“The horse I sold him, Papa,” he said grimly. “The white Belgian, the one that was difficult to handle. He’d already thrown Arthur, if you recall. I did not want him any longer, but he was well bred and expensive. Roi purchased him, but I did not know he’d given the horse to Beckett. I had no idea.”
Christopher looked at his firstborn and could see the shadow of guilt all over the man’s face. “Roi knew the horse was difficult when he bought him, did he not?” he said. “You never made any secret of that.”
Curtis shook his head. “I did not, but that does not matter now, does it?” he said. “The horseIsold him has… My God… What have I done?”
“You did nothing.” Dustin, who had been standing quietly next to her husband, spoke softly. “Curtis, you did nothing. You sold your brother a horse. That was all you did. ’Twas the horse who threw Beckett, not you. You had no hand in it.”
That might have been true, but Curtis was wrestling with unbelievable horror. He turned away from his parents and struggled to reconcile himself with what had happened. His parents watched him go, concerned, but Christopher soon returned his focus to Kyne.
“Where is Roi?” he asked quietly.
“In his solar, my lord,” Kyne said. “He… he has been drinking. You should be prepared.”
Christopher simply nodded. Reaching out, he took Dustin’s hand, and the two of them began to head toward the keep. When Westley tried to follow, Christopher held him off.
“Nay,” he said quietly. “Stay with your brother. He may need you while he regains his composure. That will give your mother and I time to speak with Roi alone.”
Westley agreed, watching his mother and father continue their walk of sorrow toward the keep. But it was more than sorrow that they were feeling—the sense of loss was tremendous.While Curtis had eight sons, Roi, their second-born son, had only been blessed with one. Beckett had been his shining star.
Roi, their son named for Richard I, had been Christopher’s close friend. When he’d been quite young, the family called him Richie until he decided that was the name for a baby. The name “Roi” came from a close friend, a man who was Roi’s godfather. Marcus Burton, a great northern warlord, had once called Roi “Petit Roi Richard” because of who he was named after, and the name “Roi” stuck. He’d been about seven years old at the time.
He’d gone by Roi ever since.
Their quick-tempered, blindingly brilliant son whose keen intellect could outshine everyone in the family was suffering through yet another tragedy in a life that had seen several. Roi fought hard, loved hard, played hard, and grieved hard. It had taken him ten years to recover from Odette’s death fourteen years earlier.
But they both knew he would grieve Beckett to his grave.
There was no overcoming the death of a child.
“Let me speak to him first,” Dustin said as they neared the keep. “If he has been drinking, he will be more emotional than usual. Let me talk to him before you do.”
“Why?” Christopher looked at her. “I am capable of dealing with my son.”
“I know,” she said. “But he was always attached to my apron strings more than our other children. I know we are not supposed to have favorite children, but if we did, Roi might be mine. You had Curtis and Myles and Douglas and Westley all worked up to be men among men, and Roi always thought of me first, came to me first. Just… let me speak to him first. Give me a few moments before you come in. Please?”
They had entered the keep by that time, and Christopher shrugged, letting her continue on to the solar. The door was shut, but she quietly opened it, sticking her head in andimmediately spying her big, auburn-haired son near the hearth with his head in his hands.
Silently, she entered.
For a moment, Dustin simply watched his lowered head. He was sniffling. She could also see a pitcher on the table next to him, the wine he’d undoubtedly tried to find solace in. Roi had been such a sensitive child who had grown into a sensitive man, feelings he’d learned to keep well hidden. Sometimes Dustin felt as if Christopher had been too hard on Roi because he perhaps felt that his son wasn’t as strong, emotionally, as he needed to be. It had been an age-old disagreement between Dustin and Christopher when it came to Roi—she thought Christopher should have shown more compassion with him because he was so sensitive, and Christopher thought he simply needed to toughen the lad up.
And that was why she needed to see Roi first.
She needed to see her sensitive son.
“When your father and I were first married, I became pregnant almost immediately,” she said softly, watching his head lift at the sound of her voice. “I was not quite midway in the pregnancy and I had a terrible accident. I fell down a flight of stairs and lost the child, but I nearly lost my life in the meantime. The entire time, however, all I could think about was the son I had lost. It was indeed a boy. Before Curtis, there was the child your father and I never speak of. But sometimes I think about him and wonder what he would have been like. Would he have been strong and noble? Or ruthless and ambitious? I have always wondered.”
Roi turned to her, relief in his eyes at the sight of her. “I did not know that.”
Dustin smiled faintly. “I know,” she said. “There was no reason for you to. But now… I thought you should be aware that your papa and I know what it is like to lose a child. We lostours before he had a chance to breathe, and we never got to know him. But you… you knew your son. You were able to raise a fine and strong young man. I will not go as far as to say what happened to Beckett was God’s will, but it was most certainly an accident, and Beckett would not want you to grieve overly. He would want you to remember his life with pride and joy.”
Roi was looking at her with doubt and grief, combined into a cloud that hung over him. It was in everything about him. He breathed it and bled it.
“I do not know if I can, Mama,” he finally said, standing up to face her. “I do not know if I can survive this.”
Dustin went to him and took his hands. “I know how you feel,” she said softly, squeezing his big fingers. “I know that this shocking loss seems insurmountable. But I promise you that it is not. Beckett was a man to be proud of, and we were all proud of him. You must honor your respect and love for him by being strong. It would destroy him if you were to collapse.”
Roi’s eyes were filling with tears. “I miss him.”
