“It is still my intention to create Brecon Ramsay and my cousin Earl and Countess of Kilarden on their wedding day,” he went on. “However, it has occurred to me that a son ought not to outrank his father, and that this would be an appropriate time to acknowledge the Ramsay family’s long-standing loyalty to our Crown and Realm. Accordingly, that creation will be subsidiary to a second ducal title that I intend to revive for Brecon’s father—this title eventually to pass to the Earl and Countess of Kilarden and their issue.”
Jolyon had closed his eyes, his face gone very still, as another frisson of excitement whispered among the other Mearans present. Oksana was holding onto her husband’s arm in what appeared to be a death grip, joyful tears streaming down her face: confirmation, indeed, that Kelson had succeeded in defusing any lingering resentment over a perceived rejection of her daughter, and had bound Ramsay loyalty inextricably to Gwynedd.
Glad enough that he could create at least a little happiness amid the cold realities of arranged marriages and dynastic alliances sparked by politics and wealth rather than affection, Kelson allowed himself a faint smile as he went on.
“Therefore, on the eve of their children’s marriages with my House, I shall create and establish Sir Jolyon Ramsay as Duke of Laas—and the Lady Oksana shall be Duchess of Laas. By these divers creations, and by promulgating these marriages, it is my fervent hope that the hostilities that have long marred relations between our two lands will cease, and peace will prevail at last.”
Amid Mearan elation over the restoration of so many of their ancient titles, any niggle regarding the muddled succession status of one of their new dukes went largely unremarked. Afterward, as the court dispersed, Nigel quietly absented himself from the hall, as well-wishers flocked equally around the happy couple and the bride’s parents. Only Kelson knew that, as agreed, Nigel had dutifully signed the appropriate documents that morning, restoring Albin to the Carthmoor succession—as would meet with general approval, once it became known, for the original decision had never been a popular one. But it would take more than a piece of parchment to admit the boy to his grandfather’s heart.
Fortunately, with both the Torenthi situation and Meara largely resolved—and, apparently, the issue of his own marriage—Kelson could now turn some of his energies to a more satisfactory resolution of such domestic loose ends. And in that, he had engaged the willing assistance of his future queen, his mother, and several of the other ladies in his life.
“That will have been difficult for Nigel,” Morgan remarked aside to Kelson, as they and Dhugal headed toward the council chamber, where Duncan was waiting to brief them on his site proposals for the Deryni schola to be established.
“At least he signed the Carthmoor documents,” Kelson replied, as Derry and Father Nivard fell in behind. “And fortunately, the women of my family have far better sense than the men about dealing with such things. Araxie and Richenda have charge of resolving the next phase of that problem, with some invaluable conniving on the part of my mother and Aunt Meraude.”
“Indeed?” Morgan said, with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t ask,” Kelson muttered. “Or better yet, come along with me to the basilica later this afternoon, for the final inspection of the new chapel. That’s progressing as well.”
They spent the next hour studying Duncan’s site recommendation, which, to Kelson’s surprise and delight, now centered on the basilica itself, with its adjacent monastic complex and a cluster of ancillary buildings nearby that could be incorporated later.
“It will already have a Saint Camber focus, from the chapel,” Duncan pointed out, letting Kelson and the others inspect the rough ground plan he had brought. “That will definitely make it attractive to the Servants. And best of all, it’s within the walls of the outer keep—and therefore, under your direct control, for security purposes. Most of the buildings are usable as they are, and there’s plenty of room for expansion. The advantages of having a Portal there already, and the secret passageway connecting that part of the outer yard to the castle, are things I don’t think we want to mention to the Servants yet, as selling points, but all in all, I don’t think you could ask for a better location.”
Kelson nodded, casting his gaze over the ground plan of the area, and the accommodations encompassed.
“I like it. And it brings to mind something else I’ve been considering.” He looked up thoughtfully at Duncan, sitting opposite him in the plain black cassock of a working priest, though his bishop’s amethyst marked his actual rank.
“The new schola will need an ecclesiastical visitor—one who’s sympathetic to the unique needs of such a foundation. In short, a Deryni bishop—and not one who’s already attached to a diocese of his own, like Arilan,” he added, anticipating the objection Duncan was about to raise. “It might take you out of the running for further episcopal advancement, at least for a few years, but maybe that’s no bad thing. I told Bradene, before I approved your election as an auxiliary bishop, that I wouldn’t allow you to accept any titular bishopric besides Rhemuth or possibly Valoret. I need you too badly here, with me.”
Duncan was smiling resignedly, well aware of Kelson’s affection, and his own key role in Kelson’s governing strategy, and knew it was fruitless to gainsay him, even had he wished to do so.
“How, if you were to have Cardiel make you rector of the new schola?” the king went on. “That wouldn’t have to interfere with your other present duties as his assistant. I could give you the living of the basilica; I’ve never liked having you all the way down at the cathedral anyway. Alaric, what do you think? Would Rothana go for it?”
Morgan was nodding, obviously intrigued by the possibilities.
“I confess, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admitted. “But the arrangement would seem to be tailor-made—provided Duncan is willing to take on yet more administrative duties.”
“There wouldn’t be that many, in the beginning,” Duncan said, already warming to the idea. “It would be a gradual shift in emphasis. Besides, I’d have first access to all the teachers we’d bring. There’s still so much to learn. . . .”
“That’s settled, then, as far as I’m concerned, “Kelson said, satisfied. “You can stop looking for additional sites—at least until we’re ready to open our second schola. Rothana may fight me at first—she’ll see it as one more ploy to get Albin here at court—but apart from that, I don’t see how she can possibly fault the logic. We’ll have a good look at the facilities later this afternoon, when we go down to see the Camber chapel—and that’s a good reason to insist that Nigel come along.” He sighed. “Now we’ll just hope that the next piece falls into place—and that,” he said, “is in the hands of the ladies.”
Kelson duly assembled his handpicked inspection party shortly after noon—Dhugal, Morgan, and Nigel—and set out as soon as the latter met them at the appointed rendezvous in the cooler shade of the royal gardens, immediately beneath the gaze of the great hall. Duncan had preceded them down to the basilica, in readiness to receive the two archbishops coming up from the cathedral.
As they headed on through the gardens toward the wicket gate and long stair down to the basilica level, between the inner and outer wards, Kelson briefly reviewed what he had proposed to the others regarding the location for the schola. Nigel listened with keen interest, apparently past his sulk of earlier in the day, as they passed from the public precincts of the royal gardens on through the area set aside for the exclusive use of the royal family, to skirt bustling evidence of domestic tranquillity.
On this fine afternoon, Meraude and Jehana had invited the Mearan brides and their mothers to bring their needlework into that garden, where some of the young children of the royal and noble ladies gathering for the coming wedding festivities were playing happily with the four-year-old Princess Eirian, under the watchful eyes of the assembled ladies. Rory and Brecon had taken the older children and some of the royal pages down to the river to swim their ponies in the shallo
ws north of the city. Brecon’s father and Baron Savile accompanied them, for it now was likely that several of the latter’s children would be fostered to one or the other of the new noble households soon to be established in Meara.
The smaller boys, Morgan’s Kelric and Sorley, Sivorn’s six-year-old, were happily engaged in floating toy boats in a nearby pond, looked after by a maidservant, while their sisters ran and played with Eirian and Conalline—the child Nigel knew, if he recalled her name at all, as Amelia: a merry three-year-old with rosy coloring and a shock of chestnut curls, who had often caught his eye when he made his daily visits to play with his daughter. But he thought her merely one of many among the young children of one or another of his wife’s ladies-in-waiting, who were permitted to live at court and have their offspring educated with the royal children.
Morgan’s daughter Briony and Sivorn’s youngest girl, Siany, rounded out the bevy of little girls presently running and playing in the garden. Richenda gave Kelson a slight nod as he and his party approached, herself discreetly keeping a low profile since her arrival back at court, lest she disturb the still fragile and tentative overtures of peace newly being displayed toward her by Jehana, who previously had shied away from any contact with the Deryni duchess.
Meanwhile, Araxie and “Uncle Séandry” had been drafted to supervise the girls, who were whooping with delight as their adult playmates took the part of very menacing wild beasts, creeping along behind hedges and along garden paths and suddenly looming to roar and snarl most ferociously, hands upraised like claws—and sometimes bolting into pursuit, to delicious squeals of terror and flight.
“Papa!” Briony squealed, as she spotted Morgan, in her exuberance nearly bowling over Eirian as she flung herself into her father’s arms and Eirian raced toward Nigel.
Little Conalline fell down, tripped up by the enthusiasm of her elder playmates, but Eirian stopped immediately to comfort her, before the younger child could burst into tears, and made the pouting lower lip disappear before she continued on to greet her sire.
“Papa, have you come to play with me?” Eirian asked, reaching up for his embrace, and wrapping legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he lifted his daughter to kiss her and be kissed in turn. “I’ve missed you so!”
“What, since breakfast?” he returned, wide-eyed with indulgent amazement.
The ladies rose in the king’s presence as he and his three dukes halted amid the milling, laughing children, the royal and noble ladies among half a dozen ladies-in-waiting helping with the needlework, all of them bobbing in casual curtsies. Noelie had been seated between her mother and her soon-to-be mother-in-law, with Richelle beside her mother, all of them chattering and stitching happily. Araxie, flushed and breathless from chasing children, stopped to scoop up Conalline and brace her on her hip before coming with Derry to greet Kelson.
“Good morrow, cousin. You find us awash in children and contentedly stitching up another wedding. Do you go now to inspect the new chapel?”
“We do,” he replied, though the exchange was for Nigel’s benefit, and all planned in advance. “But, how is it that you are free to frolic with these fair damsels, rather than being relegated to stitchery?” he asked, taking Conalline’s little hand and bowing over it to bestow a courtly kiss.
“We picked Araxie!” Briony announced, from Morgan’s arms. “Mummy said we could pick a grown-up to help Uncle Séandry play with us. Araxie is fun! She was pretending to be a ferocious lion! ’Melia was scared, but she’s only little.”
“Not scared!” Conalline blurted, lower lip outthrust in petulant denial.
“Well, she doesn’t look scared to me,” Kelson agreed, leaning over to kiss Eirian’s hand as well, where she perched contentedly in her father’s arms. “In fact, all of these fair demoiselles look quite brave to me.”
“Indeed, they are,” Araxie said. “In fact, they’ve been so very brave, I was wondering whether they should be rewarded with a special outing this afternoon.” She leaned closer to the men, as if in conspiracy, particularly careful not to exclude Nigel. “Actually, Lord Derry and I were wondering whether we might have a bit of an outing this afternoon—an escape, actually. I’ve been telling the girls about Saint Camber. Maybe we could come along to see the chapel, so that Maman and the other ladies madly stitching bridal finery can have an hour’s peace.”
“I don’t know,” Nigel said doubtfully, eliciting a pouting frown from his daughter. “A building site is hardly the place for small children.”
“True enough,” Dhugal said cheerfully, stooping to receive the embrace of Araxie’s youngest sister, the seven-year-old Siany, who had come to offer him a flower. “But the building work is all but finished, I hear. The scaffolding has all been taken away, and they’re just doing the final cleanup. Besides, the archbishops will be charmed. Who could resist such little angels?”
He grinned as he gave Siany a hug, for he was a favorite among the children. Simultaneously, Eirian planted another kiss on her father’s cheek.
“Please, Papa, can we come?” she pleaded. “We’ll be good, I promise! We’ll hold Cousin Araxie’s hand and be ever so quiet in church. Oh, please, Papa!”
Morgan, with an armful of daughter, arched an eyebrow at Araxie, whose youngest sister was now watching eagerly from her side, tugging on her sleeve. Richenda, too, had drifted over to join them.
“Oh, please!” Siany begged, turning her earnest gaze from her sister to Kelson. “Please, Sire, let us come.”
“All four of you?” Kelson said, somewhat skeptically.
Four little chins nodded solemnly, each surmounted by a pair of wide, sober eyes.
“Kelson, I really don’t think—” Nigel began.
“No, this is a chance for them to learn something important,” the king replied. “It’s been a long time since our children could learn about Saint Camber. And it isn’t as if we have anything to do except take a look around. Eirian, are you sure you and the others can be good, if we let you come? If you misbehave, I shan’t let you come along next time.”
Eirian nodded, smiling happily around the two fingers she crammed into her mouth.
“Did you hear that?” Araxie asked Conalline, jogging her gently to get her attention. “Will you stay right with me and always hold someone’s hand, if you’re asked?”
As Conalline nodded solemnly, Richenda laughed and came to take Briony from her father’s arms.
“I’ll come along as well, Nigel,” she said. “If the girls start getting restless, Araxie and Derry and I will bring them back. What could be more charming than an impromptu outing on such a beautiful day?”
Nigel rolled his eyes, well aware that he had been bested, though with no idea how much. With resigned good humor, he set his daughter back on her feet and took her hand, falling in with the others as the little band bade farewell to the women settling back to stitch and made their way on toward the postern gate, and the long stair leading down to the basilica. Before they left the garden, following Siany’s example, all three of the younger girls paused along the way to pick more flowers, for Araxie had explained that it showed good manners to bring a present when visiting a special friend.
“We’re going to visit God!” Conalline declared, tilting back her curly locks to regard Nigel with sea-grey eyes, beaming as she held up a fluffy pink chrysanthemum in one little hand. “Do you think he’ll like this one?”
“Why, I should think He would, indeed,” Nigel assured her, charmed and utterly disarmed.
It was a fine summer day, not too hot, and the girls were models of eager decorum, chattering happily with the surrounding adults as they made their way out the postern gate and down the long steps to the basilica yard. Their presence made the little procession festive, something of a celebration, and brought a smile to those who saw the king, his uncle, and two dukes in their midst. Duncan was waiting in the church porch with the two archbishops and Father Nivard, beloved of all the children, and crouched down genial
ly to greet them as the four little girls mounted the basilica steps ahead of the king, each of them with several flowers in hand.
“Why, what is this?” he asked, surveying all the children at eye level and accepting a hug from Briony. “Thank you. I see we have very important visitors, in addition to the king.”
“We brought flowers for God,” Briony announced, holding up a by now somewhat bedraggled stalk of hollyhock.
“Why, so you did,” Duncan replied. “That was a very fine thing to do. And I see that all of you have brought flowers. Shall we give some of them to Our Lady? Or maybe one of you would like to be the very first person to give a flower to Saint Camber.”
“I do, I do!” Eirian declared, tugging at her father’s hand, as the other three joined in.
“Suppose Araxie and I organize this, while you go and inspect the new chapel,” Richenda said to Kelson, laughing as a minor uproar broke out among the children and Araxie made shushing sounds behind an upraised finger. “We’ll go visit Our Lady first, and leave her some flowers, and then we’ll give some to Saint Hilary. This is his church, you know.”
The prospect obviously appealed to her young charges, so she and Araxie headed off amid a happy chatter of childish voices, with Derry bringing up the rear, leaving Kelson and his three dukes with Duncan, the archbishops, and Nivard.
“They begged to come along,” Kelson remarked with a shrug. “One should never discourage children who ask to go to a church. I hope they won’t be too disruptive.”
Cardiel smiled. “Children are always welcome in God’s house, Sire. How else should they learn about Him? Come. I think you’ll be pleased with what’s been done.”
The basilica was dim and cool and welcoming after the heat of the summer day. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor as they passed down the north aisle, under the gaze of serried saints looking down from the stained-glass windows along the bays and statues of saints set into niches in the wall. Just before the transept, one bay had been opened to create a doorway arch, presently screened by a hanging of canvas to reduce dust and noise from the building site. As they approached it, Father Nivard moved ahead to pull the canvas aside.
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