The King’s Justice (21 page)

“Alaric, have you—have you ever wondered what it must be like for—for the woman?” he said haltingly. “I confess I hadn't. But I—know now.”

And as he choked back a sob and buried his face in his hands, Morgan nodded slowly, guessing what had happened.

“Rothana showed you Janniver's memory?”

Kelson raised a bleak profile to Morgan's scrutiny. “How did you know?”

“This is not the first time I've come upon a scene of rape, Kelson. Why do you think I didn't suggest we read the victims this afternoon?”

“Oh.” After a few seconds' reflection, Kelson looked down at his intertwined fingers again, still troubled. “There's—something else,” he said softly.

“Yes?”

“It—it was Rothana,” he stammered, shifting uneasily. “I—I glimpsed a—I don't know—a flash of something I—I—” He shook his head vehemently. “It shouldn't have been there, Alaric. It wasn't right. She's vowed to God. I shouldn't even
think
such things!”

“Sharing another's memory is a very intense and intimate experience, under the most well-intentioned of circumstances,” Morgan said neutrally, wondering whether Kelson truly could have touched the sort of rapport to make him be entertaining even semi-serious thoughts about a nun—and already assessing the potentials of a match with a trained Deryni like Rothana.

“And you're a normal, healthy young man, and she's a spirited and fascinating young woman, and Deryni as well—something you've not encountered before. It's not at all surprising that you should feel at least a twinge of interest. Besides, is she not a novice? That means her vows are but temporary.”

“That's beside the point,” Kelson murmured, shaking his head. “It's clear she has an honest vocation. Who am I to—to—”

“Kelson, if she truly
does
have a vocation to the religious life, I don't think you need worry about undermining it—if that's what concerns you,” Morgan replied. “And if she
hasn't
a vocation—why, she may have much to recommend herself to you as a potential bride.”

Kelson looked up in alarm, his expression shifting from shock through speculation to rejection.

“Bride? That's absurd! I couldn't possibly—”

“No, you're probably right,” Morgan said, ending Kelson's protests with a nonchalant wave of one hand. “It's out of the question. Forget I even mentioned it.”

But the seeds of speculation had been sown, whether or not Kelson would admit it to himself, and perhaps contributed to his next decision regarding the refugees now under his protection.

“I think it might be best to send the Princess Janniver back to Rhemuth,” he soon informed Morgan. “And the rest of the sisters as well. They'll be safer there, as long as Ithel and his men are on the loose.”

“Aye, that's probably true,” Morgan murmured, being very neutrally agreeable and noting that the situation would also keep Kelson safe from temptation where Rothana was concerned.

“Janniver
is
a princess, after all,” Kelson reasoned, rising to pace back and forth on the straw matting, and wrenching at the buckles that closed the throat of his brigandine. “And I don't know that it's a good idea to return her to her father—at least until I've avenged her honor. And God knows what kind of reception she'd get from the King of Llannedd. He was expecting a virgin bride.”

“Hmmm, it
could
be awkward,” Morgan agreed.

“Aye, they'll be safest at Rhemuth, until I've had a chance to sort things out,” Kelson went on. “And Rothana can help Aunt Meraude, when the new baby comes. She's trained in healing, after all. Besides, it will be good to have another Deryni at court. I'm sure Richenda won't mind.”

Morgan had to agree that she probably would not.

“I have it! I'll give Conall charge of their escort,” Kelson continued, grinning as the thought came to him. “His first independent command—he'll love that!”

“So long as he doesn't see the duty as an exile—missing out on all the fighting,” Morgan said lightly. “But I suspect that escorting two such attractive young ladies might soften the sting.”

Kelson grimaced and made a disparaging wave of his hand. “Oh, really, Alaric! He has a lady-love at home. You've seen how he disappears for hours at a time. Besides, I can't spare anyone more experienced. We're going to need every good man we can get, before this is finished.”

“Well, Conall is never going to
get
more experienced if you don't give him responsibility,” Morgan pointed out.

“This
is
responsibility; it just doesn't require battle-sense. Someone has to do it. And quite frankly, he'll be far more used to Nigel, back in Rhemuth, than he is to me. He can be
so
tedious sometimes. I'll make it sound very important.”

Fortunately, Conall also chose to see the importance of the mission. When called into Kelson's tent a little later and told what was required, he seemed almost relieved.

“My own command!” he breathed, allowing himself a tentative smile. “I confess, I'd hoped for battle experience, but that would have been under everybody else's supervision. This one is mine! And maybe we'll have to fight off brigands on the way home.”

The news that he would also carry back dispatches to Nigel, and hold himself in readiness through the summer if Nigel should require a confidential messenger back to the king, also sweetened the assignment.

“I might not be in Rhemuth very long, after all,” he said. “Father might have news to send back very soon.”

“Or he may need you there to help deal with our Torenthi hostages,” Kelson reminded him. “I'm afraid I've left him with a dreadful job. Do try to give him as much support as you can.”

The interview had its desired effect, and at dawn the next morning, a happy and contented Prince Conall busied himself assembling the party that would return to Rhemuth. Less happy were the abbess and some of the other sisters, though most of them seemed resigned to the journey, once Kelson had explained the reason for his decision.

“I can't protect you here, Reverend Mother,” he said, adjusting a stirrup leather on the abbess' saddle, and acutely aware of Rothana mounting another horse behind her. “The danger may not matter much to you and your order, but the princess has been through quite enough, I think; and I'd prefer not to send her on such a long journey without the comfort of other women. You'll be safe and welcome in Rhemuth, I assure you. If you wish, I'll even give you land to establish a new abbey nearby.”

The abbess inclined her head curtly. “That is most generous, Sire, but our work is here. And as for our safety, what of the safety of the village women, who have not the advantage of a royal protector?”

Kelson sighed and made a final check of the horse's girth. He was already dressed for battle, the Haldane lion on his brigandine bright gold against crimson leather, night-black hair pulled back sleekly in a neat border braid. Behind him, Morgan was performing similar service for the princess, who sat weeping miserably on a dun-colored palfrey, pale face buried in her hands. Rothana urged her horse forward a few paces to comfort her, but Janniver wept on, her desolation beginning to shake the composure of some of the other sisters.

“I wish I had time to discuss the matter with you, Reverend Mother, but the decision has been made,” Kelson said. “I'm sorry you don't agree. Conall?”

Conall had been giving last-minute instructions to his men, and continued doing so in passing as he strode toward the king, every inch a Haldane on this bright June morning. When he reached the royal presence, he gave smart salute with a gloved fist to breast, including the women in a sketchy bow. Kelson had rarely seen Conall so self-assured and content.

“Well, cousin, you seem eager to begin your new duties,” he said with a smile, bidding Brendan forward with a thick packet of dispatches, which he passed to Conall. “You have good men, and I am certain they will serve you well. God grant you a safe journey to Rhemuth.”

Conall slipped the packet into the front of his brigandine with another little bow. “Thank you, my Liege.”

“Just give that entire packet to Nigel,” Kelson went on. “I've included instructions to several others, but he can sort them out. Routine replies can be sent back by regular couriers. Richenda will know how to find us.”

Conall only nodded again, but Kelson surmised from his expression that he understood exactly how Kelson meant for her to do the finding. As he glanced up at the abbess, however, he put that from his mind, also trying to forget that Rothana watched from a horse nearby.

“Reverend Mother, I place you and your ladies in the hands of a most excellent commander: Prince Conall Haldane. Cousin, this is Mother Heloise.”

Basking in Kelson's recommendation, Conall made the abbess a courtly bow. “I am most honored to be able to serve you, Reverend Mother,” he said.

As he straightened, Kelson grinned and caught him quickly in a cousinly embrace.

“Good luck, Conall,” he murmured so that only Conall could hear. “Would that we were all going back to Rhemuth with you. I like not what I shall have to do in the months ahead.”

Conall flushed and also managed to smile as they drew apart, pleased but just a little embarrassed at being the center of royal attention.

“I shall do my best, Kelson,” he said softly.

Then he was backing off to make Kelson a last, formal bow, mounting up and signalling his party to move out. The horses sidled and jigged in the cool of the early morning mist, bits ajingle. The bright livery of the men showed almost garish against the pale, muted blues of the sisters' mantles.

As the last rider trotted out of the mustering space before the royal tent, Kelson turned to Morgan and let out a relieved sigh. Behind Morgan, his other officers were waiting for further orders.

“Well, that's done. Gentlemen, we're behind schedule. Let's finish breaking camp and ride. We have an appointment to keep with Ithel of Meara.”

As Morgan gave the orders, and the officers scattered to relay them, neither king nor general noticed a R'Kassan scout draw apart from his fellows and disappear beyond the picket lines, obscured by the bustle of breaking camp.

In the fortnight that followed, Kelson never did catch sight of Ithel himself, though his scouts reported glimpses of Brice of Trurill and other turncoat border barons. As they penetrated deeper into the rugged hill country which lay between them and Ratharkin, even the smaller battle groups Kelson had divided off became unwieldy, so he sent Generals Remie and Gloddruth and the heavy cavalry and foot in a more westerly direction, to press toward the Mearan capital over a slightly longer but flatter plains approach. Meanwhile, he, Morgan, and Ewan broke the remainder of the army, the light horse and lancer units, into even smaller warbands and pressed on through the hill country, hunting for Ithel of Meara and Brice of Trurill.

But though their northward progress continued, punctuated by increasing skirmishes with bands of a similar size and disposition, they fought no decisive battles and found no Mearan prince. Looted villages and burned-out fields abounded, and the increasing scarcity of forage for man and beast confirmed that Kelson had chosen wisely in sending the bulk of his army by another route.

Nor were the increasingly brief reports from the army in the north any more encouraging. Duncan continued to skirmish with the occasional warband, mostly episcopal and mercenary forces, and fought several larger engagements successfully, but Sicard continued to evade him—constantly on the move with, one presumed, the bulk of the Mearan army, location unknown.

If it is Sicard directing their northern strategy, he's good
, Duncan warned them.
The suspense is almost worse than actual battle. The men jump at shadows
—
and that's mostly all there is to jump at. I'd almost be glad for an honest, full-pitched battle. This game of hide-and-seek is dulling our edge
.

Fear that the edge might be fatally blunted was Kelson's worst nightmare, as he collapsed on his pallet at the end of each frustrating day and worried. Eventually, the Mearans
must
stand and fight. He would be at the gates of Ratharkin in a week.

Rather less often, he wondered how things were going at home, and whether Conall and his charges had safely reached Rhemuth yet. He tried not to think about any of those charges in particular; and as the days passed, that part became easier.

But Conall and his charges reached Rhemuth without incident, and the prince received a hero's welcome as he escorted them through the gatehouse arch and into the castle yard. Nigel had quarters awaiting them, alerted to their coming by Richenda, several days before, and the sisters were quickly installed in apartments overlooking the castle gardens.

Duchess Meraude, delivered of a healthy daughter the week before, took the pale and listless Princess Janniver under her wing for mothering. Richenda, delighted to be reunited with the kinswoman she had not seen in so many years, insisted that Rothana take lodging in her own quarters.

Jehana, too, noted the arrival of the newcomers, and made interested inquiries when told that they were nuns. But she learned little, for everyone who knew much of the situation disappeared for the afternoon to digest the letters Kelson had sent, with Nigel scheduling a meeting of those contacted for that evening. Conall, to his great annoyance, was not invited, and soon sent his squire out of the keep to deliver a letter of his own.

“Well, it appears we know little more than we did before of the Mearans' actual battle strategies,” Nigel said glumly, when everyone had reported. “Nor, unfortunately, does the affair at Saint Brigid's surprise me. Brice of Trurill has always been a ruthless man—though I would have thought this Ithel of Meara a little young to have grown so calloused. Meraude, has the princess settled down at all since she arrived?”