The royal hand was on her arm then, helping her to her feet. Memory of the specifics of their working fled even as she rose. Still a little disoriented, she half-sat on one arm of Donal’s chair, easing the small of her back with both hands as the king shifted her sleeping son to wrap the blanket more closely around him and raised his eyes to Kenneth’s.

«You may take the boy back to bed now», he rasped in a voice that reflected all the weariness and grief of the past week. «All has been done that is needful. He will sleep until morning, after what we have just done. And while I shall not require you to forget what you may have seen and heard tonight, you will not speak of it, save to Alyce. Go now».

Kenneth nodded and got stiffly to his feet, his age, too, showing in his movements. Tenderly he gathered his sleeping son into his arms, pausing so that Alyce could brush her lips against the boy’s forehead as she, too, rose.

Then he was gone, and the boy with him. As the door closed, Donal sighed and also got to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff as his eyes sought hers.

«I do not know when we shall see one another again», he said softly. «All has been done as it must be. Brion is already prepared, and now Alaric, and both will be ready when it comes time for them to work together. Nor will either of them be haunted by any knowledge of their roles until that time comes». He paused for just an instant, cocking his head. «Have you any regrets?»

She returned his gaze, finally without apprehension, and found that, indeed, she had none.

«No, Sire. No regrets. Duty is not always easy to bear, but I think we were both obliged to accept, a long time ago, that we must make the best of what our circumstances have decreed. I am honored to have been of service to you and your son».

«Alyce, the honor is all mine, for you have served my son in ways you could never have dreamed», he answered, moving closer to awkwardly take her in his arms.

He pressed his lips to her forehead in something like a kiss, then buried his face in her hair and inhaled of its perfume, simply holding her close for several seconds. She could feel his heart beating, where her cheek pressed close against his chest, and for just an instant it seemed that she had always belonged there, safe in the circle of his arms.

Then he was pulling back with a gasp, the grey eyes haunted by a pain that had nothing to do with his grief over his lost son or the ache of his weary body. Hardly daring to keep looking at her, he brushed her jawline with his fingertips as if to memorize its curve for all eternity. Then he tore his eyes away and thrust her from him, turning to lurch painfully from the room, leaving her trembling beside her husband’s chair with a hand pressed to her throat to still the sob that threatened to undo them both. She did not try to stop him, and he did not look back.

Chapter 20

«He shall not depart out of darkness; the flame shall dry up his branches, and by the breath of his mouth shall he go away».[21]

Kenneth was given little opportunity to speak to his wife afterward, for the king insisted on returning immediately to Rhemuth. Donal had left his queen alone with her grief, and Prince Brion might return home at any time.

The weather worsened as they rode south. The first snow of the season caught them on a deserted stretch of road still several hours’ ride from Rhemuth: icy rain, at first, which quickly changed to sleet and then to slushy snow.

They took shelter when it became clear that this was no passing shower or even a fast-moving storm, huddling under the canopy of ancient and venerable trees ranged around a roadside shrine to some obscure saint; but by then, they were soaked to the skin. Kenneth and one of the guards who had accompanied them managed to start a fire, which gave at least a little respite from the numbing cold that settled in the predawn hours; but Donal insisted on resuming their journey at first light, in what now had turned to honest snow.

«He’ll catch his death of cold», the guard officer grumbled under his breath, as they checked girths and prepared to mount up again. «Sire, will you not at least tarry long enough to dry out?»

«I cannot longer leave the queen alone in her grief», Donal said stubbornly, leading his mount from under the trees, irritation edging his voice. «Kenneth, tell this man that I know what I am doing».

Forcing a wry semblance of a smile, Kenneth said, «Leonard, he does know what he’s doing. After all, he is the king».

Chuckling despite himself, Donal accepted a leg up from Kenneth and settled in his saddle as the others mounted as well.

«Yes, I am», he agreed. «And now the king wishes to go home, with all speed». He sighed and glanced aside at Kenneth as they prepared to move out. «But with Jathan’s laughter gone», he murmured, so that even Kenneth could barely hear, «it will never be the same».

They rode into Rhemuth at mid-morning, shivering in the hard frost that remained in the wake of the previous night’s snow. The snow itself had mostly disappeared under the early morning sun, but that only left their footing muddy and sometimes precarious.

They stopped at the cathedral on the way into the city, where Donal slipped in by a side door and made his way down into the crypt, Kenneth accompanying him. The noonday Mass was in progress, the sound of the sung responses drifting on the chill air along with the scent of incense and the more pungent smell of dampness as they descended the stair.

Cap in hand, Kenneth waited in the doorway of the royal vault with his head bowed as the king entered and shuffled heavily to the yet uninscribed slab that marked Prince Jathan’s final resting place. Fragrant boughs of evergreen lay atop the slab, along with a battered toy rabbit made from rough-woven linen and stuffed with wool. The coffin that lay beneath the slab had been pitifully small, like so many other Haldane coffins interred in the cathedral crypt, for childhood illness and mishap took their toll among royal children as well as those not so nobly born. Near a dozen Haldane children of this generation lay there, not only the three now lost by Queen Richeldis but the many stillborn and short-lived infants born to Donal’s first queen, Dulchesse: pitiful evidence of her dogged but ineffectual attempts to breed a Haldane heir. Dulchesse herself also lay there, as well as the tragic Krispin MacAthan.

Awareness of all these dead Haldanes drifted across Kenneth’s recollections as he watched the king drop heavily to both knees beside the grave of his latest Haldane bereavement and lay his splayed hands upon the blank slab, head bowed. After a moment, the king’s hand moved to clasp the stuffed rabbit toy and clutch it to his bosom, shoulders heaving with silent weeping. Having lost children of his own, Kenneth tried not to think about what Donal must be enduring as he mourned this newest loss, and tried especially not to think of the danger into which he had just allowed his own son to be placed, in service of the king kneeling before him.

Only after several minutes did the king lift his head and cross himself, heaving himself painfully to his feet. Kenneth was there to assist him when he faltered, setting an arm under the king’s elbow to steady him as he straightened and replaced the stuffed toy amid the evergreen boughs.

«Kenneth, I’ve lost another of my boys», the king said in a strangled little voice, shaking his head as if denying might reverse the tragedy. «I pray that God will take no more from me. Was it because of Krispin, do you think? Is He punishing me for my infidelity?»

«Sire, I am not your confessor», Kenneth said gently.

«Nay, nay, I know that», the king replied. He briefly bowed his head into a hand covering his eyes, taking another deep breath to steady himself.