In the King's Service (42 page)

Further time spent in her company during the weeks of his convalescence only underlined both his longing and the uselessness of it—but still, he continued to catch her image invading his thoughts in many an unguarded moment, and gradually his dreams as well. Once he was back on his feet, walking with a stick at first, he would find himself gazing after her as he took a turn in the royal gardens of a sunny morning, while she and his daughter and the other ladies played with the younger royal children.

He threw himself into his work with a vengeance, spending many a gray morning or afternoon in the king’s chancery, reviewing diplomatic correspondence, and attending meetings of the royal council when called by the king. Often he and the king worked long into the night on drafts of documents that needed to be prepared, taking a private supper in the king’s apartments while they worked.

It was on one such stormy evening early in December that the queen intruded to inquire about certain arrangements for Christmas court, now in its serious planning stages. Attending her that evening was Alyce de Corwyn.

“My lord, you simply must do something about your sons,” the queen announced, before she and Alyce were even properly through the door. “Brion and Blaine are pestering me to distraction about those ponies.”

“I told you that I was considering the matter,” the king began.

“Well, it simply won’t do to keep putting it off,” the queen replied. “You aren’t the one who has to listen to them, day in and day out—”

“Perhaps we should continue this discussion in private,” he said under his breath, as he set a hand firmly under the queen’s elbow and escorted her into the next room, closing the door behind them.

After a few seconds, Kenneth exchanged bemused glances with Alyce and he remembered his manners enough to gesture toward the chair at the other end of the table where he and Donal had been working. As had begun to happen increasingly of late, he found himself reacting to her presence like some green adolescent. Each time he saw her, he found her more intriguing, and was struck by her beauty of soul as well as form.

“I do beg your pardon,” he said. “Please, sit down. The king is in one of his stubborn moods this evening, so their meeting may take some time. May I offer you some refreshment?”

He nodded toward the flask of wine toward the center of the table, but she shook her head as she sat.

“I thank you, no,” she said. “Zoë and I supped with the queen and the royal children earlier. It was hardly fancy fare, but her tastes are simple when she is not required to preside at the king’s table.”

He nodded agreement and took his seat, several places down from her.

“They are all well, then?” he asked, after a slightly awkward pause, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Aye, they are,” she replied. “Except that Prince Brion does long for a R’Kassan barb at year-end. It is all he talks about lately. That was the source of the queen’s comments, when we entered.”

Kenneth gave a snort, unbending a little. “He is not yet nine. The king will never allow it.”

“I
have
tried to prepare him for disappointment in that regard,” she replied, smiling. “He rides well, but I fear that a R’Kassan would be quite unsuitable. On the other hand,” she added, “I believe that the queen has been making inquiries about Llanneddi mountain ponies for both the older princes.”

“Ah, I know them well,” Kenneth agreed, warming to the subject of horses, which were one of his own passions. “I rode many a Llanner when I was a boy. Most of them stand only about twelve hands at the withers, but they look a lot like miniature R’Kassans—though with a mountain pony’s more sensible temperament. They’d be perfect for the princes, at this point in their training.”

“Aye, that’s what the queen thought,” Alyce replied. “She told me she’d grown up riding them—and her brother still maintains quite a fine herd. . . .”

They continued to discuss horses—a safe topic, Kenneth felt—for most of an hour, until finally the king and queen emerged from their meeting, both of them smiling. The queen, in fact, looked slightly flushed, her hair somewhat less tidy than when she and the king had withdrawn. Both Kenneth and Alyce rose as the royal pair entered.

“That’s settled, then,” the queen was saying, as she clung to her husband’s arm. “You won’t forget, now?”

“Of course I won’t forget,” the king replied. “Now, off with you—both of you,” he added, with a nod toward Alyce. “Sir Kenneth and I must finish this document.”

The queen arched an eyebrow at him and kissed the air in his direction, smiling, then headed for the door, Alyce hurrying to keep up. When they had gone, Donal sat back down at his place, grinning as he topped up his cup of wine.

“I do love being married, and to that woman,” he confided, lifting his cup to Kenneth and then taking a sip. “Kenneth, have you never thought to remarry? You’re still a young man.”

Kenneth reached for his own cup to cover his discomfiture, wondering whether his interest in Alyce was that obvious.

“Hardly young, Sire. I am three-and-forty, and I have two daughters to support besides Zoë—and I assure you that I am exceedingly grateful of her place here at court. My sisters are raising the younger ones, so I need not worry for their daily care, but they all must be dowered. Hardly room there, I think, for a new wife and children.”

“Humph. Then it seems I must find you a rich heiress,” Donal said lightly. “You’ve certainly earned some more tangible mark of my favor than a mere thank-you. How many times is it, now, that you have saved me or one of my family?”

“I was only doing my duty, Sire, as your liegeman,” Kenneth protested.

Donal gave a snort. “More than
that,
I think.” He cocked his head at the younger man, considering. “I don’t suppose you might fancy that lovely filly who was just here with the queen? We heard you talking about horses.”

Kenneth felt himself flushing, momentarily at a loss for words. Did the king think he had been campaigning for this all along?

“I would—never aspire that high, Sire. The gift of Lady Alyce’s marriage is a powerful bargaining tool. You must use it to bind some great lord’s loyalty. You already have my loyalty—and my life, if needs be.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” the king replied, his gaze going distant as he mulled the possibility. “That’s why the notion suddenly makes a great deal of sense. For such a marriage would also bind the loyalty of your sons—one of whom would be the next Duke of Corwyn.”

Kenneth could feel his pulse pounding in his temples, hardly able to comprehend what he was hearing—and tried not to let himself even begin to hope that it might come to pass.

“Allow me to consider this further,” the king said then, standing in his place as Kenneth also got hastily to his feet. “We’ll finish this tomorrow. Meanwhile, think on the possibility—that is, if the idea appeals to you.”

“It does, Sire—how could I not be honored that you would even think it? But I—I am old enough to be the lady’s father. She may not wish—”

“Nonsense. She shall marry where I say she shall. She knows her duty.” The king picked up his wine cup and took a deep quaff. “Go now. I must give this further thought. We shall speak again on the matter.”

Chapter 25

—ECCLESIASTICUS 20:27

 
 
 
 
 
 
NOTHING more was said for many days. It was well into Advent before Sir Kenneth Morgan again found himself in a setting that permitted private conversation with the king.

He and Tiarnán MacRae had spent several hours that morning with the king and Seisyll Arilan, reviewing a sheaf of commissions delivered earlier from the royal chancery, all requiring the royal assent and seal. The snug withdrawing room was the perfect refuge from the weather outside, with a goodly fire on the grate and tapestries hung on the walls to keep the damp at bay: a favorite place for the king to work in wintertime. The scent of cinnamon, cloves, and lemons spiced the air, wafting upward from a pot of mulled wine warming near the fire.

“Thank you, Seisyll, Tiernán. I think that will be all for now,” the king said, leaning back in his chair to stretch. “Kenneth can help me deal with the rest of these. How is your leg this morning?” he added to Kenneth, as the others withdrew. “It’s a dreadful day outside. Does the cold make your wound ache?”

Kenneth busied himself gathering up the documents, trying his best to be casual as he jogged them into a tidier stack and placed them in front of the king for signature. He had tried not to think too much about what they had discussed the last time they spoke privily—and especially, had tried not to get his hopes up.

“Thank you for asking, Sire. I’m mostly mended, I think. I rode for an hour yesterday, though I
am
feeling the effects today. But I attribute that more to a month out of the saddle than to the actual injury. In all, I am content.”

“And I am happy to hear it.” Donal scrawled his signature to a commission, glanced at the next, then pushed the remaining pile back to Kenneth. “There must be an easier way to deal with these. If you’ll lay them out in a line, on that table over there, I’ll move along behind you and sign them. They’re the new year appointments, for Twelfth Night court. I approved them weeks ago.”

Kenneth did as he was directed, then fetched a wax jack and lit it from one of the candles set on the table where they were working, for the documents must next be sealed. As Donal moved back to the first document, removing his signet ring, Kenneth brought the wax, tipping a little of it at the foot of the first decree.

“Thank you,” the king murmured, setting seal to the wax and then moving along the line with Kenneth. “I’ve done some further thinking on that matter we discussed earlier.”

He imprinted his seal again. Kenneth had stiffened, the wax jack in his hands, and turned his gaze cautiously on the king.

“Sire?”

“I am minded to give you the hand of Lady Alyce de Corwyn.” He looked up as Kenneth froze. “That
is
what we were discussing, was it not?”

Kenneth found himself going scarlet, and only belatedly moved on to the next document, fumbling slightly as he drizzled the next dollop of wax.

“Sire, I—I had not dared to hope. I am—most grateful, but this still does not address the question of whether the lady will have me.”

“If I say she’ll have you, she’ll have you,” the king retorted. “It will be up to you to make the match work. You’re a good man, Kenneth, and I should very much like to have your sons serve my sons. If they were also half Deryni, that would please me even more.”

“Half Deryni,” Kenneth repeated dazedly. “I confess that I had almost forgotten that.”

“That the Lady Alyce is Deryni?” The king snorted. “I think that means far more to churchmen than to sensible folk like you and me. It doesn’t frighten you, does it?”

“No, of course not,” Kenneth replied hastily.

“She’d be an adornment for your arm,” the king pointed out. “And her son will be Duke of Corwyn.
Your
son would be Duke of Corwyn, and you would be his principal regent—which means that you would enjoy all the benefits of being duke yourself, other than the title. Alas, I can’t give you
that,
but your descendants would have it.”

Kenneth found himself grinning ear-to-ear, hardly able to take it all in. “That isn’t what attracted me, Sire.”

“No, of course it isn’t. But it doesn’t hurt if one’s prospective bride is rich.”

“True enough.”

“Good. Then, it’s settled. I’ll have the necessary documents drawn up. The betrothal can be announced at Twelfth Night court.”

 
 
ALYCE learned of the king’s decision several days later, just before Christmas. Quite unexpectedly, Zoë had been sent to Morganhall to spend Christmas with her younger sisters and aunts, so Alyce let herself be caught up in the preparations of the queen’s household for the Christmas and Twelfth Night festivities to come.

The Llanneddi mountain ponies for the elder princes had arrived the week before—and one for Krispin as well—so Duke Richard had organized an equestrian display for the squires and pages under his tutelage, inviting the queen and her ladies to observe an impromptu competition.

Alyce was sitting with the queen, watching the young princes tilt at rings on their new ponies, when the king came to sit beside her. Somehow, the queen’s other ladies had found things to do that took them out of the royal enclosure.

“A pity it’s so cold,” Donal said, not taking his eyes from where Prince Brion was preparing to take another run at the rings. “Other than that, are you enjoying the afternoon?”

“I am, Sire,” Alyce replied. “The princes are riding very well today.”

“So they are,” Donal replied. “We have their mother partially to thank for that.” He paused to lift the queen’s hand to his lips in salute. “It was she who insisted that only Llanneddi ponies would do.”

Alyce smiled. “For their size, Sire, they are the finest mounts one could wish—better, even, than R’Kassans, to my way of thinking, if only they grew somewhat larger. I had one when I was young. I adored her.”

“There is another who would be adored by you,” the king murmured, smiling as he took her hand in his and kissed it. “Oh, not I—or, only in the sense that I adore all the beautiful ladies in my queen’s household.”

Alyce looked at him sharply, then at the queen, whose expression declared her exceedingly pleased with herself.

“Alyce, dear, he is trying to tell you that he has chosen you a husband,” she said. “And in that bumbling way of males, he is trying to be mysterious about it.”

Suddenly she glanced out to the field, where Prince Brion was now galloping down the tilting lane, taking one—two—three rings in a row. Both his parents had risen to their feet as he passed, but sadly, he hit the fourth ring a glancing blow and missed taking it.