront was only in jest, for he knew Dhugal had not meant his comment the way it sounded, but the look of consternation which came over the boy's face as he realized what he had said could not be ignored. Better he learn about the consequences of too much drink while in the company of friends than among strangers, who might take genuine and perhaps deadly offense.

“Your Grace, I'm sorry!” the boy managed to whisper, his eyes so wide Morgan wondered how he could see. “I only meant—”

“What
did
you mean, Earl of Transha?” Morgan replied softly. “That my wife is beautiful?”

“Yes! And that's
all
!”

Before their very eyes, Dhugal turned a pasty shade of green, so quickly that even he was taken by surprise.

“Too much to drink!” he managed to croak, as he lurched to his feet and ran stumbling from the room to disappear into a garderobe cubicle, which shortly echoed with the sound of retching. Kelson, hardly less inebriated but in far better control, at least of his stomach, stifled an embarrassed giggle and hiccoughed.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh. I think I've had too much as well. Someone ought to make sure he's all right, though.”

“I'll go,” Duncan said, rising to join the unfortunate Dhugal.

Morgan glanced over his shoulder at the retreating bishop, then back at the still-snickering king.

“Are you sure
you're
all right?” he asked Kelson.

Kelson shook his head and pressed the cool goblet against his forehead as he closed his eyes.

“No. I'm scared silly about tomorrow. I'm going to have a
wife
, Alaric! She doesn't even
like
me. What am I going to do?”

“You're going to make the best of it, as you have with everything that's been dealt you,” Morgan replied. “And as for whether she likes you or not, why not give her a chance before you decide she doesn't? You're going to discover a great change just since you last saw her. And you've already admitted that you're attracted to
her
. Make that work for you. It isn't that hard to fall in love. I've done it dozens of times.”

Kelson snorted and opened his eyes. “Only once that's counted—and where did
that
get you?
Is
something wrong between you and Richenda, Alaric? Is there anything I—what a stupid thing to say!” He took another quick gulp from his cup and looked back at the surprised Morgan. “Well, here I am, scared witless about getting married, asking an old married man whether there's anything
I
can do to help
him
. I'm as drunk as Dhugal!”

“Not if you mean what you say,” Morgan replied, eying the king wistfully.

“That I'm drunk? Oh—that I'm willing to help,” Kelson answered, echoing Morgan's patient nod.

“Yes.”

“Very well. What?”

“What?”

“What do you want me to do to help?” Kelson said, making a rolling gesture with his free hand to urge Morgan on. “Come on, tell me.”

With a short, resolute sigh, Morgan leaned a little closer, toying with his goblet between his two hands as he gazed across at the king.