The King's Deryni (39 page)

Llion's boyish grin reminded Alaric of those barely remembered days of his early childhood, when the two of them had first met in Coroth: he a child of nearly three and Llion a senior squire then knighted by Alaric's father and pressed into service as Alaric's governor.

“I think she will, my lord,” Llion said. “We've written often in the past few months, and spent time together the past week. I still can hardly believe it's happening.” His gaze turned wistful as he glanced away in memory. “I'm a younger son. When I first took service with your father, I had no idea where life might take me, much less that I'd ever be able to afford to marry.

“But your father treated me almost as another son. And he always told me I was good with children. I'll never forget how, at the king's birthday tourney, he was watching me work with you and Duncan, and he said, ‘Llion, you should be a father.' It made me think. And recently it's occurred to me that I
can
afford a wife and family now. So when Alazais and I met again at his funeral . . .”

“And she
does
want to marry you?” Alaric asked, with a teasing note in his voice.

Llion only nodded, smiling. “And now that I'm to be at court, I'm hoping that a place might be found for her in the queen's household. I should imagine that the court could use a good portrait artist. You've seen for yourself how talented she is.”

Alaric gave a nod, remembering the new portrait of his father, and could not disagree.

“Then, I think we'd better go find her, first thing in the morning,” he said brightly. “I don't really know her all that well, because she's lived at Arc-en-Ciel for most of my life, but I'm glad she isn't going to take the veil. You and she will need to have the children that my parents didn't get to have. If you're going to marry my sister, your children will be my nieces and nephews, and you—good Lord, Llion, you'll be my brother!”

Llion shrugged and allowed himself a sheepish smile. “I suppose I will.”

•   •   •

T
HEY
rode down to the cathedral the next morning and found Alazais waiting in a shady arbor in the cloister garden with Sisters Iris Rose and Iris Cerys.

“You might have told me,” Alaric said teasingly to Alazais, as he came to join her hand with Llion's. “And good Sisters, it appears that Arc-en-Ciel will be losing one of its daughters.”

Iris Rose smiled serenely. “She did not tell us, my lord, but we have suspected for some time.”

They told the king next, and then Duke Richard, and the news had spread through the court by the time Brion called the happy couple before him at dinner that evening to give his official blessing and wish them well.

There was no question of Llion leaving royal service, of course—or, Alaric's—so little would change in the short term. While details had yet to be worked out, the wedding date was tentatively set for the autumn, around the time of Alaric's tenth birthday. Meanwhile, Alaric was given leave to accompany Llion and the party that escorted Alazais and her companions back to Arc-en-Ciel a few days later.

They went by way of Morganhall, to share the happy news with Delphine and Claara, then continued on to the convent where Alazais had spent the past six years. Mother Judiana and the other sisters at Arc-en-Ciel received the news gladly, though they would miss Alazais among their number. Still, they immediately offered to help with the preparations for another Morgan bride in the autumn.

Yet to be decided was whether Alazais would marry at Morganhall, following generations of Morgan brides, or would make her vows in the chapel at Arc-en-Ciel, as her sister Alyce had done. Leaving the women to sort out the details, Llion bade his affianced bride a reluctant farewell and rode with Alaric back to Rhemuth.

•   •   •

L
IFE
at court quickly settled back into routine, though now Llion was occasionally absent for several days at a time, to visit his affianced bride. It little mattered in the short term, because Alaric and Cormac got on well, and their training kept them busy. In any case, the nature of their relationship with Llion was sure to change somewhat, once the young knight took a wife.

But if life at the court of Rhemuth was somewhat predictably routine, at least for pages and squires, developments elsewhere in the kingdom would have lasting ramifications for Gwynedd as well as for Alaric personally. That spring, an ambitious priest named Edmond Loris was elected to the see of Stavenham, far in the north: in itself, an event of little note to the boys training at court. It was some weeks before rumors began filtering south that the new bishop, previously much seen in the company of the Bishop of Nyford, was tightening enforcement of the Laws of Ramos, to the growing dismay of Deryni under his jurisdiction.

Alaric gradually became aware of these developments because he was frequently in attendance on the king. He and Llion sometimes discussed them privately, but he tried not to dwell on them overmuch.

“I doubt that this Bishop Loris even knows I exist,” he told Llion toward midsummer. “And if he does, maybe he'll just ignore me, if I keep my head down. Besides, I'm under the king's personal protection.”

“Aye, but you aren't always in the king's presence,” Llion reminded him. “Just don't let your guard down—ever! There are too many people who would love to see you dead.”

Alaric could not argue that. Besides, he knew that Llion was only trying to keep him safe.

Meanwhile, plans were moving forward for Llion's wedding. He and Alazais had finally decided on Morganhall for the venue, and were thinking in terms of the autumn, but early in July the king called both Llion and Alaric into a private meeting.

“I'm thinking to take Alaric on a progress down to Coroth for his birthday,” he told the pair. “It's been several years since his last visit, and longer than that for me, and I shouldn't like his regents to forget that he is their future duke—or that I am their king. Llion, I should like you to come with us—which means, I fear, that you will need to change your wedding plans. But if you marry before the trip, it would enable you to bring along your bride to meet your family. We'll travel by ship.”

Llion's handsome face split in a delighted grin. “I hadn't expected such an opportunity, Sire. I'm certain Alazais will agree.”

After much frantic riding back and forth between Rhemuth and Morganhall—and Arc-en-Ciel—the celebration was duly moved forward to mid-August, and plans went forward for both the wedding and the royal progress.

Thus it was that, two days before the designated date, Alaric found himself riding north to his father's keep at Morganhall, accompanied by the king, the eager bridegroom, and a small party of Llion's friends who would witness his nuptials with Lady Alazais Morgan. They arrived to find many of the extended family already present. Zoë and Jovett had ridden in from Cynfyn with their two eldest children, Kailan and Charlan. Duke Jared and Vera had brought Kevin and Duncan, as well as Bronwyn. Geill and her husband, Walter, also traveled with them, though Geill's baby girl, born only a few months before, had been left at home with a nurse. Somehow Alaric's Aunt Delphine had managed to find accommodation for all the visitors, but Morganhall was bursting at the seams. Aunt Claara supervised everything from a curtained bed set in a place of honor in the hall, since she was not able to walk.

The wedding of Lady Alazais Morgan with Sir Llion Farquahar was celebrated two days later, on the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin. In honor of the feast, and in preparation for the wedding to come, local villagers had bedecked the little church just outside the keep with a profusion of summer flowers. In addition, Mother Judiana and half a dozen of her sisters from Arc-en-Ciel had come to offer their especial gifts for the happy couple.

It was Alaric's privilege, as head of his family, to escort his sister down the aisle. As the bridal party entered the church, attended by Zoë and Geill, the sisters lifted their voices in the beautiful
Ave Vierge Dorée
, the traditional hymn sung both for celestial brides and for their mortal counterparts. In return, and in tribute to the sisters, whose house had sheltered the bride for so many years, Alazais wore a simple gown of pale blue, with her flaxen hair loose and crowned with a circlet of roses in all the colors of the rainbow, as was the custom of the convent.

Little Bronwyn served as flower girl, happily scattering multicolored rose petals before the bride. And it was Alaric who proudly gave his half-sister in marriage to the man who had served him for most of his young life. Old Father Swithun married them under the selfsame rainbow canopy that had sheltered both Alyce and Zoë at their weddings.

After, Alazais and Llion led the immediate members of her bridal party—Zoë, Geill, Bronwyn, and Alaric—to the place where their father lay buried, near to the tomb of his first wife, in the tomb where his second wife had lain, and near to the tomb of Sir Charlan Morgan. There she and Llion knelt briefly by Kenneth's tomb, hands joined and heads bowed.

“Papa, I've wed your Llion,” Alazais said softly, after a few seconds, smiling as she glanced aside at her new husband. “I know you would have welcomed him as a son. And I know that we have your blessing.”

For answer, Llion smiled and gently kissed her hand, then bent to lay one palm flat against the ledger stone.

“Sleep in peace, my lord,” he murmured. “I shall do my best to cherish your daughter.”

A moment more they knelt there; then Alazais gently laid her bridal bouquet atop the tomb in tribute before they rose to depart.

Alaric lingered briefly after the bridal party joined the procession back to the castle, alone with his own thoughts concerning his father, and was surprised to find the king waiting near the church door with Duke Jared, who nodded to him and then joined the others, leaving king and page alone.

“May I walk with you?” Brion said quietly, gesturing toward the procession winding slowly back to the castle.

Alaric blinked, taken aback by the question.

“Of course. Sire, you need not ask
my
permission. You are the king.”

“Aye, and you are lord of Morganhall,” the king replied with a tiny smile. “When I am guest in another man's hall, I would not presume to assert my rank.”

Flustered, Alaric glanced at the toes of his boots. “Sire, I am only a boy. I am not yet ten. I—”

“Alaric, you are nearly a man, and my future duke,” the king reminded him, cutting across his objection. “Today you gave your sister in marriage to another worthy man. I think the days of your childhood are numbered.” He glanced ahead, where the knights carrying Lady Claara's litter were falling in at the end of the bridal procession, then set his hand briefly on Alaric's shoulder. “Let us walk together.”

Alaric knew not what to think. The king's tone had been serious. Though he had long been aware that his destiny was somehow entwined with the king's, he had always thought it would be farther in his future.

“I have been doing a bit of thinking about Morganhall in the past few weeks,” the king said, clasping his hands behind him as they walked. “It has been yours since your father's death, of course, but your greater inheritance will be from your mother: your ducal and county lands and titles. It occurred to me that you probably will wish to gift Morganhall to Bronwyn, perhaps as part of her dowry when she eventually marries.”

Alaric glanced aside briefly. “I hadn't really thought about it, Sire, but that seems a good plan.”

“I thought you might approve. It has also occurred to me that your aunts are not getting any younger. Oh, I know the Lady Delphine is a formidable woman, and no one can fault her management of the estate, but perhaps it is time to give her and Lady Claara additional help. I know Llion had planned to bring his new wife to court, but perhaps she might consent to move back to Morganhall for a time; she grew up here, after all. And I cannot think of a more loyal man than Llion to guard your interests here.”

Alaric fought down a sudden chill of foreboding. Surely the king did not mean to take Llion from him.

“Are you suggesting that he should move here to Morganhall?” he blurted—then belatedly murmured, “Sire.”

The king shook his head, chuckling. “No, of course not—for I would also be loath to lose him. But Morganhall is close enough to Rhemuth that he could travel back and forth with relative ease. He does have some experience making the journey, you know.”

At Alaric's look of question, the king looked faintly sheepish.

“Ah. Are you not aware that he had ridden to Rhemuth and back, the night your mother died, to spirit me away from here?” When Alaric shook his head, the king went on, “Are you aware that I came to see her that night, dressed as a Haldane squire?”

Alaric cocked his head, eyes narrowing in concentration. “You were
here
?”

Brion shrugged. “I was. She and I—had important work to do that night. Work having to do with . . . my inheritance. I do not know whether she was able to complete it. But she assured me that you would remember what to do, when the time came.” At Alaric's continuing look of mystification, Brion shook his head and smiled faintly. “No matter. I must believe that the knowledge will come.” He drew a deep breath to recollect himself, then went on.

“In any case, Llion knows how quickly the journey can be made, especially with changes of fresh horses, and when the journey is pre-planned. Do you think Alazais would mind living here for a few years?”

“I suppose not,” Alaric said vaguely.

“Excellent,” the king replied. “Perhaps Llion could act as official castellan while you and Bronwyn are in your minority. It would give him appropriate status, since he now is married to a duke's sister, and you would know that you have a pair of safe hands administering your estate.”