“Just make certain he doesn’t hear it from you,” Oisín retorted. At Jamyl’s withering glance, he shrugged and allowed himself an ironic smile. “I’m not questioning your competence, Jamyl, God knows. But you can’t deny that it will be difficult not to let on, while you wait for more usual confirmation.” He glanced briefly aside, then gave Jamyl a nod. “I think that’s all I can tell you for now. Has anything changed regarding the king’s plans?”
Jamyl shook his head. “No, there will be a progress into Meara, regardless of what Caitrin does right now. However, I expect that Brion will become a bit more focused, once he learns of the marriage.”
“That’s likely so,” Oisín agreed. Gathering his resolve he rose. “Well enough, then. You’d best get back before you’re missed. Let us know when word of the marriage reaches Rhemuth—and we’ll hope that Caitrin does nothing too rash.”
“And Brion,” Jamyl replied with a grimace.
• • •
THE news, when it finally reached Rhemuth early in March, arrived in the hands of Sir Caspar Talbot, with an official missive from his father, the Mearan royal governor. The young knight found the king and Jamyl sparring in the castle hall with blunted swords, along with nearly a dozen other knights intent on keeping their skills honed through the winter. Kenneth had partnered up with Jared, who was providing him with a serious workout. Duke Richard had assembled his squires to observe the adults at practice, giving them a running commentary. Alaric and Duncan watched avidly from a vantage point in one of the window embrasures.
“Uh-oh, here comes trouble,” Alaric murmured aside to Duncan, as he spotted Sir Caspar, making his way along the sidelines of the hall. “I don’t recognize the man, but that’s the Mearan governor’s badge on his sleeve—and he does not look happy.”
Richard, too, had seen the new arrival, and immediately broke off his commentary to head toward Sir Caspar, at the same time shouting “Hold!” and raising both arms in visual signal to underline his shout.
All fighting immediately ceased, and the king pushed his leather practice helm back on his head to look at Richard in question, then noticed the newcomer approaching.
“Ill news from Meara, Sire,” Sir Caspar announced, holding up a sealed missive. “Aude is dead, and Caitrin of Meara has declared her intention to marry the Earl of Somerdale.”
Scowling, Brion handed off his practice sword and helmet to a squire and held out a hand for the letter, cracking its seal with a grimace. His jaw tightened as he skimmed the text. Then:
“Crown council, in my withdrawing room, now!”
Those thus summoned immediately set aside practice equipment and streamed after the king as he stalked off in the direction of the withdrawing room. At Richard’s gesture, Prince Nigel also scurried after with the king’s real sword, put aside before beginning practice. Kenneth and Jared exchanged glances as they, too, followed the king, close behind Duke Richard. As they entered the room and slid into their customary seats, Brion had already taken his place at the head of the table, and was drumming his fingertips on one chair arm.
“Well, gentlemen, it appears that our spring progress into Meara will, indeed, be more in the nature of a visitation and fact-finding mission,” the king said, eyeing all of them as they settled around him. “If we are very fortunate, Caitrin will be content merely to marry, and will prove barren.”
“May we have particulars, Sire?” Jiri Redfearn asked.
Brion took the sheathed sword that his younger brother handed him and thumped it onto the table in front of him. “You may have such particulars as I have,” he said, passing the letter to Jared, who shared it with Kenneth as the king went on. “Apparently Aude of Meara passed away at Laas, just at the turning of the year; Lucien Talbot isn’t sure precisely when. She must have had some inkling that she was dying, because Judhael came up from the Connait to be with her. By Twelfth Night, they had buried her with their Quinnell ancestors, and Judhael had convened a shadow court at Laas, whereupon Caitrin announced her intention to marry the Earl of Somerdale, Derek Delaney.”
“Delaney,” Tiarnán murmured. “Wasn’t she betrothed to another Delaney, some years back?”
“Aye, Francis Delaney,” Kenneth said. “There was never any official betrothal, but it matters little. He was captured and executed during the 1089 rebellion.”
“He left a son, as I recall—just a lad,” Jared said.
Jiri Redfearn nodded. “Aye, another Francis. They say that Derek adopted the boy, and treats him like a son. And Caitrin apparently dotes on him as well, like the son she has not had.”
“Well, he is not her son,” Richard said irritably, “and it behooves us to ensure that she does not have one of her own—or daughters, either. In Meara, the women are almost more dangerous than the men!”
The comment elicited a medley of snorts and ironic laughter, but it was no more than the truth. Mearan princesses had been the death of far too many in the past century.
“So, what is it that you propose to do, Sire?” Tiarnán finally asked. “She has announced her intention to marry, which almost certainly means that she intends to breed more Mearan pretenders, and eventually to take up her father’s cause and make her own bid for an independent Meara.”
“That is what I hope to discourage,” Brion replied. “I am disinclined to hound anyone to death, as my father was forced to do, but I won’t have her undermining the political stability in Meara, such as it is.”
Jared snorted. “Meara hasn’t been stable for years!”
“No, and it will never be stable, so long as soi-disant Mearan pretenders keep periodically reviving the old claims,” Richard said irritably. “I confess that I was never able to figure out why Donal didn’t just sweep through and clean out the last of them, once and for all.”
“Perhaps because they are also our blood, Uncle,” Brion said mildly. He leaned back in his chair, considering. “I think, perhaps, that it’s time to pay a visit to my very troublesome cousin Caitrin.”
• • •
AND once you locate her, what then?” Queen Richeldis said to her son, when she summoned him to her quarters later that evening. “Did it occur to you that she might simply wish to experience the domestic pleasures permitted other women? To marry and bear children of her own?”
“Children who might well threaten my throne one day,” Brion replied. “Did you not see enough of that when Father was alive, with his ceaseless forays into Meara to put down one rebellion or another?”
Richeldis looked away, her face bleak, shuttered. “He and his father did terrible things in Meara, terrible things!”
“Was it terrible to hunt down rebellious subjects who threatened the throne?” Brion countered. “I don’t understand these royal Mearan women. They simply will not give up. My grandmother Roisían was the senior heir to Meara, as declared by her own father, who was the last independent Prince of Meara—and I am her senior heir. Why will they not accept that?”
“Do you think that barging back into Meara to thwart your cousin’s marriage plans will make them accept it?”
“Mother! I am Prince of Meara. If I enter my own lands, I do not barge.”
Richeldis gave a self-righteous sniff. “Many Mearans would beg to differ.”
Rolling his eyes, Brion got to his feet. “It’s clear we shall not agree on this. However, I do intend to make a progress into my principality, and to seek out my cousin. We shall be leaving within a few weeks, as soon as the weather allows.”
• • •
IN fact, various contingents of the king’s intended party departed at varying times throughout the next fortnight, for there were logistic arrangements yet to be worked out for the expedition. Jared and his sons would be among the first to depart, for he had been charged with assembling a suitable escort of Cassani borderers to ride with the king from Culdi. Kenneth, his son, and a pair o
f aides would travel part of the way with Jared, for Bronwyn must be fetched from Morganhall, to also take up residence at Culdi.
But for the newly acknowledged Duke Jared, one task yet remained to be performed before they left Rhemuth, in a slight change from his original intention. The day before they were to ride out, Jared asked the king for the use of his withdrawing room, and invited both the king and Duke Richard to join him and Kenneth in witness to an important occasion in the lives of two young family members.
“As you know,” Kenneth said to the two Haldanes, “it has long been my intention that Alaric should begin his formal page’s training in Jared’s household with his cousin, away from the pressure of court.” He glanced aside where Jared and Sir Tesselin were shaking out the folds of two child-sized tabards in the blue and white of Cassan. “We would have waited to do this at Culdi, later in the spring, but I knew that Duke Richard would wish to be present.”
“What I would have preferred,” Richard said with a droll drawl, “is that your Alaric would have passed directly into my supervision. He has astonishing potential, but I do understand the—ah—unique circumstances that make it preferable to keep him sheltered a bit longer,” he added, with a good-natured nod to Kenneth. “Boys can be nasty brutes at his age. And the border training will do him good for a few years.”
“It will,” Brion agreed. “And I’m sure the lads would like to show off their pages’ tabards here, before they leave,” he added, grinning. “I well remember when I first received mine. I had been begging for it for months.”
Richard snorted. “He gave his father and me no peace. But he was a very good page and squire,” he said fondly, “and he’s turned out to be quite a passable knight, and a first-rate king.”
Brion chuckled and shook his head. “We’ll see if you feel the same way after I’ve been to Meara and back.” He turned his attention to Jared and clapped his hands. “Jared, are you going to take these lads as pages or not? If you don’t do it quickly, my uncle is likely to snatch them right from under your nose.”
Jared turned and shot the king a grin, then began gathering his immediate household with a summoning motion, at the same time donning his coronet. Duchess Vera and Kevin had joined him, Vera with the two Cassan tabards over her arm, and Kevin was straightening out two narrow lengths of McLain tartan. Llion and Tesselin had charge of the two incipient pages, who were dressed in clean white tunics with black breeches and boots. In addition, a handful of Jared’s bordermen were assembling in the doorway to the chamber, jostling for vantage points from which to witness the ceremony about to take place. As the king and Richard joined the party, along with Kenneth and several of his men, Jared cleared his throat and waited for the room to settle.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Today marks an important first step in the making of future knights, as I take two new pages into my service. Duncan, please come forward.”
Grinning ear to ear, Duncan came to kneel at his father’s feet, eyes aglow with excitement as Jared drew his sword and set the point on the floor between them, right hand resting on the pommel.
“Duncan Howard McLain, place your hands on my sword and hear the responsibilities of a page of my house.”
Duncan did as he was bidden, setting his two hands on the quillons of the sword as he gazed up at his father with wide-eyed awe.
“Will you promise loyalty and service to me and my house,” Jared said, “accepting the discipline and instruction of those set in authority to train you, to learn the ways of a gentleman and future knight?”
Duncan nodded earnestly. “I will, Your Grace, so help me God.”
“Then receive the tabard of a page of Cassan,” Jared replied, nodding to Vera, who came closer to slip the blue and white tabard over their son’s head. Duncan was beaming as his head emerged from the neck opening and his mother helped him straighten it, front and back.
“This will be your livery for when you’re on duty,” Jared added. “Try to keep it reasonably clean. And when you are not on official duty”—he also took a narrow length of McLain tartan from Kevin’s hands—“wear this around your waist, to remind you and all who see you that you serve under the protection of the Chief of the McLains.”
This, too, Duncan donned, knotting the length of tartan around his waist under the tabard. When he had finished, he took the right hand his father offered him and rose to be enfolded in a one-armed hug; Jared still held his sword in the other, under the quillons.
“Congratulations, son,” Jared murmured, drawing Duncan to his side, to take a place beside his brother Kevin. “Now, let’s have young Alaric up here.”
At his command, and at Kenneth’s added prompting with gentle pressure to his shoulder, Alaric made his way to Jared, sinking to his knees to place his hands on the quillons of Jared’s sword.
“Alaric Anthony Morgan,” Jared said solemnly, “is it your desire to enter into service as a page of my house?”
“It is, Your Grace,” Alaric said steadily, never taking his eyes from Jared’s.
“Then, hear the responsibilities with which I charge you,” Jared said, “for to be a page is to be at another’s beck and call, to come and to go at another’s will, that you may learn the ways of a gentleman and future knight. Therefore, will you promise loyalty and service to me and my house, accepting the discipline and instruction of those set in authority to train you?”
Alaric nodded gravely. “I will, Your Grace, so help me God. And as heir to Corwyn and Lendour, I also desire to swear you fealty, saving what duty I owe to my father and to the king.”
So saying, he lifted his hands from the quillons of the sword and joined them palm to palm, intent and entreaty in his eyes. Jared was somewhat taken aback by the request, for the boy had not discussed this with him beforehand. With a glance at Kenneth and the king, who moved slightly closer, he crouched down to the boy’s level, one hand still poised on the hilt of his sword.
“You are not of an age where that is expected or required, son,” he said quietly. “Why do you wish to do it?”
Alaric’s gaze never wavered from his. “You know what I am, sir,” he said steadily, “and that there are those who wish me ill. My father and the king are about to go into Meara for some months, and I will remain in your household.”
“But I, too, am going to Meara,” Jared pointed out.
“Yes, sir, but if it is known that I am also under your personal protection, even though you are away, those of your household may be more diligent in guarding my safety.”
Considering, Jared cast another glance at Kenneth and the king, then got to his feet, passing his sword to Kevin by the pommel.
“The boy is astute beyond his years, Sire,” he said to the king. “If you have no objection, I am minded to grant his request.”
Brion nodded over his crossed arms. “I have no objection, and will bear witness to this exchange.”
“Thank you, Sire. Tesselin”—he nodded to the young knight, standing with Llion near the doorway from the room—“please ask such others of our household who are present to join us.”
At once Tesselin ducked his head outside briefly with a low-voiced order, then moved farther inside to make room for nearly a dozen other knights and men-at-arms who had been congregated there to witness Duncan’s reception of his page’s tabard.
“Come in, gentlemen, come in,” Jared said as they jostled for position. “I wish you to bear witness to another oath today, since some of you will be called upon to uphold it while I am absent in Meara with the king. In addition to my son Duncan, I have just taken young Alaric here as a page to the House of Cassan. He has asked, and the king has agreed, that he might also enter into personal liege fealty to me, since he will be residing in my household while his father and I are with the king.”
He held them with his gaze for several seconds, that the import might sink in, then returned his g
aze to Alaric, taking the boy’s joined hands between his own.
“I am prepared to receive your oath,” he said with a nod.
Alaric swallowed visibly, his eyes never leaving Jared’s. “I, Alaric Anthony Morgan, heir of Corwyn and Lendour, do become your liege man of life and limb and earthly worship, to serve you in good faith and without deception, saving my allegiance to my father and to our lord the king, so help me God.”
“And I receive your oath and fidelity, Alaric Anthony Morgan, heir of Corwyn and Lendour, and I pledge to you the same protection and fidelity that is the right of my own sons. So say I, Jared McLain Duke of Cassan, so help me God.”
With that, he raised Alaric up and enveloped him in a bear hug, then pressed him to arm’s length and nodded to Lady Vera.
“Right, then. I believe this young man needs a tabard, my lady. And the sash of Clan McLain.”
Chuckling in gentle amusement, Vera brought forward the tabard and pulled it over Alaric’s head, helping him straighten it, then knelt to tie the sash of McLain tartan around his waist.
“That was a very brave thing you did,” she whispered so that only he could hear, “and a very smart thing. I am very proud of you.”
So saying, she gave Alaric a hug, then drew Duncan likewise into her embrace and hugged him, too.
“My lord,” she said to Jared as she rose, “I thank you for adding two such courtly pages to our household. I shall make certain that they perform their duties diligently in your absence.”
“Their duties and their studies,” Jared amended with an arch nod. “And thank you, Sire, for witnessing this ceremony.”
Brion inclined his head, smiling. “It was my pleasure.”
“And now, all you lot, get on with your preparations,” Jared added to his men, with a shooing motion. “We leave in the morning.”
• • •
THAT night, though supper in the king’s hall was in nowise out of the ordinary—simple but hearty fare for those still resident at the royal court in the winter aftermath of Twelfth Night—both new pages proudly wore their tabards to serve their fathers at table, and even assisted with service to the king. In truth, such service mostly required standing in readiness to perform tasks that were few and simple, but the pair nonetheless basked in the heady awareness that today they had, indeed, passed from the lowly realm of feckless boys to that of very junior pages to a duke.
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