Kelson - The Bishop's Heir Part 31

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

I will be to him a Father, and he shall be to me a Son.

- Hebrews 1:5 As soon as the door had closed behind Morgan, Duncan glanced at Dhugal.

"We haven't any time to spare," he said softly. "If you want your proof now, you're going to have to do exactly as I say, perhaps without as full an explanation as either of us would want."

Dhugal shook his head slowly. "I don't want to wait, Fa - " He lowered his eyes. "I just realized that maybe I've been calling you by the proper name all these years," he continued softly. "Strange, but it somehow feels so much more comfortable than when I used to call Caulay my father."

"He was your father, in all the ways that are most important to a boy growing up. I wish I'd had the chance to watch you grow. Of course, I did, in a way, knowing you at court and all - but I think I might have felt differently if I'd known you were my son."

"Maybe it was meant to be this way," Dhugal replied shyly. "Maybe I had to lose one father before I could find the other. If I'd known about you while Caulay was still alive, I wouldn't have wanted to hurt him."

"Nor I. And I hope you'll always honor his memory." Duncan smiled as he laid a hand lightly on Dhugal's forearm. "He gave you his name and his protection in the years when you were most vulnerable. Now that he's gone and you're a man, no one will be hurt by the truth." The smile broadened to a grin.

"You should know that there's at least one complication that could be - ah - awkward, at best. If I'm to acknowledge you, as is my intention - if you want it, that is - there are going to be those who will call you b.a.s.t.a.r.d in addition to Deryni, of course."

Dhugal smiled. "They've called you and Morgan b.a.s.t.a.r.ds for years.

Somehow I've never gotten the impression that had anything to do with your paternity."

"No." Reaching into the front of his ca.s.sock, Duncan rose and moved a stool in front of Dhugal's chair, withdrawing the s.h.i.+ral crystal on its leather thong as he sat.

"You remember this," he said simply, placing it in Dhugal's hand. "It was your mother's. She gave it to me the night I gave her the cloak clasp."

Dhugal ran a thumb across the rough-polished stone and nodded slowly.

"What am I supposed to do this time?"

"I'll do most of what needs to be done. All I ask is that you try to be open and unafraid. We'll try to use the crystal as a link between us. You may feel some odd sensations, perhaps even some uncomfortable ones, but I promise I won't hurt you. To start, all I want you to do is concentrate on the crystal and try to seen Maryse in your mind's eye. Have you seen paintings of her?"

Dhugal closed the crystal in his fist and gave another nod.

"One miniature. That was a long time ago, though."

"Then let me paint a picture in your mind with my words," Duncan said softly, closing one hand around Dhugal's hand that held the crystal and resting the other on top of his head as if in benediction. "Close your eyes and try to see her, in as much detail as you can remember. Don't force it, though; try to coax it.

See her fair hair, like molten silver flowing halfway down her back, bound across the brow with a fillet of tiny metal flowers... primroses, I think they were."

He could feel Dhugal relaxing under his touch, and he, too, closed his eyes, seeing the image of a long-lost love.

"There were tiny golden stones set in the centers of the flowers, the exact shade of her eyes - almost the same shade as yours," Duncan went on quietly.

"And she wore a gown of pink that matched her blush... fair, very fair skin...."

As he spoke, gently insinuating thoughts along with words, he could begin to read the image forming in Dhugal's mind as well as his own, just on the surface at first, then gradually eroding the pulsing, troublesome s.h.i.+elds.

"She had a laugh like silver bells... a serenity as still and deep as the lake at Shannis Meer...."

Even as Duncan's voice trailed off and he tried a stronger probe, he was past Dhugal's s.h.i.+elds and in his mind, driving the memories across the unconscious links and into Dhugal's consciousness, holding the channel open relentlessly when Dhugal sensed what was happening and would have drawn back in momentary panic. He felt Dhugal gasp as something psychic snapped, but he damped the sharp wrench of pain which followed even as he pulled Dhugal closer and gave him physical comfort.

All in an instant, all the barriers were down and Dhugal was with him, reliving those halcyon days with Maryse. Shy meetings in corridor and castle hall, wind-blown rides on the downs around the castle, shared meals of travel fare under the forest canopy of nearby Alduin, tender glances and shy, chaste kisses in the warm, earthy shadow-s.p.a.ce between their ponies, sheltered from prying eyes -.

And then the clans were home, the awful news spreading: how Ardry MacArdry, tanist of Maryse's clan, had quarrelled with a McLain retainer over a tavern wench ... MacArdry blood spilling... the hangman's noose for the murderer and grim, silent escort for both bodies back to Culdi, just long enough for the MacArdry to gather up the rest of his family and go, before a blood feud broke out anew.

Maryse's panic as they realized the personal significance of what had happened... Duncan's despair... defiant agreement in a castle hallway to meet in the chapel later that night... the rendezvous itself - desperate, fearful at the presumption as they made their vows before G.o.d alone....

And then the consummation, in a warm, sheltered corner of the stable loft - hurried, fumbling, only partially satisfying, but joyous, nonetheless... and parting so soon after... and parting for good, the next morning, as Duncan watched her and her family ride out of Culdi and out of his life, neither of them dreaming that she carried the child of their love....

The sheer force of the emotion which surged with Duncan's remembrance flooded through Dhugal's mind with such a pressure that no resistance was possible; nor, once the pathways were in use, did Dhugal feel any further fear or apprehension. Duncan sensed almost the exact instant when Dhugal made that conscious choice to let the mindlink fill him - and the surge, as Dhugal opened to his father's mental touch, gave new impetus to the sharing Duncan now pursued even more.

Sparing only the areas of confidence which might not be shared with anyone - his priestly secrets and duties, the confidences of others - Duncan poured forth all the memories of the years he and Dhugal had lost, intertwining them with Dhugal's own - spa.r.s.er, for sheer number, but no less potent and treasured, for his part. And Dhugal, once he sensed how it was done, entered joyously in the sharing.

Neither of them could later remember at what point Dhugal had lurched even closer to twine his arms around Duncan's waist, weeping, or when Duncan's own joyous tears began - only that, when the sharing at last began to ebb and normal consciousness gradually intruded, they found themselves huddled together for comfort, Dhugal half in his father's lap, Duncan gently stroking his son's hair and soothing as he withdrew mental contact, the old barriers gone between them.

"Are you all right?" Duncan whispered after a moment.

Sniffling contentedly, Dhugal drew away far enough to look at Duncan and nod, dragging a sleeve across his eyes.

"My head hurts a little, right behind my eyes, but it's probably just my hangover. It's all right."

"Let's see if I can make it better than all right," Duncan murmured, laying his hand over Dhugal's forehead and touching thumb and middle fingers to the quickly closed eyes. "Take a deep breath and let it out... and feel the pain dissolving. That's right."

Only the lightest of healing touches was required to ease the afterache.

Duncan could read it across the light rapport between them as easily as he could read Morgan, when they worked together. As he withdrew his hand, Dhugal opened his eyes to stare at him in awe. This time, all shadow of discomfort was gone from behind the almond-amber eyes.

"Was that your healing magic?" Dhugal asked.

"Just a little," Duncan smiled. "And if you don't get off my leg, I'm going to have to heal a terminal muscle cramp," he added, s.h.i.+fting Dhugal's weight and wincing as circulation started to return. "I'm afraid we didn't plan this very well. I should have made you more comfortable."

Awkwardly, and almost a little embarra.s.sed, Dhugal staggered to his feet, weaving a little until Duncan guided him back to the edge of the chair.

"I'm only a little wobbly," Dhugal protested. "I'll be fine. Kelson must be waiting for us, though. I can hardly wait to tell him."

"I - think we'd better wait until after the ceremony for that," Duncan said, steadying him by the shoulder. "Your first instinct was very good. He has a few other things on his mind right now. This will keep."

"But, aren't we late?"

Duncan shook his head. "What we did took far less time than you think.

You've got time to catch your breath."

"Oh." With a shy grin, Dhugal let himself relax a little, then impulsively s.n.a.t.c.hed up Duncan's hand and pressed it to his lips.

"Father," he whispered wonderingly. "You really are my father - and that means I'm Deryni, too." He paused to swallow. "Do you know that I wished about the Deryni part, that first time I saw Kelson use his powers? He put a man to sleep, so that I could sew up his arm. I thought was just dreaming at the time, but was I starting to realize, even then?"

"Perhaps," Duncan answered gently. "I expect your skill with horses probably comes from that, too. Bronwyn used to call the birds. Maybe you'll even make a healer some day."

"Me? A healer? Oh, but I could never learn it all. It must take years."

"We'll have the years now," Duncan murmured. "We'll be given the time and the teachers. You'll be amazed at how fast some of the skill comes, once you know what you are. And Alaric and I can teach you what we know - and Richenda."

"Lady Richenda is Deryni?"

"Aye, and trained in a far different tradition than Alaric and I were. You'll enjoy getting to know her."

Dhugal blushed. "If she'll ever speak to me. Do you think Duke Alaric told her what I said about her last night? I didn't mean it the way it sounded - honestly."

"I know you didn't, son. And if Alaric has told her, I'm sure she hasn't taken offense. Speaking of Alaric, however, I think it probably is time to join him and Kelson now."

"Aye, and see our king properly married!" Dhugal agreed. He remembered the s.h.i.+ral as he stood, and touched it to his lips almost reverently as he held it out to Duncan.

"Here. You probably ought to have this back."

"No, you keep it, in memory of your mother."

"But - that leaves you with nothing of hers," Dhugal began.

"It leaves me with everything," Duncan replied, touching a fingertip to Dhugal's cheek. "I have her son."

And in another chamber not far away, another, spiritual son prepared for his nuptials, fretting and impatient as his dressers made final adjustments to his wedding finery. The velvet of Kelson's full-length crimson cloak was powdered with scores of tiny Haldane lions worked in fine gold bullion, his tunic quartered in the same fabric for two panels and its reverse for the other two, silk- embroidered lions of scarlet on cloth of gold. As a compliment to his bride's highland ancestry, he had bound his hair at the nape of his neck with a golden cord, though it was not braided, border-style. A golden state crown of crosses and leaves intertwined had been brought out of the vaults of the castle treasury, said to have been worn by Malcolm Haldane at his wedding to another Mearan princess nearly a century before, and Kelson ran a careful finger along one of the leaves and glanced at Morgan as the dressers packed up the last of their accoutrements and left. Some even said the crown had once belonged to Cinhil Haldane, perhaps even the infamous Festils before him. If it had, perhaps Saint Camber had seen and even touched it.

"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. G.o.d 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.

"G.o.d, 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 mes.h.i.+ng 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 relations.h.i.+p."

"Well, I - "

"That's a part of it, of course," Morgan went on, "but I a.s.sure 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 s.e.xually 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 relations.h.i.+ps in Gwynedd is a succession of royal b.a.s.t.a.r.ds to muddy the waters twenty years from now - or to become p.a.w.ns 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 rea.s.sure, 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. Deny 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 said 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 has 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?"