The Quest for Saint Camber

by Katherine Kurtz

  “At one time,” Duncan said quietly, “it was illegal for a Deryni to own land or hold any kind of office or noble title, too. But Alaric’s been a duke for years, and Queen Jehana still holds her rank and dower lands.”

  Cardiel exhaled with great forbearance. “Those are exceptions, and you know it. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll prove to be an exception, too. But it won’t be by throwing legalistic quibbles in your archbishop’s face. Now, are you going to argue, or are you going to listen to what I have to say?”

  “Listen,” Duncan whispered.

  “All right, then. Officially, I’m going to ignore this entire matter for as long as I can. Thanks to your impetuosity, however, the synod in Valoret will have to deal with the Deryni question far sooner than I might have wished. You can be certain you will be the subject of many heated discussions when they meet next week.

  “But you will not go to Valoret. So far as the Church is concerned, you are to become invisible. Denis has suggested—and I concur—that you develop a convenient illness making it unwise for you to travel. I must also ask that you not undertake any public function as a priest or a bishop.”

  “Am I suspended?”

  “No, much as you sorely tempt me. You may continue to celebrate Mass privately, but I do mean privately—for yourself, for the king, for Alaric, for Dhugal. Period. You may also hear confessions, but from them only, unless it’s a matter of life and death. If you attend privy council meetings or any court functions, you’re to do it as a duke. I’m not going to forbid you to wear canonicals, but you’d better be discreet. I’d be happier if you stuck to secular attire whenever possible.”

  “For how long?” Duncan asked.

  “Until I can get the bloody law changed, goddammit, man!” Cardiel retorted. “Duncan, I can’t overstress the importance of this. If you keep out of sight and don’t make any more damned-fool demonstrations of what you are, this may blow over. The only thing that’s enabling me to give you as much slack as I am is that you weren’t functioning as a bishop when you blew your cover—and you didn’t actually say anything. And you’d better not say anything—you or Dhugal. Do I make myself clear?”

  It was all too clear, though not as bad as it might have been. Duncan obeyed Cardiel’s strictures, counterfeiting a cough and fever that kept him to his rooms in the episcopal palace, and counted himself very fortunate when no further repercussions descended during the days that followed. The isolation also gave him a welcome excuse to spend more time with Dhugal, before his son left on the summer progress with the king. Morgan and Kelson came to dine with them almost every night, usually staying to talk, long into the early morning hours. The last night that the king and Dhugal would spend in Rhemuth, Duncan came to the castle to dine.

  That night, since the royal progress would also incorporate a quest for relics of Saint Camber, Morgan presented the two new knights with Saint Camber medals, cast from the one he himself had inherited from his Deryni mother. After Duncan had blessed the medals, however, Kelson excused himself to seek out another blessing. Sending Dolfin as his emissary, he requested Rothana to meet him by the fountain in the center of the garden.

  Propriety required that she be attended, of course. One of the older nuns accompanied her as companion and chaperone, both of them cloaked and hooded against the chill night air; but the woman succumbed without resistance to Kelson’s suggestion that she walk abroad in the gardens with Dolfin, who likewise would remember nothing of what he might see or hear. The king led Rothana into the relative shelter of a nearby arbor.

  “I wanted to show you this before we left in the morning,” Kelson said, pulling the silver disc of his Saint Camber medal out of his tunic by the chain. “It takes a Deryni really to appreciate it. Duncan’s blessed it already, but I wondered if you might also give it a blessing.”

  “I, my lord?” She glanced at the medal with interest, obviously recognizing what it was, but made no attempt to touch it. “Such blessing is reserved for priests.”

  “Nonetheless, I would value your blessing,” Kelson said. “Surely that can do no harm, since it already has a priest’s saining.”

  “That’s true.”

  Smiling cautiously, she came close enough to take the medal in her left hand and inspect it, then signed a cross above it with her other and bent to touch it with her lips.

  “Thank you,” Kelson murmured, taking it in his own hand and kissing it, too, as she straightened and released it. “I shall treasure it the more for it having felt your kiss.”

  She blushed and ducked her head.

  “Please, my lord, you must not say such things.”

  “Must I not? Rothana, it’s been nearly a week. I’d like to know what you’ve been thinking. Not about the things we discuss in the privy council. Not about the Torenthi situation, or the bishops, or even Saint Camber. About us.”

  She glanced at him surreptitiously, then returned her gaze to her hands folded in her sleeves. The movement made her hood fall back on her shoulders. Underneath the dark blue mantle she had donned for the venture out of doors, she still wore the sky-blue habit of her order, but she had changed her customary linen coif for filmier stuff that surrounded her face like a madonna’s veil. The thick mass of her hair was not braided tonight, but coiled beneath the veiling in a heavy, shining mass at the back of her head, apparently held only by a pair of silver pins.

  “What about us, my lord?” she replied. “I thought we had agreed we would spend the time apart in contemplation.”

  It was all Kelson could do to make himself clasp his hands behind his back. “We had. But I, ah, hoped that this—departure from strict conformance with your habit,” he nodded toward her veil, “might mean that—”

  As he groped for words, she snared him with her eyes.

  “Might mean what, my lord?” she whispered. “That my vocation as a religious is wavering? Well, it is. And I lied to you before, my lord. You are the cause of it.”

  He could feel his pulsebeat soar as the blood pounded in his ears, and he was not sure the words would come out as he gazed down into her eyes.

  “Sweet, dear lady, don’t toy with me,” he breathed. “If I thought you were lying to me right now, I might not recover. And I won’t chance finding out, either. Sometimes our powers tell us far too much.”

  “Do they tell you that I think I love you, Kelson Haldane?” she said softly. “Do they tell you that when I was arranging the greenery for your knight’s vigil, I pretended it was for our nuptial celebrations?”

  Slowly he brought his hands from behind him and raised them toward her face, daring to ease back the veil.

  “There can be a true celebration of our nuptial vows at the end of the summer, when I return,” he whispered. “Is that what you want?”

  “I—think so, my lord,” she breathed. She raised one hand to brush her fingertips across his lips. “But we should not speak of it now. We—”

  To keep any further protest from lessening that incredible admission, Kelson crushed his mouth to hers, her face between his hands. He could feel the sweet, aching rush of fire stirring in his loins as her lips parted under his, hesitant at first, then more bold, and he thrust his fingers deeper into her hair to draw her closer, both of them trembling. The motion dislodged the hairpins, and masses of blue-black hair tumbled down his hands, each strand an electric tingle across his skin.

  “My lord, we mustn’t,” she managed to whisper, drawing back with a doe’s frightened eyes, though her arms had slipped around his waist as they kissed and held him still.

  Smiling, he pulled two great handfuls of her hair over her shoulders and buried his face in them briefly, inhaling of her perfume.

  “What mustn’t we do, my princess, my queen?” he murmured, raising his eyes to hers again and trailing a strand of her hair against her cheek. “Did you not just say that you think you love me? And most assuredly, I do love you.”

  “It’s too soon,” she whispered. “I must have more time to thi
nk. I never meant that we should make any promises until the end of summer, after we’d had the chance to consider—ah, my lord!”

  While she made her protests, Kelson had allowed one hand to fiddle with the ties at the neck of her gown, at the same time nuzzling tiny kisses along her temples and eyelids. An opening parted in the fine blue wool, and he slipped his hand gently within to cup the curve of a breast.

  “I told you before, I was not made of iron,” he murmured.

  “Nor am I,” she said, withdrawing his hand but then kissing the back of it, still trembling. “But we must not do what both our hearts urge. Not now. Not here.”

  “Then, where, my heart, and when?” he insisted, breathing a kiss across her palm and brushing it with his tongue. “I pledge you a king’s love, Rothana. I would make you queen of my land as well as my heart.”

  Shaking her head, Rothana drew herself straighter with a sob and turned her hand so that it only clasped his, safe from his lips.

  “My lord, I pray you, do not do this to me. You are a king, and may take what you please, where and when you will, but I am still under vows. I pray you to respect my habit.”

  Kelson smiled wistfully and brushed the back of his free hand against her veil, then against her cheek.

  “Does one under vows take such a veil, my lady, or wear her hair so fetchingly tumbled?”

  She swallowed and averted her eyes. “I should not have worn this veil, my lord. It was a vanity that I shall probably regret. I must repent me of it, when next I confess.”

  “Best not confess it to Father Duncan, then,” Kelson murmured, smiling still, “for he has been my confessor for many years. If I tell him I wish to take you as my bride, he will give you a strict penance for enticing me thus.”

  She extricated her hand from his and pulled off her veil the rest of the way, giving it to him to hold while she half turned away to retie the neck of her habit.

  “Father Duncan is no longer my confessor, my lord. Haven’t you heard? The archbishop has forbidden him to confess anyone but you, Dhugal, and Morgan.”

  The revelation was like a dash of cold water in Kelson’s face. He had wondered at Duncan’s reticence to talk about his conversation with Cardiel after the privy council meeting. He could feel the ardor drain out of his body as if someone had pulled a plug as he straightened from picking up Rothana’s fallen hairpins.

  “What do you mean, he’s forbidden it? Duncan isn’t suspended.”

  “No, but he’s been ordered to cease voluntarily all public function as a priest. Haven’t you noticed that he’s not celebrated Mass at the cathedral since Wednesday?”

  Kelson watched numbly, almost hypnotized, as her fingers began plaiting the thick strands of hair that, not minutes before, had set every nerve atingle.

  “But that’s because he’s supposed to be sick, so he won’t have to go to the synod,” Kelson managed to say. “He said Mass this morning.”

  “Yes, for you, Dhugal, and Morgan, very early, in the Chapel Royal. Duchess Meraude told me. Didn’t you wonder why no one else was there? It’s Sunday, after all.”

  “Well, I—”

  She coiled her braid neatly at the back of her head and secured it with the pins she took from Kelson.

  “Of course you didn’t. You’re all excited about riding off on your quest for Saint Camber—and that’s as it should be. He wouldn’t want to spoil it for you. You’ve already agreed to address the synod, after all. What more could one ask?”

  “I thought there wouldn’t be any further repercussions yet,” Kelson murmured. “No one has said anything all week.”

  “No, but you can be sure they’re thinking it. Fortunately, Duncan is well liked and respected. And Dhugal may turn out to be an unexpected asset. A priest with a legitimate son is unusual enough that one who’s also Deryni may not make that much difference to the average person. The bishops will have to grind through the process of officially changing the law, but that may not be before the end of Lent. They’ve got bishops to discipline and new ones to elect, after all.”

  As she put on her veil again, though she left her face uncovered, Kelson considered all that she had said.

  “You’re right,” he murmured. “Now is not the time or place for us.” He glanced at his feet, then looked up at her again.

  “But when will be our time and place, Rothana? Did you mean what passed between us earlier, or were you only telling me what you thought I wanted to hear, to save your honor?”

  She lowered her eyes and swallowed noisily. “What passed between us earlier was very real, my lord,” she answered. “As for our time and place, I can only say that I—have already mentioned to my abbess that I begin to doubt my vocation. I’m sure she thinks it has to do with the attack on the abbey last summer. I have not told her the true reason or mentioned your name, of course.”

  Kelson allowed himself a smile, more relieved than he could say, and took both her hands in his, though he only held them close between them at chest level.

  “The old harridan. When she finds out what or who’s behind it, she’ll probably think I’ve tried to compromise your virtue. Which I have—tried, at least—but what happens next? I’ll tell her you wouldn’t be swayed, if that will help.”

  A smile escaped Rothana’s lips, but she would not look up at him, and he suddenly realized how difficult this must be for her.

  “The next step is to ask for a dispensation from my vows,” she said steadily. “I made them to the Bishop of Meara, who is dead and has no present successor, so my request can go directly to the archbishop. I am certain it will be granted without difficulty, especially when I tell him the true reason for my request.”

  Kelson allowed himself a wry chuckle. “Are you joking? There’ll be dancing in the streets. They’ve been after me to marry again almost since they closed Sidana’s tomb.”

  His face clouded as he saw Sidana’s ring on his hand, and he wondered suddenly whether he dared to offer it to Rothana—as a pledge only, for he knew it would not do to seal even a promise of a second marriage with the symbol of old blood.

  “What is it, my lord?” Rothana whispered.

  “This ring you’ve always seen me wear,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over it, though he did not release her hands. “I—don’t suppose you ever knew that it was Sidana’s ring. I wore it initially to remind me of the vow I made to bring her murderers to justice. I’ve worn it since then to remind me that I wanted never again to have to wed for reasons of state. I wouldn’t want you to wear it—and it’s tainted with her blood—but if you’re willing, I’d like you to keep it while I’m gone, as a sign that she and all of that are behind me.”

  “I am deeply moved, my lord,” she said, searching his eyes with hers. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “As sure as I am that I want you to be my wife when I return,” he said, slipping the ring off his finger and holding it out to her. “Because of your vows, this isn’t a betrothal or even a promise of betrothal, but it’s my personal commitment to readdress the subject when we’re both free to do so. And if, while I’m away, you should decide that you’ve changed your mind, that this was all just a pleasant flight of fancy wound up in the romance of knighthood and court intrigues, you have only to return the ring. No explanations will be necessary.”

  He quirked her a wry smile to dispel her solemn expression as she took the ring and closed it in her fist.

  “I have to qualify it that way, Rothana,” he added, pausing to brush her closed hand with his lips. “I’ve done all of this without reckoning on God. Technically, you still belong to Him. And I won’t compete with Him, despite the fact that I’ve already driven my own blood brother to blasphemy on the subject.”

  “Dhugal? Does he know?”

  “More than I knew, until tonight,” Kelson said. “No one else does, though.”

  “Well, they’ll know if I don’t soon rescue Sister Marian and go on to bed,” Rothana whispered. “Not yours, my lord, though
you sorely tempt me, despite my vows. And I mustn’t miss the night Offices, or we shall have more than Dhugal suspicious.”

  “I could just tell Duncan and Alaric,” Kelson ventured, folding her in his arms again and nuzzling at her throat. “They’re going to know anyway, eventually.”

  “Eventually, but not tonight,” she said, drawing back to look him in the eyes. “And not before you leave. I doubt not that they would keep their peace, my lord, but if it were to become known while I am still under vows, it could compromise my honor. Your bride must be virginal above reproach when she gives herself to you before God’s altar.”

  Kelson sighed. Her logic was inescapable.

  “Very well, then. Shall I see you tomorrow, before we leave?”

  “Why, of course, my lord,” she said gaily, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek and drawing back farther, only her hands in his. “I shall be waving a kerchief with all the other ladies of the court, to wish the brave young knights Godspeed on their quest. And I shall pray for your safe and speedy return.”

  He stood there gazing at her for several heartbeats, then slowly nodded.

  “I shall treasure the sight, my heart,” he whispered. “But may I not hope for a more lingering kiss to last the summer long?”

  Shyly she stepped toward him, their joined hands lifting to either side but not separating, only their lips meeting between. It was a chaste kiss on the mouth, sweet and lingering after they had drawn apart, but no more. And Kelson was content as he watched her go. He stayed a few more minutes to breathe in the sharp chill of the night air to clear his senses, then himself headed off in the opposite direction, to rejoin Dhugal, Duncan, and Morgan.

  And from a tiny window overlooking the garden, Conall sipped at a goblet of rich, red wine and observed all with more than passing interest—and had seen almost the entire exchange, though even near-Deryni senses could not discern what was said.