The Harrowing of Gwynedd (22 page)

Manfred snorted derisively. “Sire,
really
! Your dear Lady Elinor was previously married to one of the sons of the heretic Camber himself. Her son Davin died a traitor, not a year ago, and her son Ansel apparently means to follow in his brother's footsteps. He certainly left his own footprints in blood, when he fled our men last night. Oh, do sit
down
, Sire! You're making far too much of this.”

Ansel had been wounded, then. Javan prayed it was not serious. And as Alroy sank back into his chair, cowed by the insolent Manfred—on whom Javan wished only the cruelest of fates!—Javan silently applauded his brother for this rare display of backbone in attempting to defend Elinor and Jamie.

“I—cannot speak for Lord Ansel, of course,” Alroy said, only a little more meekly than before. “I believe I have not seen him since my coronation. But is the lady to be held accountable for the actions of her grown sons? I was given to understand that there had been little contact with them, even at the time of Lord Davin's death—that she had severed almost all contact with the MacRorie family when she married Lord James.”

Murdoch smiled mirthlessly and leaned both arms along the back of Alroy's chair, forcing the king to twist around if he wished to look up at him—which he did.

“Fortunately for both the lady and her second lord, Master Declan has confirmed that there was no recent contact,” Murdoch said. He looked almost disappointed. “And since your Highness seems to value them so highly, I am pleased to be able to tell you that neither the lady nor her lord shows any sign of the accursed Deryni blood we feared might sway them to treason. Father Lior and his Order are becoming quite adept at ferreting out secret Deryni.”

He gestured toward the stranger priest, who made the king a respectful bow, right hand to breast, but Alroy only stared, the grey Haldane eyes dark and frightened.

“I ask you again, what have you done to them?” he whispered. “And who is this Father Lior, that he can discover who is Deryni and who is not? I do not recognize the habit.”

“Nor should you, my Liege,” Hubert replied, “though all shall be revealed in due time. Father Lior, bring in the Lady Richeldis and proceed. We must set the king's mind at ease.”

As the priest left to do Hubert's bidding, Javan tensed inside. He now liked the mysterious Father Lior even less than he had before, and wondered who else might fall under scrutiny before Lior was done—and whether Tavis had gotten to everyone that he intended. Drugs of some kind were being used in conjunction with the Truth-Reading Oriel and Declan obviously were supplying, for he could see Oriel stirring something in a horn cup, over beside the unconscious Jamie. Certain drugs were Deryni-specific, Javan knew—like the one called
merasha
, which would affect a Deryni but only put a human recipient to sleep—but he had no idea what Oriel was using.

Whatever it was, it had not betrayed Elinor or Jamie. He could only hope that Richeldis would react the same—and young Michaela and Cathan Drummond, if it came to that—and that
he
would not be required to undergo a similar testing.

He tried not to look disapproving or even particularly interested as Iver MacInnis and a guard picked up the chair bearing the now sleeping Elinor and deposited her beside the equally somnolent Jamie. He even yawned as Father Lior came back in with another priest of his unknown Order, leading a frightened-looking Richeldis MacLean between them.

Or,
was
it Richeldis? Javan had to look twice to be sure. He had never paid that much attention, but this girl seemed a good deal more grown up than the slightly plump adolescent he had seen at the wedding feast, not a week before. The black gown was partially responsible—and also made her look slimmer—and her dark hair had been pulled back off her face and braided, the plaits pinned across the top of her head to show off a long, graceful neck—though a sheer black veil kept him from getting too close a look. Why, she was almost pretty—though not with her eyes all puffy and red-rimmed from weeping, of course.

Nor was Javan the only one to notice the difference, as Lior and his companion brought Richeldis before the king. Murdoch and even Tammaron accorded her far more than fatherly interest as she dipped in a wobbly curtsey, on the verge of tears again, and Manfred's son Iver looked so pleased and even proprietary that Javan abruptly wondered if
he
could have had a part in the death of Richeldis' sister.

Or if not Iver himself, then someone else on his behalf. After all, Giesele's death made Richeldis sole heiress of the Kierney lands and titles, once Earl Iain died—and Iver had been paying court to both girls at the wedding feast.

“My condolences on your loss, my lady,” Alroy said without prompting, sitting back restlessly in his chair—oddly disquieted for Alroy, who usually did not resist the regents' direction. “If it is within my power, you may be certain your sister's murderers will be brought to justice.”

The frightened girl said nothing as she rose from her curtsey, only going a little paler as she stole a glance at her guardians slumped senseless in their chairs. At a snap of Hubert's fingers, a guard brought another chair into the center of the room and set it behind her. She sat because she knew she had no choice, hands clenched white-knuckled in her lap, but she held her head a little higher as Father Lior folded the veil back from her face—a true daughter of the nobility, though her chin quivered with her terror. Oriel came over with his cup, and the other priest withdrew to stand by Declan and the Drummonds.

“My Lady Richeldis, I am required to ask you certain questions,” Father Lior said quietly. “Father Burton has already taken your oath to answer truthfully.” He gestured toward his fellow priest with a square, workmanlike hand. “I shall remind you that you imperil your immortal soul if you lie—and that retribution shall strike you in this world, before you can even plead before a heavenly Judge, if Master Oriel discerns any shred of deliberate misdirection or omission. Do you understand?”

Tears swam in the dark, swollen eyes, but she bobbed her head in assent.

“Excellent. Now, please tell us what you remember of last night. What time did you go to bed?”

She swallowed, glancing fearfully at the impassive Oriel.

“It—it was not long past Vespers, Father,” she whispered. “My—my sister and I said our prayers, as we always do, and—and we went to sleep.”

“And when did you awaken?” Lior asked.

“I—I don't know exactly.”

“What woke you then?”

“I—heard shouting in the corridor outside. I was frightened. I ran to the door, but there were soldiers running back and forth, and no one would tell me what was happening. And then my sister—”

“Go on. What of your sister?”

Richeldis swallowed noisily. “She—didn't wake up. And when I went to her, and tried to rouse her, she—”

“Yes?”

“She wasn't breathing.”

Richeldis' voice broke off in a tiny sob as she buried her face in her hands, but Lior was not content with that. Signalling Oriel with a brusque jerk of his chin, he took the cup the Healer handed him and watched Oriel take the girl's wrists, pulling her hands from her face. She continued to weep as the Healer stared at her—Javan guessed he must be probing fairly deeply—but then he shook his head and released her, sinking to one knee to slide an arm around her shoulders in compassion.

“She conceals nothing, Father,” Oriel murmured, looking up at the priest with sick despair in his eyes. “She knows nothing of her sister's murder—I swear it! Richeldis woke. Her sister did not. Nor is she Deryni, by any test I know to apply.”

“You have not yet applied this test,” Lior replied, holding out the cup.

“Is that really necessary?” Alroy suddenly blurted, his tone sharper than Javan had heard it in a long time. “If Oriel says she isn't Deryni, then she isn't Deryni.”

“I would prefer to have independent confirmation of that pronouncement, your Highness,” Hubert snapped. “She is, after all, the granddaughter of Camber MacRorie's full sister. We do not know how potent that blood might be. Oriel, the cup, if you please.”

Sighing, Oriel took it and returned his attention to the girl, who was trembling as she stared at what was in his hand.

“Drink it, child,” Oriel murmured, shaking his head as she set her hands against his to keep it at a distance. “Please, little one. I desire this no more than you, but you
will
drink, if his Grace says you must. I promise, you have nothing to fear. The draught will act as a sedative. It will be good to sleep, after all that's happened. That's right,” he encouraged, as she ceased resisting and let him set the cup to her lips. “Small sips, but you must drink it all. There's my brave girl.”

He handed off the cup to Lior when she had finished, letting her bury her face against his shoulder and sob while he held her in simple human comfort. After a few minutes, when he raised his eyes to Lior's and shook his head, Declan came, at Lior's summons, and set his hands lightly on her shoulders. By then, her sobbing had ceased and she was still.

“All is as Master Oriel has said,” Declan said after a moment, his face devoid of expression. “She has been acquainted with many Deryni, because of her family, but she herself shows no sign of the blood. She certainly is no threat to your plans.”

“Careful, Carmody,” Hubert warned. “We'll have no show of your disapproval.”

“Disapproval, your Grace?” Declan said mildly, ignoring Oriel's startled gesture to subside. “Why should I disapprove of being forced to use my powers in ways not intended, to further the goals of avaricious men who probably envy the very things in me they say they fear?”

“Hold your tongue, sir, if you care for your family!” Murdoch ordered. “You are on the dangerous edge of insolence.”

“Were it
not
for my family, you would see far more than insolence,” Declan retorted, his voice harsh with his hatred as he stepped out from behind Richeldis' chair. “How long do you think a man can live this way, Murdoch? Do you think we have no honor, simply because the bishops say our souls are damned because of what we are?”

“Carmody!” Tammaron said. “Don't be a fool! Standing orders are that if any harm comes to one of us while you are present, your family will be executed in the most excruciating manner possible. Are you willing to risk that for the sake of a moment's satisfaction?”

For an instant, Javan was afraid Declan was willing to risk precisely that—and secretly almost hoped he would—but then the captive Deryni drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, head bowing in surrender as he dropped his hands to his sides. Oriel, still on his knees with the sleeping Richeldis, ducked his own head as well, obviously appalled at what his fellow Deryni nearly had been driven to do and praying that the regents' retribution would not fall upon him as well.

And retribution there would be, too. That was obvious as Murdoch stepped from behind Alroy's throne, arms folded across his chest. Alroy looked a little scared, and Rhys Michael as well. Javan did not like what he saw in Murdoch's eyes as the regent studied Declan with calculating intent.

“I will have your apology, Deryni,” Murdoch said quietly.

Declan did not lift his eyes, whether as further act of defiance or because he did not yet trust himself to maintain control.

“You have it, my lord,” Declan said, the words toneless and without expression.

“No, you will give it on bended knee,” Murdoch said, pointing to the floor before him. “You will crawl to me and beg my forgiveness, and you will place my foot on your neck in token of your submission. Any other action—” His voice rose sharply on the last three words, as Declan's head snapped up to glare outrage.

“
Any
other action,” Murdoch repeated coldly, “will result in dire consequences for your family. For your wife, perhaps, and maybe even your pretty little sons. Yes, I think my soldiers might enjoy such playthings, don't you, Carmody?”

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

Who will rise up against the evildoers? or who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity?

—Psalms 94:16

Declan blanched and then colored, swaying a little on his feet as he sucked in an agonized breath between clenched teeth. His hands had balled into fists, though he managed to keep them at his sides, and Javan hoped never again to see the look in Declan's eyes. Almost, he could fancy he saw faint sparks beginning to crackle in the Deryni's hair like tiny, captive lightnings.

“Murdoch, you push him too far!” Tammaron gasped.

“No, it's
he
who pushes too far,” Murdoch said coolly. “He forgets his very precarious place.”

The colossal arrogance of the man only reaffirmed all Javan's loathing. Both appalled and furious that Murdoch could be so stupid, he watched the regent slide one proprietary hand along the back of Alroy's chair, the thumb of the other hand hooking casually in the gilded belt, very near his dagger—as if either would help, against a Deryni! Alroy himself reminded Javan of a trapped mouse, caught between the menace of a cat's claws and the striking range of a deadly serpent. As a guard scuttled outside to summon help, Hubert and the other regents began backing warily away from the throne, Father Lior retreating beside his fellow priest. Only Murdoch seemed to be without fear.

“Go ahead, Carmody,” Murdoch said contemptuously. “Raise a hand against me, and you won't leave this room alive.” As if to underline his threat, half a dozen archers crowded into the doorway with bows at full draw. “Not only that, your family will
still
die.” He jabbed a warning forefinger at Oriel as well. “Yours too, Oriel, if you
let
him! Now, on your knees, Carmody, and crawl!
Now
!”