Deryni Checkmate by Katherine Kurtz Read Free Book Online Page B

of the total, a twofold increase over the last year’s harvest, owing to good weather. Thus endeth the account of William, Reeve of the Ducal Estates at Donneral, rendered in March, the fifteenth year of the Duke’s Grace, Alaric Duke of Corwyn.’ ”
    Lord Robert of Tendal looked up from the document he had been reading and frowned as he glanced across at his employer. The duke was gazing out the solarium window to the barren garden below, his thoughts miles away. His booted feet were propped casually on a green leather foot-stool, his blond head resting lightly against the high back of the carved wooden chair. It was obvious from the younger man’s expression that he had not been listening.
    Lord Robert cleared his throat tentatively, but elicited no response. He pursed his lips and regarded his duke wistfully for another moment, then picked up the account roll from which he had been reading and let it fall from a height of about two feet. Its impact echoed in the confines of the narrow chamber, rustling the documents and account rolls assembled on the table and breaking the duke’s reverie. Lord Alaric Anthony Morgan looked up with a start and tried in vain to cover a sheepish grin as he realized he’d been caught daydreaming.
    “Your Grace, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” Robert muttered reproachfully.
    Morgan shook his head and smiled, lazily rubbed a hand across his face. “I’m sorry, Robert. I was thinking of something else.”
    “Obviously.”
    As Robert reshuffled the documents he’d disturbed in his outburst, Morgan stood and stretched. He ran both hands through his close-cropped blond hair as he glanced around the sparsely furnished solarium, then sat down again.
    “Very well,” he said with a sigh, leaning forward to probe at the parchment halfheartedly with a ringed forefinger. “We were doing the Donneral accounts, weren’t we? Do they seem to be in order?”
    Robert pushed his chair back a few inches and flung down his pen. “Of course they’re in order. That isn’t the point. You know we have to go through this formality. Donneral represents a sizeable portion of your Lendour holdings—land that you will shortly be losing as part of the Lady Bronwyn’s dowry. And even if you and Lord Kevin are inclined to take each other’s words in such matters, Kevin’s father the duke is not !”
    “Kevin’s father the duke is not marrying my sister,” Morgan pointed out. He glanced sidelong at Robert for a long moment, then let his wide mouth relax in a smile. “Come, Robbie, be a good fellow and let me go for the rest of the day. You and I both know those accounts are correct. If you won’t let me out of reviewing them altogether, let’s at least postpone until tomorrow.”
    Robert tried to look very stern and disapproving, then gave in and threw up his hands. “Very well,” he said, gathering up his account rolls and tallies. “But as your chancellor I am obliged to point out that the wedding is less than two weeks away. And you have court tomorrow, and the Hort of Orsal’s ambassador arrives tomorrow, and Lord Henry de Vere wants to know what you intend to do about Warin de Grey, and—”
    “Yes, Robert; tomorrow, Robert,” Morgan said, assuming his most innocent expression and only barely suppressing a grin of triumph. “And now may I be excused, Robert?”
    Robert rolled his eyes heavenward in a silent appeal for patience, then waved dismissal with a gesture of defeat. Morgan jumped up and bowed with a faintly triumphant flourish, then turned on his heel and strode out of the solarium to the great hall beyond. Robert watched him go, remembering the slender, towheaded boy who had become this man: Duke of Corwyn, Lord General of the Royal Armies, King’s Champion—and a half-Deryni sorcerer.
    Robert crossed himself furtively at that last thought, for Morgan’s Deryni heritage was one thing he preferred not to dwell upon, regarding the Corwyn family he had served all his