«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».
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, Tiarnán. 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.
«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.