King Kelson's Bride

by Katherine Kurtz

  Her serene expression assured him that she did not, for a moment, think herself in serious jeopardy.

  “And just what is that?”

  “Whatever made you carry on that charade with Cuan of Howicce, especially once Rothana had approached you about a match with me?”

  “Why, Cuan is a pleasant young man, and he dearly loves his cousin Gwenlian,” she replied, her hands still in his. “Since, at the time, I had no other prospects I seriously favored, I was glad to help their cause. After all, I hadn’t seen you since I was six.

  “Fortunately, you’d already turned up alive by the time I heard that they thought you dead. I wept when I heard of Conall’s execution, but I knew why you had to do it.”

  Kelson dropped his gaze, regretting it anew.

  “Don’t look away,” she said, jiggling his hands. “You are king. You will have to do many things you would rather not do—though I . . . think . . . that perhaps you have changed your mind about at least one of those things. I know I have.”

  He dared to look up at her, still finding it hard to believe that he had changed his mind.

  “In any case, Cuan provided an agreeable ruse to keep me from being shunted into some far less salubrious marriage,” she said. “And since I knew he and I were never going to marry, I was able to enjoy the titillation of appearing to be wooed, fooling everyone. I shall miss that; Cuan was great fun.” She heaved a wistful sigh.

  “Meanwhile, Rothana had come along. And there’s something you should understand, that there wasn’t time to explain, when you came to me at Horthánthy and we first agreed to marry. I met her twice during that first year after Albin was born—en route to and from Nur Hallaj, to show him to her parents. Sometime between those two visits, she had already begun to conceive the part of the dream she hoped to salvage out of Conall’s tragedy: to restore Deryni to the full partnership with humans that it can and should be. She means to start by building a school.”

  “Ah, I do know about that,” he interjected. “Richenda told me—though apparently she didn’t know about your part in all of this. I’ve already started looking for a site, right here in Rhemuth. Actually, Duncan’s looking. It’s rather an exciting proposition: the first Deryni schola under royal patronage in nearly two centuries.”

  “And you’re the first Haldane to achieve the full potential of our blood in nearly two centuries,” she said. “With your support of this enterprise, just imagine the difference we can make!”

  “You’re a Haldane, too,” Kelson reminded her. “I’ve done quite a lot of thinking about that, in the past week or so. It’s occurred to me that if it was possible to awaken Haldane powers in Nigel—and we know that Conall was brought to astonishing levels of power—why not other Haldanes? Why not you, as well?”

  She merely cocked her head, considering, neither daunted nor repelled by the notion.

  “There’s never been a Haldane queen, so I’m sure it’s never been tried,” she said. “But that might explain why Azim and Rothana were able to bring me along so well—that or my Deryni blood,” she conceded. “And maybe regular exposure to other Deryni also helps. But whatever the answer, I’m certainly willing to do whatever you think best, to help you do what you need to do.”

  “What an incredibly brave queen you shall be!” he whispered, lifting one of her hands to kiss it. “We’ll certainly speak more of this later. Just now, however, it’s occurred to me that I probably ought to go, before both of us are missed at the same time. People will talk.”

  “About what?” she said with an air of wide-eyed innocence. “After all, it’s still believed that I’m all but engaged to marry Cuan—and you are my cousin.”

  “Sweet cousin,” he said with a faint, lazy smile, bending to kiss her lips again.

  She sighed softly, contentedly, as they parted, then glanced toward the door.

  “You may be right about people talking. Besides, I’m dying to know what success Jolyon is having with Oksana.” She wrinkled her nose at him, the way she had done when they were children. “I haven’t heard any screams or shattering crockery. . . .”

  “Neither have I,” Kelson replied with a chuckle. “And I think I’d like to approach Nigel about your suggestion regarding titles. That touches on his title, and Albin’s—one of those loose ends I mentioned earlier.”

  He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips again, smiling, and gave her hand a squeeze before he released it.

  “I’ll go out first. I suggest you wait a few minutes before following.”

  He found himself smiling as he left the room—and caught Richelle in a quick, brotherly hug before heading up to his quarters, sending Davoran to summon Nigel and Rory to join him.

  Nigel was not smiling, by the time Kelson had laid out his proposal.

  “I hope this isn’t a threat to stop Rory’s marriage from going forward, if I don’t capitulate.”

  “Of course not. But I think it’s time you accepted the fact that, whatever Conall did, it has nothing to do with his son—Rothana’s son, your grandson.”

  Rory was staring at his father, white-lipped with the tension.

  “I beg you not to destroy what should be a time of joy for all of us,” he said. “I don’t want the title that should be Albin’s. He’s done nothing to warrant being disinherited. And I don’t need his title. Kelson very generously has offered me one of my own. I’d be founding a new branch of the family.”

  “Then I’ll give Carthmoor to Payne,” Nigel said stubbornly. “Besides, Rothana doesn’t want Albin in the succession, either. Kelson, he could endanger your own succession. Why can’t you accept that?”

  “I must accept that at any time, anyone farther along the succession might try to supplant those above him—just as Conall did,” Kelson said. “A king who cannot answer such challenges does not deserve to keep his crown.

  “But I’ll make you this counteroffer. Restore the ducal succession to Albin. His mother still intends him for the church—and that’s my problem, to convince her to let him make his own choice. But if, for whatever reason, he doesn’t marry and continue his line, the succession then passes to Payne, rather than Rory—because Rory will already be a duke. And I’ll provide a title for Payne as well, whatever else happens, when he comes of age. That’s your ultimate intention, after all, isn’t it? To see all your descendants provided for?”

  Nigel was tracing patterns on the tabletop with one callused finger. He did not look up as he slowly began to speak.

  “When I lay under Conall’s spell,” he said, “I was aware of what was going on around me. I could make no movement, could give no sign that I was aware—but I was. And I—think—I want to believe—that Conall truly did not mean to do what he did. He was a willful boy, growing up—proud, sometimes arrogant—but he was truly concerned for the honor of our House. I think that the—power he used against me was—a flexing of desperation, trying to salvage something from the chain of events he’d unwittingly set in motion, which had led, he thought, to your death. If you had been dead, he was, indeed, correct that, as my heir, it was important to secure the succession into the next generation—a necessity with which you are intimately acquainted,” he added, with a wry glance at Kelson, who slowly nodded in agreement.

  “In that, at least,” the king said, “he knew his duty.”

  Nigel briefly bowed his head, then went on.

  “My son was also ambitious—and jealous—for which both of us have suffered. But I wonder if his fall perhaps came as much from his frustration at being denied access—or so he perceived—to what he believed to be his Haldane birthright.” Nigel sighed. “Had we known then what we know now, regarding the Haldane potential, it might have been possible to admit him legitimately to some part of that heritage, as you have done for me—and he could have become a valuable and reliable member of your court.

  “But his association with Tiercel de Claron, at that point in time, was particularly unfortunate,” Nigel went on dully, “for the
allure of forbidden power proved all too provocative, and the circumstances of its getting precluded his receiving adequate training in the responsible use of that power. Once he had caused Tiercel’s death, and declined to own up to the consequences of his actions, he set himself upon a path of ever more convoluted deception from which there was no turning back.

  “The rest, I fear, was largely the result of trying to hold together the illusions he himself had wrought; and when you returned, the time of reckoning had arrived. Unfortunately, some things could not be undone.”

  “No, they couldn’t,” Kelson said. “But having seen his son—your grandson—can you honestly wish that he could be undone?”

  Nigel shook his head. “Of course not. When I look at Albin, I see Conall as he was at that age—so full of life and intelligence and curiosity about the world. But then I remember Conall’s betrayal.”

  “And when I look at him,” Kelson replied, “I see Rothana’s son as well, who might have been my son. And it was of her love and loyalty that he was conceived, Nigel, to carry on the Haldane name and heritage—which he still can do. No, hear me out,” he added, when Nigel would have interrupted.

  “I’ve had to accept that she will never bear my sons, but I hope and believe that, in time, Albin Haldane will carry on some part of the dream she and I shared. Meanwhile, the bride I have chosen—at Rothana’s urging—is a Haldane like ourselves, who will give my own sons an equally precious legacy. She’s already showing me the kind of queen she’ll be. In fact, it was she who suggested the title for Oksana.

  “As for Rothana, I have come to realize that what she now is offering to Gwynedd—and to me—may be more precious to future generations than any scores of further children of her flesh. Both Araxie and Richenda have acquainted me with some of what Rothana has envisioned for the Servants of Saint Camber and the school she means to establish. Perhaps, in fact, that is a more important function, weighed against the future of this realm.

  “To that end, I intend to offer her land here in Rhemuth for her new schola, with the Crown to be its patron. I’ve already asked Duncan to find me a suitable site. Given that we cannot change the past, my fondest wish for the future would be that Albin may embrace the fullness of his Deryni heritage, both at his mother’s knee and here at court, and come into his manhood instilled with the responsibilities as well as the privileges that are his birthright.

  “If he still chooses a religious life after all of that”—Kelson threw up both his hands—“that’s in God’s hands. But in the fullness of time, it’s Albin whom I would wish to have at my side as Duke of Carthmoor after you, to help me rule Gwynedd alongside my own sons, and Morgan’s sons, and Dhugal’s sons—and with Rory’s sons and Richelle’s sons ruling in Meara, as my deputies, binding the peace throughout our realm. But for all of that to happen, I need you to restore Albin to the Carthmoor succession, and acknowledge him as your heir.”

  Nigel said nothing for a long moment, only staring at his hands folded on the table. When he finally spoke, he did not look up.

  “I will agree to this,” he said quietly, “if Rothana will agree.”

  Nigel’s capitulation considerably reinforced Kelson’s intentions regarding the Mearans. By the time Jolyon came to him the next morning, to report on progress or lack thereof, the king had decided on precisely the terms of the offer he would make to Sir Jolyon Ramsay and his wife.

  “The silence was far more frightening than if she had screamed or thrown things,” Jolyon concluded, slumping on the bench opposite Kelson, in the window seat of his private reception chamber. When he said nothing more, Kelson raised an eyebrow.

  “I take it that, eventually, she did speak?”

  “Not really. She went white at first, then bright red. Then she burst into tears and took to her bed. I slept in another room. She was sitting at the window when I rose this morning, gazing out over the gardens. She still hasn’t spoken more than two words. I’ve asked that food be sent up to her.”

  “I see.” Kelson considered, then sat forward slightly.

  “Very well, I have a proposition for you, that hopefully will sweeten her disposition,” he said. “How, if we were to make a slight alteration to the marriage contract between Brecon and Richelle, whereby you would receive the ducal title that I had proposed to bestow on Brecon upon the birth of his first son by Richelle?”

  Jolyon’s jaw dropped.

  “It would still pass to him upon your eventual death, of course,” Kelson went on, enjoying Jolyon’s astonishment, “and he’d still be Earl of Kilarden for the interim; but you and your lady wife would enjoy ducal rank and revenues for your lifetimes.”

  He sat back in his chair in no little satisfaction.

  “As for your daughter, I’ve already told you that I would create a separate ducal title for Rory—and I am happy to inform you that Nigel has agreed to let him step back from the Carthmoor succession, and to reinstate his grandson, Prince Albin, to his proper place as heir. There are still some details to be worked out with Albin’s mother, but that needn’t concern you.”

  Jolyon had gone very still as Kelson unfolded his proposal, and shook his head in wonder as the king looked at him expectantly.

  “Sire, you truly wield powerful magic of an entirely different sort than I had dreamed. Nigel approves of this?”

  “He accepts it, which is much the same thing,” Kelson countered. “What say you? Would it please your lady wife that both she and your daughter should be duchesses?”

  Jolyon grinned. “You are far more shrewd a judge of women than I had realized, Sire. I do agree—for the sake of both our Houses.”

  “Excellent.” Kelson smiled faintly. “I cannot change the past, Jolyon, but, God willing, I can build strength upon it. May I inform the ladies of my household that they may look forward to that double wedding we discussed?”

  “You may, indeed.” Jolyon sighed. “I must confess myself greatly relieved that I shall accomplish the marriages of both my children in one fell swoop, and to the honor of all concerned.”

  “Then I shall have the necessary documents prepared,” Kelson said, rising. “Please convey my kindest respects to your new duchess.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  So foolish was I, and ignorant.

  Psalm 73:22

  Not until the new marriage contract was agreed could the betrothal be announced of the Lady Noelie Ramsay to Prince Rory Haldane; but during the next several days, the two were seen increasingly in one another’s company, along with her brother and the king’s cousins and the growing numbers of noble wedding guests arriving from near and far to witness the historic union of Brecon Ramsay, the Mearan heir, with his Haldane princess.

  The bridegroom’s mother basked in the attention showered on the bridal couple and their kin, gracefully sharing in the diversions devised to entertain the guests of Gwynedd. While the fact that Gwynedd’s king had not chosen Noelie of Meara for his bride still rankled with the Lady Oksana, the prospect of her own ducal coronet as well as one for her daughter considerably eased the disappointment.

  A few days following agreement of the basic arrangement, a morning when Kelson was still closeted with Jolyon and their respective advisors to hammer out details of the legal provisions—for Jolyon’s impending promotion to ducal status somewhat altered previous expectations—the Duchess Meraude invited Jolyon’s wife and daughter to join them in the breeze-cooled solar where she, Jehana, and Sivorn and her daughters—all the royal ladies of Gwynedd—were contentedly stitching on wedding finery, sharing the latest gossip of the court. Included at last in this world of grace and privilege, Oksana soon settled into the status to which she had always believed herself both destined and entitled, happily confirming their speculations—as yet unverified by official announcement—of a second Mearan marriage with Haldane royalty. More, no mother could ask.

  Jehana was much relieved at this final evidence of Oksana’s capitulation, for she had been well aware of her son’s
uneasiness over the Mearan situation. She sat with them for a while, working fine embroidery on the collar of a shirt for Kelson, but after a while she excused herself and went down to the library. As expected, the door was locked, for Father Nivard would be with Kelson, performing his usual secretarial duties; but the young Deryni priest had given her a key of her own, with the droll comment that it would not do to have her reputation compromised, were someone to see her crouching before the door to work its lock with her powers.

  She smiled at the memory as she opened the door and entered, closing and locking it behind her. Inside, the drapes had been drawn to keep the sun from fading the manuscripts stored there, but there was enough light to make her way to the passageway to the adjoining chamber. She no longer paid much mind as she passed through the Veil that divided the two rooms. Nor was she at all discomfited to see Barrett sitting in the window embrasure, as he had that first night she met him, again with a scroll unfurled on his lap. He laid the scroll aside and turned his face toward her as she came into the room.

  “My lord Barrett, I had expected you might be here,” she said, coming to take the hand he extended to her, keeping it in hers as she settled opposite him. She dipped her head to press his hand to her forehead in fond and respectful salute, pupil to teacher. “I have happy news. My nephew Rory is to be permitted a marriage of love—to the Lady Noelie Ramsay. There were fears that his mother would not allow the match, for she hoped that Kelson might wed her daughter, but she seems well enough content. The promise of a ducal coronet has sweetened her disposition.”

  “I am pleased for the lady, and for young Rory,” Barrett said, smiling gently, “and I am pleased that you are pleased.” He patted their joined hands with his free one, then drew back, looking faintly wistful. “It is a great blessing, to marry for love.”

  “Yes, it is,” Jehana replied. His expression made her wonder whether Barrett had ever married, and whether it had been for love. She had loved Brion dearly, in the beginning; she tried not to dwell on how she herself had blighted that love by refusing to acknowledge that part of him that was magical, how she had wasted so much time denying what he was, what she was. Barrett had assured her that it was not too late to take up her destiny, to learn to be all that she could be, in the fullness of her Deryni heritage; but it was too late to share any of that with Brion.