The Bishop’s Heir (47 page)

“Do you think I'm doing the right thing?” Kelson asked Morgan, when they were alone at last. “It isn't what I always dreamed of, God knows—a marriage of state, with a girl I hardly know, much less love.”

“Are you asking for a reiteration of all the objective reasons why the marriage should take place?” Morgan countered.

“God, no! We've gone over them so many times, I could recite them by rote, in voices appropriate to the councillors who made each particular point.” Kelson sighed. “I suppose I'm really asking whether you think there's any chance of real love creeping in amid all those reasons of state. I know objections of the heart have to come second to duty when one is king, but I can't help envying what you and Richenda have.”

Morgan smiled, remembering his own fears on
his
wedding day, even though he and Richenda had loved one another as only Deryni, who had shared minds and dreams and fears, could. He doubted Kelson would ever find that perfect meshing of souls with the human Sidana, but who could say? Couples often fell in love
after
marriage, and grew to cherish one another. If both Kelson and Sidana made an honest effort, their union should not be too oppressive. And with peace as the potential prize—

“I won't try to tell you that I
know
you'll live happily ever after, as the bards would have us believe,” he said after a moment. “It won't be easy. On the other hand, Richenda tells me that your princess does grow wistful about you on occasion. Of course Sidana would never admit that she's at least a little excited about your coming marriage—she's far too proud for that. But she
is
a beautiful, healthy young girl—and you are the most eligible, puissant, and attractive prince in all Christendom. How could she not find you desirable?”

Kelson blushed furiously. “Alaric, stop that! You're putting it on such a—a carnal level! If she
can
come to love me, I want our love to be—well, spiritual, like yours and Richenda's.”

“Spiritual?” Morgan snorted. “Kelson, do you think that Richenda and I spend all our time alone discussing the spiritual aspects of our relationship.”

“Well, I—”

“That's a part of it, of course,” Morgan went on, “but I assure you that the ‘carnal level,' as you put it, is very, very nice, as well. Don't sell your body short. It's a part of who and what you are. Lofty love is well and good for monks, and a healthy measure of it gives marriage deeper dimension; but especially with a human wife, where you won't have the potential for such sharing of minds, you're going to find that the physical act of love is a very special means of communication and communion in itself. And of course, on a very practical level, it's essential for begetting heirs.”

“Yes, well—” Kelson turned and paced back and forth several times, hands clasped nervously before him, his cloak stirring around his heels. When he finally stopped to glance aside at Morgan again, he was a little paler against his crimson raiment.

“Alaric, I—never have, you know.”

“I know,” Morgan murmured sympathetically, but Kelson went on as if he had not heard.

“There—just hasn't been time—not to do it the way I'd always dreamed,” the king whispered. “Oh, there could have been casual couplings with any number of serving wenches and maids and even ladies of the court—and one can hardly live in the close quarters of a castle, or on campaign, and not have seen and heard enough to know what that's all about. If all we're talking about is the physical drive, then every page and peasant boy soon learns how to relieve that. Princes are no exception. But I
am
more than just my body, Alaric. And even though I've never—been with a woman, I know there has to be more to making love than just the physical relief.”

As Morgan nodded wisely, sensing no need for a verbal response, Kelson paused only long enough to draw breath before racing on, justifications and logic jumbling all together with emotion and the natural apprehensions of the sexually uninitiated.

“There's another thing, too,” the king blurted, starting to pace again. “I'm the king. What if there had been children? The last thing I need complicating the already convoluted family relationships in Gwynedd is a succession of royal bastards to muddy the waters twenty years from now—or to become pawns in my enemies' hands at any time. And I'm Deryni, Alaric. My children will be, too. That alone might have been enough to ensure their deaths and those of their mothers. It just seemed … safer to abstain, and avoid the risk.”

“It probably was,” Morgan agreed.

“So that leaves me in the very awkward position of being a virgin on my wedding night,” Kelson concluded. “That's fine for a woman; it's essential in the woman I marry. But—what if I don't know what to
do
, Alaric? What if she laughs at me?”

Morgan had all he could do not to smile. Was there a man alive who had not had such fears, at least in the beginning? And some never really lost those fears—though Kelson, with his gentleness and his genuine concern for others, was not likely to be left with that dilemma.

With avuncular understanding, then, Morgan put an arm around Kelson's shoulders and did his best to reassure, reminding the virgin Kelson of his young bride's similar state and suggesting ways that the king might sense how best to please her. That idea had never even occurred to Kelson. By the time Dhugal appeared at the door with the rest of the king's wedding procession, Kelson could relax and even banter with his more worldly foster brother as he put on his crown and went out to meet his bride.

The horses and the bride's company were waiting in the castle yard under a sky of palest winter blue, Sidana gowned in slightly darker shades of the same and seated on a milk white palfrey with white and silver bardings. The fine wool of her mantle, a deeper azure embroidered with golden pomegranates all around the hem, had been spread over her horse's rump so that it nearly trailed the ground in the back. She was crowned with a wreath of white roses, her long, chestnut hair spilling down her back to nearly veil the mantle.

Llewell stood at her horse's head, nervously knotting and unknotting the animal's white leather lead-rein in gloved fingers—a brooding shadow in darker blue than Sidana's, scowling into the sun. A little way behind, Richenda and three other ladies waited on pale grey palfreys, ready to attend the bride. Others of the king's attendants were already mounted up as well, Derry holding the reins of his black stallion. To one side, four of Kelson's knights were readying a canopy of sky blue silk to carry over the bride. None of the four ranked lower than an earl's son.

“We are blessed with fair weather for our nuptials, my lady,” Kelson said, inclining his head in tentative greeting when he, Morgan, and Dhugal had made their way through the horses and bowing courtiers and stopped before her. “I trust that my people have made you welcome and carried out the preparations to your satisfaction.”

“Satisfaction?” Llewell said before Sidana could reply. “How can there be satisfaction when we are prisoners?”

“Your bondage has been light, I think,” Kelson murmured, hoping desperately that Llewell was not going to make a scene. “You have not been ill-used.”

“Ah, and you do not consider that you ill-use my sister by forcing her to agree to this marriage?” Llewell asked.

I thought he'd agreed to cooperate
, Morgan sent to Kelson, as Sidana drew in a breath of horror and Kelson's jaw tightened.
Do you want me to put him to sleep?

No, just shake him up a bit. Sidana wants him to escort her
.

As you wish
.

Without a flicker of warning, Morgan reached across to seize Llewell's upper arm in a vise-grip, though his pleasant expression did not alter.

“The lady hs agreed to an honorable marriage,” he said softly. “Now,
will
you hold your tongue, or must I thrash you over my knee for the spoiled, ill-bred young boor that you are?”

“You wouldn't dare!”

“Wouldn't I?”

“Llewell, please—”

“Stay out of this, Sidana!”

“My prince,” Morgan murmured, his hand clamping tighter on Llewell's arm, “by your leave, I shall escort this young fool to a place where he can do no one any harm—himself included.”

“Not yet. Llewell,” Kelson said quietly, “you have found me an uncommonly patient man so far. You may judge the truth of that by the fact that you are still alive, even though your mother treacherously slew my bishop and you yourself claim to stand between your sister and the Mearan crown. Out of concern for the feelings of my bride, I am willing to overlook a great deal. But I will not have your insolence, and I will not have you disrupting your sister's wedding and coronation. Now, are you certain you want to pursue this line of resistance?”

Llewell's eyes blazed with undisguised hatred, but after a few seconds, he turned his head away.

“You'd only use your black magic on me, if I tried,” he muttered into the horse's mane.

“What did you say?” Kelson gasped.

As Morgan jerked Llewell around to face them, even angrier than he had been, Kelson moved closer incredulously.

“I—said that you'd only use your accursed powers on me, if I didn't agree to cooperate!” Llewell said haltingly, still defiant, though he winced at the pressure of Morgan's fingers digging into his biceps. “As your Deryni priest did before.”

“Are you
trying
to goad me into an act we'll both regret?” Kelson whispered.

“Llewell,
please
!” Sidana begged. “For
my
sake. You can't stop the marriage. You promised you would stand beside me. If they take you away, I'll be all alone!”

Heaving a heavy, defeated sigh, Llewell drew himself up with as much dignity as he could salvage from the situation, though Morgan's hand remained clamped on his arm.

“I see I am also alone,” he said evenly. “But I'll not deprive my sister of the escort to which her rank entitles her. I'll—play my father's part and give away the bride, if it's the proper form you're looking for, Kelson of Gwynedd. But I'll be loathing you for every second!”

“Ah—
loathing
me.” Kelson raised an eyebrow and smiled with relief. “Well, I can put up with that, I suppose, if you do as you're told. Morgan, you can let him go. My lady, I'm sorry you had to witness this.”

“Please forgive my brother, my lord,” Sidana whispered. “He only means to protect me.”

“Sidana, I don't need to hide behind a woman's skirts!”

“
Will
you shut your mouth?” Morgan muttered.

As he raised a gloved hand in threat, Llewell drew back in alarm.

“Enough, Morgan!” Kelson said. “He's young and he's proud and hurting. Let's not make those fatal flaws. I will make you one threat, however, Llewell of Meara,” he went on, turning the full force of his quicksilver gaze on the Mearan prince again. “I will remind you only once that Morgan and other loyal friends and vassals will be right at my side during the ceremony. If anything happens that isn't supposed to, and it's your fault—
anything
—I am here and now giving them free license to take whatever action they deem necessary. That assumes, of course, that I haven't dealt with you first. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“You do,” Llewell muttered under his breath.

“I didn't quite hear that.”

“You make yourself perfectly,
abundantly
clear,” Llewell repeated sullenly.

“Good. Then we understand one another. My lady?”

He glanced up at Sidana again, tentatively extending his hand, and to his surprise, she responded. Much heartened, he bent to brush her knuckles with his lips, more confident as he straightened and released her hand.

“My lady, I apologize again. A woman's wedding day should be joyous and free from care. I'm afraid I've started it out on rather a poor note.”

“You have done what you had to do, my lord,” she whispered, “and I, too, must once more beg pardon for my brother.”

“Sidana!”

Ignoring Llewell's outburst, Kelson shook his head. “This is neither the time nor the place to speak further of the matter, my lady. Later, after we are wed, there will be time enough for everything. But for now, the archbishops are waiting—and the people—to see their new queen go to her marriage and coronation. May I give the commands for our procession to begin?”

“Do you ask
my
permission, my lord?” she said, amazed.

“Of course. You are my lady and my queen.”

One look at her brother glaring up at her, hanging on her every gesture and expression, apparently was sufficient to keep Sidana from answering with words, but she shyly inclined her head nonetheless. To Kelson, it seemed more than just dutiful agreement. As he withdrew to the head of the procession where his horse waited, he signalled the knights to bring the canopy—blue silk powdered all over with tiny stars and moons—but his expression was jubilant once his back was safely to the Mearan prince and princess.

“Alaric, did you see?” he whispered, as Morgan held his stirrup and helped him mount, and Dhugal spread the crimson mantle over the horse's rump. “I think she
does
like me. Once we get her out from under her brother's thumb, who knows
what
might happen! Maybe it's going to work, after all.”

As they started to move out, Morgan glanced back at the small, lonely figure on the white horse, led to her destiny beneath a canopy of silk: all their hopes of peace wrapped up in one frail girl. He dearly hoped Kelson was right.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-T
WO

For the Lord delighteth in thee, and thy land shall be married
.