The care they had taken in dealing with Sir Kenneth's injury soon reaped dividends, for he never developed the fever the queen had feared, and his wound healed cleanly. After a few days, he was allowed to sit with his leg propped up before the fire in his room, where he received daily visitors: Sir Jiri, with a favorite cardounet board and playing pieces, and sometimes ladies sent by the queen to sing for him while they strummed at lute and psaltery and crwth.
He also read a great deal, and was read to, sometimes by his daughter, but more often by Alyce. With the latter, it was usually histories borrowed from the king's library — and sometimes, correspondence sent by the king for his review. But occasionally, she found copies of popular ballads and poetry lying on the cabinet beside his chair. He colored when he saw that she had noticed.
In truth, the convalescent was finding himself most agreeably distracted by the gentle attentions of the queen's ladies, and entertaining such thoughts as had not crossed his mind since the death of his wife, several years before.
Oh, there had been the occasional flirtation with tavern maids and farmers' daughters when he was in the field, and gentle dalliance with certain ladies of his sisters' households when he went home to the ancestral estates of Morganhall to visit his younger daughters, who were being raised by their aunts. But largely, he had thrown himself into his military career, with increasing service to the king himself, growing mostly resigned to the likelihood that he would live out his life as a widower. He was but a simple knight, albeit a trusted servant of the king. What could he offer a woman? — he, whose meager income from the Morgan estates must go to support the children of his youth.
Yet now he was surprised to find himself thinking decidedly domestic thoughts, little though there was any practicality to such thinking. He had not the wherewithal to support a wife and possibly a second family. Even so, the idea began to surface more and more often during those weeks of convalescence, daily in the company of the beautiful and accomplished ladies of the queen's household, and of one young lady, in particular.
Alyce de Corwyn… heiress to one of the richest duchies in all the Eleven Kingdoms. She was so far above him as to be the embodiment of a fantasy he could hardly even conceive, at least in this life. When first they had met at Arc-en-Ciel, he had esteemed her as his daughter's friend, almost as another daughter of his own. Now, as their association shifted into adult friendship, he decided that he had not been far off the mark when he had compared her to an angel, during that long, pain-filled journey back to the castle after his injury.
Of course, she was Deryni. He had no idea what that might mean in practical terms, but he knew that it put her all but outside the pale where the Church was concerned. Being who she was, she had the protection of the Crown for so long as she walked a narrow path of propriety and care, keeping her powers securely leashed and curbed — she could not help what she was. But were she to stray from what the Church regarded as acceptable for those of her race, even the king's favor might not be enough to save her. Oddly, he had never felt threatened by close proximity to her — or if he had, it was because she was so beautiful, and so beyond his reach.
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.