Alicia Roque Ruggieri by The House of Mercy Page A

me.  Then he went to Gaul.”  Would
that he had never gone!
    Bethan nodded.  “What
happened to his parents, if you don’t mind my asking, Cook?”
    Meghyn studied her
sewing, averting her eyes from the clear gaze of her questioner.  “They died,”
she replied simply, glad when the girl fell into sympathetic silence.
     
    ~ ~ ~
    “Another trip up north,
then?” Lord Drustan raised his thin eyebrows, set above frozen blue eyes
gleaming from a leathered face.
    Deoradhan stared back at
him, his passions animated by the noble’s coolness.  This time, he would make
some headway.  “Aye.”
    The old warlord rubbed
his hands together over the fire burning in the hearth.  He maintained silence
for only a moment, then asked, “And what good do you think that will do you?”
    “I don’t know.  But… I
can’t just sit here waiting for years!  Arthur must give me an answer
sometime,” Deoradhan growled in frustration.  “I’ve waited long enough for
something that should have been mine from birth.”
    “Listen, Deoradhan. 
Arthur’s hands are tied.  He—”
    “If his hands are so
tied, if he is so powerless, why should he style himself the Pendragon, then?” 
Deoradhan stopped himself with effort.  His words smacked of treason, and both
men knew it.  He calmed himself before speaking again.  “Forgive me.  I respect
Arthur as a king, as a man, as a friend.”  The lies came easily.  “Which is why
I don’t understand why he will not establish my rightful claim—”
    Drustan put a finger to
his mouth to silence Deoradhan as a pair of guards strode down the hall, their
boots thumping on the thick stone.  When they passed, Drustan answered.  “Much
as I value your friendship and work, Deoradhan, I will not go against Arthur’s
policies.  The land needs unity right now, not treachery, however small the
form.  If you need to know the reasons behind the king’s delay, why don’t you
go to him and ask?”
    “Ask him?”  Deoradhan
hesitated.  If he asked the king straight out, the Pendragon could refuse him
flatly.  And Arthur seldom changed his mind once he had given an answer.  His
commitment to keep his word no matter what had helped to seal his leadership
over all of Britain.
    “Aye, go to Camelot. 
I’ve no need of you for a time.  My nephew is due to arrive from Gaul any day
now.  I’ll be much occupied with entertaining him, wild boy that he is.”  He
chuckled, then continued.  “I’ll have no time for business.  Take as long as
you need.”
    “Thank you, m’lord.” 
Deoradhan kissed his liege’s smooth knuckles.  “I appreciate this, truly.”
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    Out of a twilight sleep,
between waking and slumbering, Meghyn heard whispering voices.  Slowly, her
aging mind turned out of dream’s confusing paths and into the difficult forest
of consciousness.  She lay still a moment, listening.  After a moment, she
distinguished two voices, one a rich birch-like voice—Deoradhan’s, she knew—the
other, a soprano wren, answering him.  Aine.
    Creeping up as quietly
as her bulk and painful ankles allowed, Meghyn tiptoed barefoot across the
kitchen toward the entry room, finding her way by long years’ experience and
the dim burning embers in the fireplace.  At the doorway, she wrapped her
woolen blanket around her shoulders and listened.
    “What do you mean,
you’re going to Arthur?  On the lord’s business?” Aine asked, her voice sweetly
perplexed.
    “No, not the lord’s
business.  My own,” came Deoradhan’s determined reply.
    “But what do you have to
do with kings, Deoradhan?  You’re a servant, like I am.”
    Silence.
    “Aren’t you?”
    Deoradhan replied
hesitantly, his voice pained.  “I have known Arthur for many years.  I…cannot
risk telling you more now, Aine, until I see how this unfolds.”  Meghyn heard
him sigh.  “This may be the most important journey of my life.  I have lived
for its object for long years.  I hold it