The King’s Justice by Katherine Kurtz Page A

stopped in the middle of the corridor and spun her to face him.
    â€œAnd just what is that supposed to mean?”
    â€œWell, aren’t they still at court?”
    â€œAren’t who still at court?”
    â€œYou know: Morgan and McLain, and God knows what others.”
    His expression was so shocked that she could almost believe the thought had not occurred to him before that very moment. Coolly Jehana drew her arm out of his grasp and moved a few steps in the direction they had been headed, gesturing for the silent Cecile to draw nearer.
    â€œIf you’ll show us where we’re to go, we should like to rest now,” she said quietly.
    To her surprise and relief, Nigel did not pursue their discussion. Instead he led her to her old apartments close by the walled garden. She had been expecting lesser accommodations. At Nigel’s knock, a serving girl opened the door and stood aside with a shy, deferential curtsey, but Nigel did not come in. As the door closed behind Jehana and her silent companion, the queen had just a glimpse of the solar beyond the little reception room, and a dozen or so strange pairs of eyes lifted curiously from various stitchery projects. Then Meraude, Nigel’s wife, was darting toward her with outstretched arms, tears of joy streaming down her rosy cheeks.
    â€œJehana! Praise God, you’re back at last! Poor thing, you must be exhausted!”
    Jehana could feel the taut swell of Meraude’s belly against her as they embraced—with child again, after so long!—and she pushed down a brief pang of envy that she herself had been able to bear no more children after Kelson. But on second thought, perhaps that was for the best, lest the taint of her blood be passed on to even further generations.
    In fact, she was not sure she even approved of Meraude having another child—though the chance of it eventually assuming Kelson’s dread heritage was so remote as to be almost nonexistent. If, for some reason, Kelson should not produce an heir of his own, the line would pass through Nigel and Conall—or possibly through young Rory or Payne, if Conall’s line should fail. The baby Meraude now carried beneath her heart would never wear the Haldane crown, or know the curse of the Haldane taint.
    â€œMeraude, Meraude, I have missed you,” she said softly, searching the other woman’s brown eyes as they drew apart to look at one another. “And you’re with child again, at last. You and Nigel must be so pleased.”
    â€œHow could we not be?” Meraude countered, grinning merrily. “Nigel hopes for a little girl this time, and I confess the thought pleases me as well, after three boys. We’ll know in another month or so. But you, Jehana—how thin you’ve become! Are you well?”
    â€œAs well as I may be,” she answered, turning slightly to motion her companion forward. “This is Sister Cecile. She came with me from Saint Giles’. Sister, this is the Duchess Meraude, Prince Nigel’s wife. May she wait in the solar with the other ladies while we speak for a moment?”
    â€œOf course. Sister, you are most welcome to Rhemuth,” Meraude said, inclining her head to acknowledge the nun’s bow. “Please be at ease with my ladies. We shall join you in a few moments.”
    As Cecile passed on into the solar, Meraude glanced back at Jehana and drew her into the sunshine of a nearby windowseat.
    â€œSo. What is it that cannot wait until you’ve rested?” she asked, easing her back with one hand as she sank down on a tapestry cushion.
    Jehana did not sit; only stood in a pool of sunlight and clasped her thin hands nervously, her eyes searching Meraude’s for some sign of sympathy.
    â€œAre you safe, Meraude?” she whispered.
    â€œSafe?”
    â€œHave Morgan and McLain corrupted your husband as they did mine?”
    â€œJehana—”
    â€œIt’s important to his