The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [130]
“Ah. Well, there I have to agree with you. Unfortunately, I don’t have any such thing among my medicinals.”
“So I feared.”
“Here’s a thought to hold, though. No matter how many mistresses Maryn might have, you’ll always be his only wife.”
“Not true! Once the priests proclaim him king, he’ll marry again, won’t he? And to his one true love, I think me, beyond any lass of the moment or me.”
Nevyn sighed, nodding his agreement.
“You warned me,” Bellyra went on. “I wrote it down in my book at the time. Maryn will always love the kingdom more than anything else, you told me. And I fear me you were right. I suppose that’s why his women don’t bother me. They don’t have his heart either.”
“That’s certainly true. You know, Your Highness, once Maryn is seated as king, the kingdom will belong to you as well as to him. He needs you rather badly. Your advice he’ll always be able to trust. You won’t be flattering him to get land and honors out of him.”
“Just so. I know there’ll be plenty of compensations. I also wish I weren’t so given to self-pity.”
“Oh come now! I can imagine other women in your position taking things a great deal more badly than this.”
“My thanks. I do appreciate it.” Bellyra paused, thinking. “I wish I had somewhat that was all my own. My station in life I owe to Maryn. My children are Maryn’s. My duties are those of Maryn’s wife. He’s blasted lucky I love him so much, or I’d hate him.”
They shared another laugh.
“Well, then,” Nevyn said. “Perhaps you should find a thing that’s yours alone. What makes you happy?”
“The most peculiar things. Truly, I should be positively giddy with joy over this dun. There are so many odd corners of it to poke around in. I loved doing that in Cerrmor, poking around in old rooms and learning odd bits of the history of the place.”
“Then here’s what your herbman prescribes. Get the heralds to cut you up some calfskins and turn them into parchments. Go poking around to your heart’s content and write everything down, just like you did in Cerrmor. By sheerest chance I know a fair bit about the oldest broch, and you can start there.”
Bellyra laughed, seemed to be about to speak, and from her smile she was about to mock the idea. Then she let the smile fade.
“You know, I think me I’ll do that,” she said at last. “It sounds a bit daft, but truly, Dun Deverry is the most important holding under the high king’s dominion. Why not write its tale down? And I’ll hold you to that promise about the lore.”
“Have no fear. I’ll honor it.”
“I should go,” Bellyra went on. “Probably Elyssa and Degwa are frantic by now, wondering where I am.”
“No doubt. I’ll walk back with you.”
“My thanks. Do come visit us in the women’s hall, will you?”
“Gladly. What’s it like?”
“Oh gods!” Bellyra rolled her eyes. “It might do to house prize cattle. It’s a good thing we brought so many furnishings with us.”
Nevyn got a cloak, and they went downstairs. Just outside the door a man stood in the ward, walking back and forth as if he were waiting for someone. Nevyn held up his lantern and caught the fellow in its light.
“Maddyn?” Nevyn said. “What are you doing here?”
“My apologies, my lord.” Maddyn bowed to Bellyra. “Begging your pardon and all, Your Highness, but I happened to see you crossing the ward, and I wondered if somewhat was wrong, like. I thought I’d wait to see if you needed an escort back to the women’s hall.”
“I think,” Nevyn broke in, “that it would be far more politic if I escorted the lady.”
“Oh probably so,” Bellyra said. “But come with us, Maddo, if you’d like.”
Her use of the bard’s nickname struck Nevyn like a warning. Don’t be a fool! he told himself. What’s the source of her sorrow, anyway, but her being entirely too faithful to her husband?
When Owaen led the honor guard out, Branoic went down to the ward to