The Quest for Saint Camber (44 page)

“Conall as king in all but name,” Morgan breathed, shaking his head as he rubbed again at his eyes. “The mind boggles.”

“He
is
Nigel's son,” Duncan reminded him, “and King Donal Blaine's grandson.”

“He's also very immature,” Morgan replied. “I know. He was with Kelson and me for the first part of the campaign last summer. Nor have I seen any particular evidence that he's grown up much, since. Fathering a child does not necessarily make a boy a man.”

“A child?” Arilan frowned. “I've heard nothing of a child.”

Duncan sighed and shook his head. “It isn't born yet, so far as I know,” he murmured. “Court gossip had it due around the end of the summer. The mother's a country maid. He keeps her in a cottage about an hour's ride outside the city.”

“Hmmm,” Arilan said, stroking his narrow chin. “He hasn't gone and married the girl or anything stupid, has he?”

“No.” Duncan laced his fingers together. “She's just a royal mistress—has been for close on a year, from what I hear. He may be immature, Denis, but he isn't stupid. He's saved his hand in marriage for a princess worthy of his blood.”

“Which he'll need to find, as soon as possible, if he has a bastard about to be born. We can't have the succession disputed, once he's king in name as well as in fact.”

“Good God, Nigel isn't even dead yet!” Morgan breathed. “Can't you let the poor boy be? There's time enough for him to find a wife. We were content to let Kelson take his time. Isn't it bad enough that he's going to have to assume the power while Nigel's still alive?”

“The matter of the heir is an important one,” Arilan said icily. “However, if you would prefer, steps can be taken to ensure that Conall's bastard is never born.”

The threat brought Morgan up short, for he knew Arilan could and would do it, if pressed. Nor, glancing at the astonished-looking Duncan, was there any doubt that Duncan believed Arilan would do it.

Further resistance was futile. Morgan knew that neither he nor Duncan was in any shape to resist both Arilan and the rest of the Council. Sighing, he spread both hands in a gesture of acquiescence.

“Very well, Bishop. You win.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant
.

—Proverbs 9:17

Four days later, Conall learned what his fate would be. Arilan briefed him in a private interview in Archbishop Cardiel's study, setting the time of Conall's power ritual for two nights hence.

“Morgan and Duncan will preside, as originally intended for Nigel,” Arilan told him, “but I shall be in attendance as well. The procedure will be a little more complicated than usual, since your father is still alive, but you should weather it without undue difficulty.”

Arilan's assurances did little to allay Conall's uneasiness, however, for he was fully aware how vulnerable he must make himself, in order to let the full potential of the Haldanes be realized within him. A careful perusal of the knowledge he had gained from Tiercel indicated that participating in the power ritual mainly would augment and expand what he had already developed on his own and from Tiercel's tutoring, but he must be able to make the expected responses. The overwhelming question, which he dared ask no one, was whether or not he could keep his present achievements under wraps long enough to let them be assimilated in the new powers. Once the power ritual was complete—even if nothing further happened—he would be able to explain everything he now had as a part of the Haldane legacy; and Haldanes rarely had to explain, in any case.

In the meantime, however, he had nearly two days to get through. And aside from the preparations of the actual day—meditation and fasting, for the most part—no further demands would be made upon him.

Aside from dynastic ones. Apparently Vanissa's pregnancy had precipitated that. Arilan had made no bones about the fact that Conall, now the active Haldane heir, would be expected to contract a suitable marriage as quickly as possible, to provide a legitimate heir of his own. The bishop had not actually threatened, but it was clear to Conall that any delay on his part might result in danger to Vanissa and her unborn child.

Not that Conall was particularly concerned about that, though he did care for the girl, in his way. The reason he was not concerned was that his chosen bride was all but locked in promise already, whether or not she was consciously aware of it. His agent finally had intercepted Rothana's letter to Archbishop Cardiel only the day before and had inserted it in a stack of documents awaiting the archbishop's attention.

Thus, when Conall had concluded his interview with Arilan, he asked to see the archbishop privately. Arilan went out, and very shortly Cardiel came in, a little curious as to why the prince wanted to see him. Conall kissed the prelate's ring dutifully, taking the opportunity of physical contact to establish an undetected control link between himself and the archbishop that persisted even when Conall released Cardiel's hand.

“You wished a word with me, Your Highness?” Cardiel asked, sitting behind his desk and gesturing for Conall to take a seat opposite.

“I did, Excellency.” Conall sat gingerly, on only the front edge of the chair. “I—ah—believe you should have received a letter from the Lady Rothana by now. Have you?”

“From Rothana?” Cardiel's brow furrowed in surprise. “Not that I'm aware of. Does it concern you?”

Feigning nervousness, Conall twined his fingers together, twisting at the golden signet on his left hand.

“I—ah—yes, it does, Archbishop. She—” He broke off, as if embarrassed, then looked up at Cardiel hopefully.

“She said she was going to ask for a dispensation from her vows, Excellency,” he whispered. “I thought surely you would have received it by now.”

“A dispensation?”

Cardiel riffled through the pile of letters on his desk, then froze briefly before pulling out a single sheet.

“Good heavens, she
has
.” His blue eyes widened as he scanned over the text. “Uncertain in my vocation … release from my vows, which are but temporary, in any case … dispensation from the religious state …”

He looked up at Conall in pleased surprise, unaware that his pleasure at the notion, with all its implications, was being encouraged and reinforced by Conall himself.

“Good heavens, this
is
a surprise. She makes no mention of her reasons for such a request, but am I to assume, since you have interested yourself in this matter, that you and she—”

Conall ducked his head in sheepish acknowledgement. “I know it will come as a surprise to many, Excellency, but the foundations for this match were laid nearly a year ago, when I escorted her back from Saint Brigid's. She has been loath to talk about it since my return, feeling it unseemly to be discussing such things when we are in mourning for Kelson, but I believe I have persuaded her that no time ought to be lost. As regent now—and, alas, likely to be king before the year is out—it is my duty to provide Gwynedd with an heir as soon as possible.”

“Ah, yes,” Cardiel said, raising an eyebrow in mild reproach. “A
legitimate
heir.”

Conall had the grace to at least feign a blush. “Oh. You've heard about Vanissa.”

At Cardiel's rather curt nod, Conall decided he had best put this to rest once and for all.

“I made her no promises, Archbishop,” he said quietly, “if that's what you're worried about. I'll provide for her and the child, of course, but I'm totally free to marry Rothana.”

Fortunately, Cardiel's reaction mellowed enough at this reassurance of responsibility that Conall did not have to intervene further.

“I see,” Cardiel said. “Well, I suppose most princes sow a few wild oats before they settle down. Kelson was an exception. But I'll expect no repeats of this sort of behavior after you're married, my son. I cannot stress enough the importance of an undisputed succession.”

“I know my duty, Excellency,” Conall murmured, eyes downcast. “There will be no more Vanissas. In the meantime, however, I should like the marriage to take place as soon as possible. I—believe my father would wish it.”

“Of course,” Cardiel agreed. “Lent will be over in little more than a fortnight, so—”

“I'd prefer not to wait that long, Archbishop,” Conall interrupted, again insinuating subtle controls. “My enemies will be upon me before we realize. My right to the crown must be established beyond doubt. It needn't be a lavish ceremony. In fact, under the circumstances, a small, quiet ceremony is wholly appropriate—immediate family only. You can grant the necessary dispensations.”

“Yes, of course.”

“In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you would approve Rothana's request for release from her vows,” Conall said, pushing the letter back in front of Cardiel and putting a quill in his hand. “A simple
Placet
at the bottom will suffice for now, with your seal and a note that official approval will be forthcoming. I'll take that back to her today, and you can have a formal writ drawn up after I've gone.”

Without even a blink of resistance, Cardiel set pen to parchment, scrawling the words,
Placet
, “It pleases,” and then
Mandatum diliget
—“An order will follow.” After that, he signed the note and set his seal beneath his signature, sitting back placidly while Conall blew on the wax to cool it before folding it to stash inside his tunic.

“I'll also ask your discretion in this matter,” Conall went on, as he prepared to take his leave. “Other than any necessary communications with Rothana's abbess, I'd prefer that you discuss this matter with no one until after I've had a chance to make my own announcement to the privy council. That will be sometime after the weekend, when my full assumption of power has been accomplished.”

Reinforced by magical insistence, Conall's request had the force of a command, but it was not at all an unusual requirement, given the delicacy of the situation. Nor was Cardiel's reaction entirely out of character, even though guided by Conall's will in the matter. The subject of the next heir's speedy marriage already was or would be a topic of concern to nearly every high-ranking official at court, especially now that he had been confirmed as regent.

The only point that might have raised questions was the apparent suddenness of Rothana's request; and Conall, with a brief touch to Cardiel's brow and the merest flick of thought, inserted vivid memories of a confession given him by Conall before his knighting—wholly in keeping with what was expected of a royal candidate for knighthood—in which Conall had stated his most tender and devoted love for Rothana and asked Cardiel's guidance in winning her hand.

And Cardiel—as he would have done, had he been asked in fact—would remember only that he had advised circumspection for the present, because of the lady's temporary vows to the Church, and assured Conall of his wholehearted support, should the lady request dispensation of him.

As Conall left Cardiel's study, after receiving the archbishop's blessing on his enterprise, he fancied that even Arilan would not be able to penetrate the truth of what had just transpired. Nor should the Deryni bishop have cause to question, in the first place. Conall was whistling under his breath as he rode back to the castle with Squire Ivo, whose services he had appropriated upon his return, along with the crown he hoped soon to wear and the bride he hoped soon to wed, the archbishop's imprimatur secure at his breast.

Once safely ensconced at the castle again, however, the prince decided to waste no time confirming Rothana's part of what he had just set in motion. He must see her at once—and determined to have her summoned to see
him
this time, to ensure that they would not be interrupted or disturbed. After checking on his father and taking a leisurely lunch with his mother, Conall retired to the withdrawing room behind the dais in the main hall and sent Ivo to ask Rothana to attend him. She came half an hour later, clad still in the black habit of mourning, thinner than Conall remembered her, leaving one of the sisters to wait outside the door, for appearances' sake.

“You wished to see me, my lord?” Rothana said, cocking her blue-coiffed head at him in mild curiosity as she made him a curtsey.

“I did,” he replied, gesturing for her to be seated beside him on a bench before the fire. “Please, sit down.”

She folded her hands inside her sleeve openings as she obeyed, keeping her eyes modestly downcast as he stretched his booted feet out on the hearth, closer to the fire, and sighed wearily.

“A great deal has changed since we last spoke, my lady,” Conall said after a moment. “No doubt you've heard about my father's seizure.”

“Yes, I have, my lord,” she replied. “We pray for him daily, but I have heard—”

“What you have heard is undoubtedly true,” Conall said quietly. “The prognosis is not good. I thank you for your prayers, but—”

He shrugged, letting a tremor of grief pass through his body as he lowered his head into one hand.

“Forgive me, my lady. It's just that I feel so helpless. First Kelson, and now Father, slipping away …”

She turned her face in profile to him, gazing unseeing at the fire beyond his boots.

“They say he will not last the summer,” she said softly. “You will be king, when he is gone. And they say you are regent already.”

He nodded carefully, hardly daring to believe that she had led into precisely the topic he wanted to discuss.

“I am, my lady; and I will be. Nor do I feel myself ready to shoulder such an enormous burden. Have you—considered what we discussed before?”

As she turned her head to look at him, all wide, frightened eyes, he uncoiled from the bench to kneel at her feet, seizing the edge of her hem to press it fervently to his lips, shaking, for all that he had believed he was in control.