To mingled relief and apprehension on Kelson’s part, Oksana elected to spend the day in the ladies’ solar, eager to gossip with Sivorn and Meraude and Jehana regarding her son’s forthcoming wedding with Richelle. Kelson knew he could count on the three Haldane women to assist in the matter of Rory and Noelie, especially now that he himself was committed to Araxie; but Oksana was still a great unknown, so the situation made him somewhat apprehensive.
Having Noelie’s interest confirmed, however, the hawking expedition did present an ideal opportunity to begin sounding the waters with her father, without the complication of Oksana’s presence. Kelson found his opening late in the afternoon, when he at last contrived to draw Jolyon apart, away from courtiers or curious servants.
“My cousin Rory wishes me to speak to you regarding your daughter,” he said to Jolyon, gentling the hooded peregrine perched on his fist and eyeing the Mearan sidelong. “Unbeknownst to you or to me, it seems that the two of them became quite fond of one another last summer, while you and I were hammering out the details of the other marriage with my House.”
Jolyon had tensed as Kelson spoke, arrested in the act of stroking the breast feathers of his own hawk, and looked somewhat bewildered. “Sire, I—confess myself somewhat taken aback. I—had not expected a request on behalf of Rory.”
“Their mutual attraction came as something of a surprise to me, I must confess,” Kelson said, “but I hope I may speak frankly in this matter. I am not unaware that your lady wife had hoped that I might offer for your daughter’s hand.
“As it happens, however, they have chosen otherwise,” Kelson went on, sparing Jolyon any embarrassment of having to confirm or deny. “Nor can I say that I disapprove, because it seems to me a match of hearts, and one which also fulfills the political alliances that would have been served by a match between myself and Noelie. I see that you had never considered such an arrangement,” he added, when Jolyon did not immediately speak.
Jolyon seemed to be searching for words, though Kelson did not have the impression that the other man was precisely distressed by the notion.
“There is much to be said,” Kelson went on carefully, “for a state marriage that also embodies honest affection. All my life, I have observed the fondness in the marriage of Rory’s parents, who also married for love, and I very much believe that Rory himself is the same kind of man as his father, for whom a match of hearts is very important—and he believes he has found it in your Noelie.”
Jolyon gazed off across the meadow before them, returning to the absent stroking of his bird. “It is the happiness I have always wished, for my little girl,” he finally said. “It is her mother who aspires to titles.”
“She shall have happiness as well as title, if you allow her and Rory to wed,” Kelson replied. “I am prepared to revive one of the ancient Mearan dukedoms for them, on the day the marriage takes place—and that, I would suggest, could be done in conjunction with the nuptials already scheduled between Brecon and Richelle. Not to put too fine a point on it, but such an arrangement would also save you the expense of a separate wedding for Noelie. She could return to Meara with both a husband and a title.”
“Surely Nigel would not allow his heir to live in Meara,” Jolyon ventured, in tactful allusion to the reason Rory was Nigel’s heir, known by all.
“The details of that arrangement have yet to be worked out,” Kelson admitted, “but such would be my wish, if it is theirs—much though I would miss his counsel here at court.”
Jolyon slowly nodded. “A very tempting prospect. I expect that I would see a great deal more of my eventual grandchildren.” He summoned up a tentative grin. “You’ve anticipated most of the arguments that my dear wife is sure to raise. She throws things when she’s angry, you know—and it’s no secret that she’d set her cap for you as a match for our daughter.”
Kelson snorted. “She and the kin of every other well-bred young woman in the Eleven Kingdoms, of marriageable age and situation. But I can’t marry them all.”
“No, just one will suffice,” Jolyon agreed. “And all Gwynedd will rejoice on that day. But you’re certainly narrowing the choices available. Dare I ask whether you are any nearer a decision?”
“You may—and I am,” Kelson admitted, “though you will appreciate that I may not say more at this time. But be assured that, by stepping aside for Rory, I mean no slight to your daughter. On the contrary, it’s my respect for her and my affection for my cousin that move me to this decision—which will allow them to satisfy both duty and genuine affection. I should be honored and delighted to have Noelie as my cousin by marriage.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Jolyon said impatiently, “but you and I are men. Getting her mother to see it that way may be somewhat more difficult.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Kelson replied, “but if you care as much about your daughter’s happiness as you say you do, you’ll find a way to convince her.”
“I’ll certainly do my best.” Jolyon cocked his head, pretending profound interest in his fidgeting bird. “You said you were nearer a decision, in your own case—may I ask how near?”
Kelson had to smile faintly at Jolyon’s persistence.
“Near enough—though I know you will appreciate that I may not say more until a public announcement has been made—and I shan’t allow that until both your children are wed.”
“To spare my daughter’s feelings?”
“As much to spare her mother’s feelings,” Kelson said with a strained smile. “Rory assures me that your daughter has no sense of settling for less than she desired.”
Jolyon grinned broadly. “She’s a passionate lass—as is her mother. It has always been difficult to deny either of them what they wanted—and if anything, the daughter is more determined than the dam. I hope young Rory knows what he’s taking on!”
“That, fortunately, is not my concern,” Kelson said. “May I take it that he has your permission, then?”
“I shall still have to placate my wife—but, yes, he has my permission,” Jolyon replied. “May I ask, however, that you say nothing to anyone else until I give you leave? I would prefer to handle this in my own way.”
“I wouldn’t dream of interfering.”
“And don’t be surprised at any shouts or screams or sounds of breaking crockery coming from our quarters tonight,” Jolyon went on. “For everyone’s peace of mind, I think it best if my wife and I take our evening meal there in privacy; the youngsters may join in whatever public arrangements have been made. I should also point out that the details of the second marriage contract have still to be worked out, but I promise you I’ll not be unreasonable. I only want my girl to be happy.”
His gaze flicked out across the meadow, where Rory, Noelie, and Araxie were racing their horses flat out after a gyring hawk. Somewhat nearer, in the shade of a sprawling oak, Richelle was sitting with her back against its trunk and Brecon’s head in her lap, laughing as she dropped grapes into his open mouth.
“They seem happy enough with their arrangement,” Jolyon observed.
“Yes, they do,” Kelson agreed. “I think all of us will do well by both these matches.”
“We shall see,” Jolyon said, gathering up his reins. “Remember, not a word . . .”
Later in the afternoon, Rory rode over to where Kelson and Dhugal were watching from afar as Nigel flew a great gerfalcon, eagerly observed by Jolyon and Brecon and several squires. Noelie and Araxie had joined Richelle under the giant oak, the three of them chattering happily as they sipped at ale cooled in a nearby stream, attended by several adoring pages.
“Did you ask him?” Rory breathed, his eyes alight with anticipation. “You two were alone for a very long time.”
“I asked him,” Kelson admitted, “but he’s asked that I not discuss it yet.”
“He hardly looked at me, when I passed him a while ago,” Rory whispered. “Is he angry? Did he think me presumptuous?”
“I told you, I mayn�
��t speak of it,” Kelson repeated, though he smiled as he said it, and Dhugal was doing his best not to grin—for Kelson had told him, mind to mind, in strictest confidence.
Rory closed his eyes, letting out a tiny, relieved sigh as he realized Kelson was teasing. “He’s agreed. I understand why it can’t yet be discussed. Dear God, I’ll burst, having to keep it all bottled up. I want to tell the world!”
“You can’t even tell Noelie yet,” Kelson said calmly. “I am given to understand that we might expect shouting and the sounds of breakage later tonight, when Jolyon confronts his lady wife. If you doubt your ability to appear oblivious to such a scene, I suggest you pretend an indisposition for the evening. The marriage contract has yet to be negotiated.” He cocked his head at Rory. “If you wish, I can block your memory of this until tomorrow.”
Rory favored him with a darting grin. “And miss the delicious feeling of happy conspiracy that I’m enjoying at this moment? Not a chance! You shall see a prize-winning performance of ‘innocence’ for the rest of the day! I promise I won’t let you down, Kel.”
As he rode off, shading his eyes to watch another hawk strike, Dhugal glanced at the king.
“You’ve made him a very happy man.”
“Jolyon has made him a very happy man,” Kelson replied. “I’m just glad I was able to be the bearer of good news for a change.”
Rory was as good as his word. All through the remainder of the afternoon, he maintained a convincing façade of decorous nonchalance, equally courteous and attentive to all in the royal party, never betraying any hint that he had knowledge of what had been discussed between Kelson and Jolyon, or even that a discussion had taken place.
On the way back to Rhemuth, Jolyon himself contrived to ride at Rory’s side, the two of them soon dropping back from the others to talk privily. After a while, Rory sent a page forward to request that Nigel drop back to ride with them. The three seemed to have achieved an easy camaraderie by the time the hawking party dismounted in the castle yard.
Morgan had returned from Desse with his family while they hunted, and came to the door of the hall with Richenda to watch as hawks and horses were taken away and their riders began to disperse. Kelson bounded up the great-hall steps when he saw them, saluting Richenda with a kiss and then bending to greet Kelric and accept a kiss from Briony, who was holding the hand of “Uncle Séandry.” The latter looked a trifle weary, but apparently well enough recovered from his experience of the night before.
“All’s well?” Morgan murmured aside to the king, as Nigel shouldered past them with only perfunctory greeting, trailed uncertainly by Rory.
“I hope so.” Kelson hailed Rory and drew him aside with Morgan, jutting his chin toward Nigel. “He didn’t dig in his heels, did he?”
Rory shook his head, somber. “No, he’s in favor of the marriage. I think he’s realizing, though, the pressure this will bring to bear on the question of the Carthmoor succession. I haven’t dared to mention it.”
“And Jolyon?”
“He seems well enough content—but he still has to contend with Oksana. It isn’t over, by any means. However, I was left with the firm impression that there will be either a marriage or a murder.”
“Good God, let it not be murder!” Kelson said in mock alarm. “All we need is another war with Meara.”
Very shortly, Jolyon announced his intention to retire early, being wearied from the day’s outing. He tendered Rory a broad wink before disappearing up the turnpike stair. Kelson dined that evening with Morgan and Richenda, Duncan and Dhugal also joining them. The short summer night was only just descending by the time they finished eating, but Morgan’s sidelong glances at his wife made it clear that he would appreciate an early departure on the part of all three of their supper guests.
Accordingly, Kelson soon took his leave, declaring his intention to attend to some correspondence before retiring. Duncan and Dhugal followed his lead—and were, in fact, debating whether to adjourn to Kelson’s quarters to continue drinking—when Davoran, one of Kelson’s senior squires, came to him with a message that he was wanted in the withdrawing room behind the great-hall dais.
“Shall I come along?” Dhugal asked, as his father lifted a hand in resigned leave-taking and headed off for the night.
Kelson started to say yes, but the squire was quietly shaking his head.
“Apparently not,” Kelson said. “Why not, Davoran?”
“A lady, Sire. Actually, two of them. But they said I was to bring only you.”
With a shrug, Kelson followed Davoran down the stair, through the great hall to the withdrawing room. There he found Araxie and Richelle, fresh from conversation with their mother regarding the afternoon’s gossip in the ladies’ solar. When Richelle had given Kelson a quick hug, she slipped outside to keep watch before the door with Davoran, leaving Kelson alone with Araxie. A single torch burned in a cresset by the door, but otherwise the room was dark.
“Come away from the door,” she said, drawing him into the shadow of the fireplace. “I couldn’t think where else was safe to meet you, at this hour. Maman has just told us the most extraordinary thing—and I think I now know what might answer nearly all Oksana’s desires.”
“If you know that, then tell me, by all means. Jolyon is breaking the news about Noelie and Rory, even as we speak.”
“Then, consider a title for her and Jolyon. That’s what she wants and has never gotten, Kelson. She wanted to be Brion’s queen—but he married Jehana. Then she wanted to be Nigel’s duchess—and he married Meraude. That’s one of the reasons she so desperately wants Noelie to be your queen.”
“I’d gathered that much, from things Nigel’s told me,” he said, though he had not, indeed, considered a title for Jolyon.
“Then, suppose you were to create a ducal title for her and Jolyon?” she went on eagerly, almost as if she were picking up his thoughts. “Perhaps give them the one you were going to give to Brecon, when he and Richelle have their first son. Brecon would still receive that title, once his father passes on. He’s quite devoted to his sister, so I suspect it wouldn’t make a great deal of difference to him, so long as he and Richelle have sufficient income—which they will, of course, as Earl and Countess of Kilarden. Meanwhile, Oksana would enjoy the ducal title she missed when Nigel didn’t marry her. For her, that’s even better than having her daughter be queen.”
Kelson had listened in growing astonishment as Araxie unfolded her proposal, at once aware that it was the absolutely perfect solution to at least that part of the Mearan tangle—and wondering why he had not thought of it. In a sudden impulse of sheer delight and gratitude, he seized her face between his two hands and kissed her—and started back, in even greater astonishment, as he realized what he had done.
For the life of him, though, he could not bring himself to take his hands from those downy cheeks, like silk beneath his fingers. Her own hands had lifted of their own accord to lightly clasp his elbows, and she looked no less surprised than he, the soft, rosy lips slightly parted in wonder, those wide eyes of Haldane grey glinting in the torchlight, shyly inviting but not presuming.
He could feel his heart hammering in his breast as he bent to kiss her again, more mindfully this time, stirring to her response as her hands slid up his arms to rest upon his shoulders. As he tasted and then drank more deeply of a gentle, poignant yearning, the sweeter for being quite unexpected, he let his hands quest into the pale, silken hair, feeling her mouth melt under his, the taut length of his body gradually pressing her against the wall behind as a delicious tension began to stir in his groin.
But it was not the fiery rush of near-unbridled passion that had threatened to overwhelm him that one time he had actually held Rothana in his arms. Rather, a slower welling up of longing from someplace deeper than mere physical response, though promising similar resolution, once unleashed. As he let himself at last acknowledge that longing, instinct bade him tenderly enfold her in his shields—and her own shields answere
d, briefly merging and mingling with his in exquisite rapport.
It lasted but an instant, for neither had planned it, nor was ready for more; but that glimpse of shared vision and mutual discovery was a tantalizing taste of the deeper communion hinted at in their one previous venture into rapport—and was sufficient for now, ratifying guarded hopes and easing fears on both their parts—acknowledgment that there was a bond both of need and of tenderness growing between them, which might very well be love. Kelson could feel her trembling in his arms—and his own trembling—as, at last, he reluctantly ended their kiss to rest his lips against her cheek and simply hold her softly to him, like some precious, fragile bird.
After a moment, as his pulse rate settled, he finally drew back enough to look at her, still suffused by wonder. She was smiling, tears brimming in her eyes, and he bent to gently kiss away their wet saltiness.
“Am I to take it,” she whispered huskily, “that you approve of a title for Oksana?”
In a burst of sheer exhilaration, he laughed aloud and set his hands on her waist to lift her off her feet and whirl her once around him, smartly kissing her again as he set her back on her feet.
“Not only do I approve,” he declared happily, “but I think that with you at my side, darling coz, we may become the most fortunate king and queen ever to grace the throne of Gwynedd! We can make this work, Araxie! I know that now. There are still a few loose ends to tidy, but we can do that!”
He drew a deep breath and took both her hands in his, lifting first one and then the other to press it to his lips, feeling her contentment, sharing it—and knowing that, at last, he had let himself loose the final chains binding him to dreams with Rothana that were never meant to be.
“There is one thing I must ask you, though,” he warned, gazing down at her with an expression of mock gravity.
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