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.
«Oh, well done, son!» Richeldis cried, waving her kerchief and bouncing up and down on her feet. «Donal, he has never done that well before! Wasn't it a brilliant run?»
The king sat back down, tugging at her to sit as well, but he was smiling.
«He did well», the king admitted. «Did you not think so, Lady Alyce?»
Alyce, who had also come to her feet, likewise sank back to her seat beside the king, still reeling from the queen's announcement. Surely they could not be referring to Prince Brion.
«You have chosen me a husband, Sire?» she managed to murmur.
«I have. He was riding earlier. In fact, you commented on his horsemanship, and his skill with the lance».
Numbly Alyce made herself review the last few hours, but no one came immediately to mind. If the man had been riding at the tilt earlier, it was not likely that he was one of the much older men at court — for which she was grateful — but who?
«Alyce», the queen murmured, leaning across the king conspiratorially, «he's referring to Sir Kenneth Morgan. Did you not remark that he rode prettily? And I know that the two of you got on well, while he was convalescing».
Alyce sat back in her chair, somewhat stunned. Though she had much enjoyed his company, it had never occurred to her to think of him as a potential husband.
«You needn't look so surprised», the king said. «I owe Kenneth Morgan my life, more than once — and I must be certain that Corwyn is in safe hands. When I am gone, I will lie easier in my grave, knowing that his sons — and yours — will follow on the ducal throne».
«Oh, pish!» the queen said, with some feeling. «That isn't what a young maid wants to hear about her future husband. Besides, that's years away. Have a care for the child's feelings. It's she who must marry him, after all».
«Hmmm, so she must. But I'm sure he'll make you a fine husband, my dear. You've seen him ride today — and you know that he can carry on an intelligent conversation. What more could a woman want?»
That night, lying sleepless in her bed, Alyce reflected that, though her own wishes had little to do with her eventual fate, she was, in fact, quite content with the king's choice for her — especially when she considered how differently it might have gone. Though he might, indeed, be more than twice her age, Sir Kenneth was kind, intelligent, better read than most — and the difference in their ages would become increasingly less apparent as the years passed. Furthermore, unlike many of the gentlemen of the court, he could converse on a wide variety of subjects besides battles and coursers and hounds.
But he did not converse with her of anything the next day, or even the next — though she watched for an opportunity to speak with him. In truth, the king seemed to have taken a perverse pleasure in sending him off on obscure errands, as the feasts of Christmas approached. Indeed, just before Christmas itself, he disappeared altogether for several days.
She wondered whether he might have gone to Morganhall, to visit Zoë and his other daughters and sisters. She wondered whether Zoë yet knew — darling Zoë, who briefly had been her sister and now, it appeared, was to be her stepdaughter as well. Though she longed to write and tell her friend, she had refrained, knowing it was Kenneth's place to tell his daughter first. Neither could she write to Vera, not until the betrothal was announced.
Christmas Eve came and went, with no word, and Christmas itself. Nor was Kenneth present on Saint Stephen's Day morning, when the king and his family usually made a public appearance, processing down to the cathedral in their festive attire.
After Mass, if the weather was not too bad, it was the king's custom to hold informal audience on the cathedral steps, where citizens of Rhemuth might approach with petitions. To one side, the queen and her children always distributed largesse to the poor: clothing, and parcels of food, and a silver penny to each mother who approached with a babe in arms.
That Stephen's Day morning, Alyce was among the ladies attending the queen, helping distribute the gifts to the poor. The day was bright and sunny, if very cold. It was toward noon, when the largesse had nearly been exhausted and the servants were beginning to pack up to leave, that she glanced down into the square, at the bottom of the cathedral steps, and noticed Sir Kenneth and Zoë sitting on a fine pair of red-bay R'Kassan barbs.
She straightened to look more closely. Kenneth was wearing a sumptuous cloak of fine black wool lined with sable, the edges gold-embroidered with a double bordure of flory-counterflory, and had a velvet cap well pulled down on his sandy hair. He was fiddling with the ends of his reins, but Zoë was looking right at her, and lifted a gloved hand to wave furiously when she saw she had caught Alyce's eye.
Alyce waved back, and started down the stairs toward them, but it was Kenneth who dismounted and hurried up the stairs to meet her, offering her a tentative smile as he doffed his cap and inclined his head in greeting.
«Good morrow, my lady», he murmured. «Alleluia, the Son is born».
«He is born indeed, alleluia», Alyce replied, with the ritual response.
«My apologies for being absent without word», Kenneth said quickly. «I had urgent business with my daughters». He glanced around them, then gestured awkwardly toward the cathedral door. «May we speak inside?»
She inclined her head nervously and preceded him up the steps and through the postern door, her heart pounding in her breast. She had known this moment must come. Faced with it now, she was not certain how she felt.
Not speaking, Kenneth led her through the narthex and into the nave, glancing around and then guiding her toward a side chapel that appeared to be unoccupied. When they had entered, he pulled shut the barred gate of wrought iron, not looking at her, then went to the rack of votive lights before the statue of a saint. Cocking her head, Alyce realized that it was Saint Albadore, a patron of lost things. As she drifted closer to the little altar to join him, she saw that he was lighting one of the candles stuck into a pan of fine sand.
«Have you lost something, Sir Kenneth?» she asked softly.