Childe Morgan

by Katherine Kurtz

  “Dear Kenneth, I think he would welcome the chance,” Alyce replied. “His family has a long tradition of service to my house, but I believe they have fallen on hard times in the past generation or so—and he is not the eldest son. He’ll inherit nothing. He would benefit greatly from exposure at court, from being a part of our court. And you yourself have said that he shows promise.”

  “Then we shall see if such service is agreeable to him. I’ll send Trevor back to fetch him.”

  “Thank you, darling! I know it will be a good match.”

  WHETHER or not it was a good match, it certainly improved young Alaric’s spirits. They did not tell him why Trevor was being sent back to Coroth; only that he had a mission for Kenneth. But when, two days later, Trevor and Llion joined the column at Dellard’s Landing, where they had stopped to water the horses, Alaric’s face lit with undisguised joy.

  “Sir Llion!” he crowed, pelting across the muddy riverbank to fling his arms around the young man’s knees. “Llion, Llion!”

  Sir Llion scooped him up in a hug as Kenneth and Alyce approached, grinning as he nodded respect to the pair of them.

  “I would kneel, m’lord, m’lady, but I seem to have an armful of ducal heir.”

  Alyce laughed and set her hand happily on Kenneth’s arm. “’Tis quite clear that you are most welcome, Sir Llion. By your presence, may we assume that you are willing to take on this young bundle of exuberance?”

  “I am the third of six, my lady, and the youngest is but a few years older than Alaric,” Llion replied, smiling. “Our mother died bearing him, so I have always helped with the younger ones. Besides”—he jostled Alaric on his hip—“young Master Alaric and I get on very well, don’t we, old chap?”

  “Will you take me riding, Llion?” Alaric asked, grinning into the face of his mentor.

  “If your parents agree, of course I shall take you riding,” Llion replied. “I’ve even brought your favorite mount.” He glanced back at a rawboned chestnut standing hipshot with Trevor and a much finer steed.

  “I hope you don’t mind, my lord. Having no horse of my own, I took the liberty of seconding old Cockleburr. Lord Hamilton said it would be all right. He isn’t much to look at, but he’s sound enough for work like this—and I figured he’d be little missed at Coroth. Besides that, your son likes him. Do we camp here for the night, sir, or do we carry on for a while?”

  Kenneth smiled and briefly clasped a hand to Llion’s shoulder. “We have a few more miles to go, but I see no reason why Alaric shouldn’t ride with you and Cockleburr. And we’ll see about getting you a better mount at Cynfyn.”

  “But Papa, I like Cockleburr!” Alaric began.

  “Which is why he shall become your horse, once you’ve learned to ride him properly,” Kenneth replied, watching the boy’s eyes light with joy. “But you must do as Sir Llion asks,” he added. “I’m putting you in his charge.”

  “Oh, yes, Papa! Thank you, Papa!”

  “And I thank you as well, my lord,” Llion murmured, gratitude in his eyes as he nodded to Kenneth. “You have given me hope of a real future. I shall do my best to be worthy of your trust.”

  Kenneth only nodded in turn before following after Alyce, who was already mounting up again with Zoë.

  They reached Cynfyn on schedule, pleased to find that all had been made ready in their absence. Zoë’s sisters had traveled to Cynfyn for the occasion, the unmarried Alazais with Kenneth’s two sisters and Geill with her husband, along with their aunt Nesta McLain, the sister of their departed mother, and, to everyone’s surprise, Vera Countess of Kierney, with her young son Duncan, but a few months younger than Alaric.

  “I wouldn’t have dreamed of missing this,” Vera told Alyce and Zoë, the first time they had a moment of privacy, as the two boys played happily with toy knights in the ladies’ solar. “Fortunately, Aunt Nesta was determined to come and see Zoë married. We all traveled together from Kierney and Culdi, collecting Morgan aunts and sisters as we came. All of them would have preferred that the wedding be held at Morganhall, of course, but now that Kenneth is an earl, everyone was curious to see the seat of his new estate.”

  “For all practical purposes,” Alyce said, “it’s apt to end up being Zoë and Jovett’s new estate, for all the time Kenneth and I will be spending here.” She cast out with her mind to be certain they could not be overheard, then leaned closer to the other two women. “What news of the king, Vera?” she asked in a low voice. “And how fares Prince Brion? The letters we’ve received over the summer only had to do with matters of state.”

  “Both are well, from what Jared has mentioned,” Vera replied. “And the queen writes occasionally. She says that she is much involved with helping the king make plans for Prince Brion’s coming-of-age next summer. It’s expected that Donal will summon all his lords to attend him and swear fealty to the prince, in support of the succession. Which means that Jared and I shall be traveling to Rhemuth for the affair, along with Kevin and Duncan—unless, of course, I am near another lying-in,” she added.

  “Is there hope of that?” Alyce asked quietly.

  Vera shrugged. “There is always hope—and it would be a happy reason to miss the celebration.” She looked away briefly, then smiled. “Did I tell you that Jared is having the most beautiful little chapel built in the garden at Culdi, as a memorial to our dear Alicia?”

  “What a wonderful thing to do,” Alyce murmured, sorrowing anew over the child Vera had lost earlier in the year. “And Jared is a lovely man, to have thought of it.”

  “Aye, he is.” Vera smiled brightly. “And we are trying for another child, believe me.”

  “And the trying is pleasant enough, I’m sure,” Alyce replied with an arched eyebrow. “As our dear Zoë will soon discover.”

  Zoë blushed furiously, but she was also smiling shyly. “We shall certainly do our best,” she said.

  To increasing bursts of giggles, their subsequent conversation drifted into ever more explicit discussion of the upcoming nuptials, and what Zoë might expect on her wedding night.

  Chapter 10

  “Give your daughters to husbands,

  that they may bear sons and daughters.”

  —JEREMIAH 29:6

  THE wedding of Lady Zoë Morgan with Sir Jovett Chandos took place the following day at noon in the castle chapel, attended by the two extended families and most of Lendour’s regents. Not invited but very welcome nonetheless were two surprise guests from the convent school of Notre Dame de l’Arc-en-Ciel, Our Lady of the Rainbow, where Zoë and Alyce had met. The appearance of Sisters Iris Cerys and Iris Jessilde at the door to the chamber where the bride was dressing produced a squeal of sheer delight from the bride and an astonished smile from Alyce, who had been brushing Zoë’s long wheaten hair.

  “We’ve brought a gift for the bride,” said Sister Iris Cerys, mischief crinkling at the outer corners of her eyes as she and her companion paused in the doorway, smiling faces framed by the rainbow-embroidered bands edging their pale blue veils. Iris Cerys had shared a room with Alyce for a time, before Zoë, and the slightly older Iris Jessilde had been one of the first to make Alyce and her sister welcome at the convent school. She was also Deryni.

  “You lived under the protection of Our Lady of the Rainbow while you studied at Arc-en-Ciel,” Sister Iris Jessilde said to Zoë, “so we thought you might wish to be married according to the custom of our house.”

  With that she produced a fragrant bridal wreath fashioned of roses in all the colors of the rainbow, very like those worn at their old convent school, both by postulants wedding a celestial bridegroom and by former students giving themselves in mortal marriage.

  “We wanted to bring you a rainbow canopy as well,” Iris Cerys chimed in, “but Reverend Mother said it was too far to bring one all the way to Cynfyn. Since she’d just given us permission to attend, we decided we wouldn’t press the issue.”

  “No, no, this is wonderful!” Zoë assured them, delightedly ta
king the wreath and inhaling of its perfume. “But how did you even know?”

  Iris Jessilde’s smile spoke of feigned innocence and a touch of feminine conspiracy. “Dear child, we are not so cut off at Arc-en-Ciel that news does not reach us from the outside world,” she said. “Your father wrote to Mother Judiana to inform her of the upcoming marriage of one of our former pupils. When she read the letter out in chapter, it was suggested that at least a few of us ought to travel here to witness it.”

  “I never thought it would be allowed,” Iris Cerys chimed in. “It isn’t often that we’re given leave to venture outside the abbey walls, but the two of you left quite an impression on our community—especially considering that neither of you ever even considered the religious life. It was a unanimous recommendation. I only wish that all of the sisters could have come along.”

  “Good heavens, I don’t know where I would have put all of them,” Alyce said with a laugh. “But I’m very glad you came. Did you only just arrive?”

  “No, we stayed two days with a family in the village,” said Iris Jessilde. “Lord Kenneth arranged it—and the goodwife has a lovely garden. Hence, the magnificence of your bridal wreath. ’Tis the perfect complement to your gown,” she added, smiling as she cast an approving gaze over Zoë’s sapphire silk. “But then, blue always did suit you, even if the convent did not.”

  Zoë returned the smile as she helped Alyce set the wreath on her wheaten hair. “It suited very well, while I was there,” she said. “And if I had not come to Arc-en-Ciel, I would never have met you and Cerys—and Alyce.”

  “—who has lent you the wearing of the Furstána emeralds, I see,” Iris Cerys said with a sly smile, jutting her chin in the direction of the necklace of blue-green fire at Zoë’s throat. “I remember when she wore them for her own marriage.”

  “And her mother’s bracelet!” Zoë replied, brandishing the opal and sapphire bangle on one wrist, then hugging Alyce close. “Oh, it’s wonderful to have both of you here,” she continued, beaming at the pair of them. “Thank you so much for coming!”

  A BRIDAL wreath was not the only gift the two sisters of the Rainbow had brought to Zoë Morgan for her wedding day. When the wedding guests had assembled in the little chapel, the pair accompanied the priest to the altar steps, Iris Cerys nodding reassurance to the nervous bridegroom as she and Iris Jessilde spread a small rainbow carpet on the kneeler where Zoë and Jovett would recite their vows. Withdrawing then to the side of the chapel, they sweetly sang the traditional Ave Vierge Dorée as Zoë Morgan walked down the aisle with her father. The song brought back fond memories both for her and for Alyce, who followed and stood as witness for the bride.

  After the nuptial mass, when bride and groom had made their vows and received the Sacrament, kneeling then on the rainbow carpet for the bridal blessing, Jovett led his bride to the Lady altar, so that the radiant Zoë might offer up her bridal wreath at the feet of the Blessed Virgin—except that, before they turned to leave, Jovett plucked one perfect white rose from the wreath and touched it to his lips.

  “This should be Ahern’s,” he whispered, gazing into her eyes as he gave it into her hands. “Let’s lay it on his grave before we leave.”

  She could not speak to thank him for the gesture, but she managed to nod before they turned to go. Their steps took them back to the altar steps, and the grave slabs at their feet—Ahern and his father, Keryell, both of them Earls of Lendour in turn. There Zoë and Jovett stood a moment with heads bowed in tribute to Zoë’s first husband, then bent together to lay the rose on the incised letters of Ahern’s name. As they passed on up the aisle and into the little porch of the chapel, they stood aside to let the other guests pass into the yard, and Zoë turned in the circle of Jovett’s arm to press her forehead against his.

  “You loved him, too, didn’t you?” she whispered into his shoulder.

  “I did,” Jovett replied. “He and Sé were the closest friends of my youth.” He sighed gently. “I had hoped Sé might be here, but…”

  “I know he would wish us joy,” she replied, gazing up into his eyes as the guests slipped past them, giving them their moment of privacy. “And thank you for what you did with the rose.”

  “It seemed right,” he replied, tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips and lifting a strand of wheaten hair. “What went before…simply was not meant to be.”

  “No,” she agreed quietly. “But it does no good to grieve over a past that cannot be changed. What matters now is that we have come to love one another.”

  He answered the sweet and tender kiss she offered with a passion that startled them both. Jovett was grinning sheepishly as they drew apart.

  “Dearest wife,” he murmured, “I think we had best join our wedding guests, lest we scandalize your late beloved—though I like to think he would approve, given the circumstances.”

  “I know he would,” Zoë agreed, brushing her fingertips tenderly across his lips. Then, with a wistful smile, she touched her fingertips to her own lips and turned to glance back into the chapel where her first love slept, gently blowing him their mutual kiss.

  “Good-bye, dearest Ahern. Sleep gently.”

  Hand in hand, then, the two of them departed the chapel to join their wedding guests.

  THE wedding feast was held in the hall of Cynfyn Castle, as festive an affair as had ever occurred within those walls. To honor his daughter and her new husband, Kenneth invited them to preside from the high table, but Jovett insisted that he and his bride could not usurp that honor, and would only share it with the castle’s rightful lord and lady.

  “While I have just become your goodson, my lord, this is still your hall. Best if we underline that you shall always take precedence here.”

  Kenneth was smiling slightly as he nodded. “Well spoken. But you are still the guests of honor here tonight, so you shall sit at my right hand. I trust you’ll not object to that?”

  “I shall try always to carry out your wishes, my lord,” Jovett said with a slight bow and a smile—and obediently led his bride in to take their places at the high table, Kenneth and Alyce following in the coronets of their rank.

  It was a modest feast by the standards of the court at Rhemuth, but for the bride and groom, it was a taste of the treatment usually accorded only to royalty. After the first course, young Alaric enticed his younger cousin Duncan into several forays underneath the cloths covering the high table, eventually eliciting Kenneth’s sharp order for Sir Llion to take both boys in charge and divert them to other pursuits in the garden, so that the adults could enjoy their meal in peace.

  Thank you, Alyce mouthed to the young knight, also pointing at her plate. I’ll save you a plate.

  His cheery wave conveyed both understanding and gratitude as he gathered up several more of the younger children and led them out into the castle yard, like a mother hen parading her chicks.

  “We shall have to see about finding Llion a wife,” Kenneth murmured to Alyce, as he tucked into his meal again. “Such skill with small boys merits a few sons of his own.”

  “What, and lose his services with our own?” Alyce replied. “He is young yet. There will be plenty of time in a few years—and when our Alaric has gained some maturity.”

  “You’re right,” Kenneth agreed. “I had not thought of that. But do keep the prospect in mind.”

  “I shall indeed.”

  It was something of an hour later, when the wedding supper was well underway and a troupe of players were offering entertainment, that Kenneth drew his wife’s attention to a dark-clad figure standing quietly in the shadows at the far end of the hall.

  “Look who has finally made an appearance.”

  “It’s Sé,” Alyce murmured, touching a hand to her husband’s arm. “He did come for Jovett’s wedding.”

  “I told you he would—at least for the feast,” Kenneth replied, though he smiled as he said it. “He is a good friend of this family, Alyce.”

  “He is,” she agre
ed. “Pray, excuse me.”

  “Of course.”

  As she started toward him, he moved farther into the shadows just inside the doorway, laying a hand across his heart and inclining his head in wordless greeting as she joined him. He was leaner than when last she had seen him, at her son’s christening, shedding weight from a frame already lean and fit, and further refining the high cheekbones, the narrow, aristocratic nose. The close-clipped beard and mustache underlined the new refinement, made him look more lethal. His eyes were still the same startling blue, but with a harder edge.

  Only the white belt of his knighthood relieved the stark simplicity of the ankle-length black robe he wore, fastened at the shoulder in the Eastern manner. A few strands of silver threaded the chestnut hair at the temples and in the braid sleeked back and clubbed at the nape of the neck in an intricate warrior’s knot.

  “Sé,” she breathed, only the shhh sound really audible.

  “My lady.” He inclined his head again.

  “Kenneth said you would come, but I wasn’t sure,” she replied. “You have been long silent.”

  He allowed himself a faint smile, a tendril of his thought caressing her mind in something of the old friendship they had shared since childhood.

  “I could not miss Jovett’s wedding,” he said.

  “Were you there, or did you only just arrive?” she asked softly. “I did not see you in the chapel.”

  Another faint smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “You were otherwise occupied, and I did not mean to be seen. I have learned a great deal since we last met. But did you really think I would not come?”

  “No,” she replied, affection lighting her eyes. “You have never, ever failed me.”

  “Nor shall I, while I live,” he replied, taking her hands to kiss first one, then the other. As he did so, turning his own hands slightly upward, she caught a glimpse of indigo now marking the insides of his wrists: the thumb-sized crosses denoting a fully vowed Knight of the Anvil.