Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [99]
Talking of dweomer would draw Rhys’s scorn and nothing more. Rhys misinterpreted her hesitation.
“Unless, of course,” Rhys said, “the trouble’s Rhodry.”
“And what makes you think the trouble could be Rhodry?”
“He’s an untried man, and I didn’t hear any rumors until you made him your heir. I don’t think he’s fit to rule, myself.” Rhys held up his hand flat for silence. “Now, I know Rhodry’s a good lad with a sword. But leading men to battle is a blasted sight easier than giving judgments on your vassals. If you disinherited him, I’m sure all this grumbling about rebellion would stop.”
“I have no intention of doing anything of the sort.”
“Indeed? Well, if Sligyn gets real proof, of course I’ll rule that you have every right to your rank and lands.”
“My humble thanks, Your Grace.”
Rhys winced at the sarcasm.
“But if the lords throw Rhodry in my face,” Rhys went on, “that may have to be a point of negotiation.”
Lovyan rose to face him. Although he towered over her, he ducked back out of reach.
“There is no law in the land,” Lovyan said steadily, “that will allow you to force me to disinherit Rhodry.”
“Of course there’s not. I was merely thinking that Her Grace might have to see reason and do it of her own free will.”
“Her Grace also has the right of appeal to the High King.”
Rhys flushed scarlet with rage. It was his sorest point, knowing that although he ruled like a king in western Eldidd, there was a true king in Deverry with jurisdiction over him.
“Very well, Mother,” he snapped. “Then if Rhodry’s to have your lands, let him fight to keep them.”
“Oho! So you do believe the rumors!”
Rhys spun around and stared out the window. Lovyan laid a maternal hand on his arm.
“Rhys, my sweet, why do you hate Rhodry so much?”
“I don’t hate Rhodry,” he snarled, his face redder than before.
“Indeed?”
“I just happen to think he’s unfit to rule.”
“I happen to disagree.”
Rhys merely shrugged.
“Very well, then, Your Grace,” Lovyan said. “There’s no use in discussing the matter further until it comes to a formal case of either law or sword.”
“Apparently so. At the first overt act of rebellion, you may send for my aid, and my warband will be at your disposal to enforce the laws.”
And yet he’d made it impossible to ask his aid, unless she wanted to let him disinherit his brother in open court.
That afternoon, while Rhys and his men drank in her great hall, Lovyan sent a message to Sligyn to come to her on the morrow. When she rejoined her sons, Rhodry was sitting at his brother’s left and discussing hunting dogs, a fairly safe subject. Lovyan sat down at the gwerbret’s right and stayed on guard for the trouble that soon, predictably, surfaced.
“Well, brother,” Rhys said. “I hear from your men that you’ve been hunting a different kind of game than the gray deer. The soapmaker’s daughter, was she? Well, at least she’d be clean.”
When Rhys laughed at his own jest, Rhodry’s eyes went dangerously blank.
“I can’t lie and say that I didn’t dishonor her,” Rhodry said. “Tell me, brother, has your wife conceived yet?”
Rhys’ hand tightened on his tankard so hard that his knuckles went white.
“Rhodry!” Lovyan snapped.
“Well, Mother, it seemed a reasonable question.” Rhodry shot his brother a sideways smile. “Since we’re talking about siring sons and all.”
With a flick of his wrist, Rhys threw the ale in his tankard full into Rhodry’s face. Shouting insults and the worst oaths they knew, they were on their feet and shoving at each other before Lovyan could intervene. She jumped up and ran round the table to push herself between them, and for all that Rhys had the higher rank, she slapped him, too.
“Stop it!” Lovyan yelled. “What a splendid example you are for your men, brawling like a pair of servants! My lords, kindly remember who you are.” They both had the decency to blush. Rhodry wiped his face off on his sleeve and stared down at the