Kelson

The Year of Our Lord 1125

Rhemuth, late summer

"Any word from St. Kyriell's yet, Kel?"

Kelson looked up from the scroll he was studying, nodding. "Well, not words, exactly. Two nights ago, I had a dream that Rothana and her entourage arrived safely. It could have just been a dream, but..." He shrugged. "It felt more like a message in vague thought impressions than like a regular dream. Cat's sent such messages before, when the distance between us was too great for her to send a clearer message. I imagine it would've taken a great deal of energy for even a full Deryni with good training to send even that much from St. Kyriell's." He fingered the St. Camber medallion on its chain around his neck, his gray eyes thoughtful. "Maybe there's some better way to communicate over long distances, but if so, it's long been lost to us. If there is..." He looked up at me with a wry smile. "I know it will take some time to establish, but for my part, a Deryni Schola can't come soon enough."

I agreed, though for reasons less altruistic than those of my blood brother and Gwynedd's King. A Deryni Schola would eventually need teachers, preferably fully-trained Deryni who could pass their collective lore on to others. And God knew that the Kingdom of Gwynedd had precious few left of those, after centuries of Deryni persecution following closely upon the heels of the Interregnum and the Haldane Restoration. No, most of the Schola's first faculty would have to come from outside of Gwynedd, from the best-trained and brightest Deryni of this present generation, now mostly harbored by other lands beyond our borders. And one such Deryni who would be fully qualified to lend her talents and teaching skills to this new enterprise was the Lady of Llyr. The same quest for learning that had drawn her to seek out new knowledge from the Servants of Saint Camber would eventually bring her back to Rhemuth, I felt sure.

I felt the King's questioning mind-touch and looked up to find his eyes still on me, studying me with the same avid interest he'd earlier shown for the scroll he still held. "It's Catriona you're thinking about, isn't it? Again."

I willed myself not to blush, only partially successful.

Kelson sighed. "It's all right, you know. Just because my love life seems to be under a curse doesn't mean everyone else's has to come to a complete stand-still." My surprise must have shown on my face, because he laughed, adding, "What, did you think I hadn't noticed you slipping off for hours on end last winter and spring, and returning barely in time for meetings and Court functions looking rumpled but inordinately pleased with yourself?"

A reluctant grin sprang up unbidden. "It wasn't quite what yer prob'ly imaginin', Kel. It's true we slipped off together a time or two, but we dinnae—"

His upraised hand stopped my explanation in mid-stream as a wicked gleam lit up his eyes. "No need for a full confession, Dhugal. Do I look like your priest? Though I do hope you've delegated someone else to keep the ducal and county accounts for Cassan, Kierney, and Transha if your counting skills are so poor you think you only slipped off 'a time or two.'"

I laughed, but sobered almost as quickly. "It's nae use, Kelson. Aye, I do love her. It's been growin' between us for some time, I think, but I knew for sure how matters stood between us before we set off on our quest. At least, I thought I did. But after we came back..." I shook my head. "Kel, she's runnin' as far an' as fast from me now as Rothana is from you, but at least I can understand why Rothana left, even if I dinnae agree with all her reasons. But I dinnae know Cat's reasons at all, and that's what bluidy well hurts th' most." I looked across the table at my blood brother. "You dinnae happen to know why, do ye?"

Kelson looked stunned. "No, Dhugal, I don't." He flushed slightly, looking away. "I suppose I've been so absorbed with trying to deal with losing Rothana, I haven't managed to look beyond that to notice what else has been happening around me. And I should have noticed." The gray Haldane eyes met mine gravely. "I'm so sorry. Is there anything...?"

This time it was I who raised my hand to stop the words from being said. "Nay, it's done. She'll either come back tae me someday or she'll no'. I just wish..." A thought, half-formed, began to well up. "Kel, if I could only know more about her, know her better, maybe I could get enough inside her mind tae know what happened between us, an' where it all went wrong. It might not bring her back tae me, but at least...maybe I'd understand it all a bit more. In so many ways, ye know her a lot better than I ever did, Kelson. Or at least ye've known her a lot longer." I shrugged. "I'd known The Kyle for a while, or rather, I'd met 'Kyle o' Sheele' and only saw the illusion, figurin' like most o' yer men that 'e was just one of yer men-at-arms. But I never actually even knew Cat as Cat until th' aftermath o' th' Mearan campaign."

Kelson nodded. "Well, what knowledge I have of the Lady of Llyr, that much I can give you, if it will help." He smiled wryly. "It might not, you know. Catriona is...complex."

"Aye. I'll grant ye that." I sighed. "But anythin's better than nothin'."

My blood brother offered me his hand. I took it, lowering my shields to his mind touch, allowing the familiar rapport to grow between us as he began to cast his mind back to the days of his earliest acquaintance with the Lady Catriona, the slow trickle of shared memories growing steadier and surer as he thought back across the earliest years of his kingship.

The newly crowned King of Gwynedd sat in his late father's solar, skimming over the documents that his chief advisor, the Deryni Duke of Corwyn, had brought for him to read. Alaric had left soon thereafter, saying he would return shortly. Kelson found himself dividing his time between actually reading the papers set before him and gazing idly out the rain-streaked window to one side of him, wishing he could be somewhere else, doing something else, than what he was doing at the moment.

The door opened. A squire in Haldane livery entered, walking across the room to bow before Kelson and quietly stating, "It's Duke Alaric Morgan and a lady requesting an audience with you, Sire."

A lady? "Did you happen to get her name, Ivo?" Kelson asked.

The squire blushed, mortified. "I'm sorry, no, I forgot, Sire. I'll go back and ask."

Kelson waved the offer away with a sympathetic smile, knowing that the nervous young man before him was nearly as new in his position as Kelson was in his. "No matter. I'm sure Morgan will see to the introductions. You can see them in, and then wait in the antechamber in case I have need of you later. Thank you."

Kelson stood and stretched, glad for a distraction from the afternoon's tedium. As his body relaxed once more, the two visitors entered the solar. Alaric Morgan's tall form, clad in his customary black garb, was only a hand's span taller than the woman beside him, telling Kelson at a mere glance that she was no dainty little waif, although her lithe frame held a certain coltish grace that, while still retaining a touch of adolescent awkwardness, was no less feminine for that. She wore a simple white linen gown with a pale green surcoat over it, belted at the waist and embellished only with embroidered knotwork at neckline and hem, yet around her neck and upper arms a gold torc and wide engraved bracelets denoted high rank, as did a simple gold circlet adorning her brow. Her tawny hair flowed down her back, mostly unbound as befitted a maiden, although shorter than that of most ladies of Gwynedd, stopping just a little below her shoulders. Kelson guessed her age to be slightly older than his own, but not by much—perhaps a handspan of years at most. He couldn't recall having seen her before, and yet, as he studied her curiously, something about her seemed oddly familiar.

"Your Majesty, may I present Catriona, the Lady of Llyr. You may remember her brother Michael, High Lord of Llyr, from his years of serving as a squire in your father's Court."

Kelson nodded slowly, his mind supplying the image of a young man, knighted several years earlier, with the same tawny hair and clear green eyes as the younger woman before him. The woman in question swept him a low, graceful curtsey. He took her hand, bidding her to rise, and bent slightly to mime a courteous kiss of greeting over her fingers, lips not quite making contact with the back of her hand. Despite the briefness of the contact, he sensed something out of the ordinary about the Lady of Llyr, an impression of leashed power, and straightened abruptly as he released her hand, looking momentarily startled. Her lips quirked slightly in a suppressed smile.

Morgan's faint smile widened. "Catriona is also Deryni. And, in fact, you've met her before now. She was in your father's service."

Kelson's gaze, briefly diverted to his chief advisor, flickered with surprise back to the woman's face, again trying to place her. He couldn't imagine how the late King Brion might have engaged a woman's services, unless perhaps she had knowledge he might have needed to call upon in Council. Or perhaps she had helped train the younger ladies-in-waiting under Aunt Meraude? But had that been the case, he'd have encountered her fairly often; the ladies' solar was hardly that far removed from his personal chambers. Surely…no, she couldn't have been his father's paramour! Kelson was well aware that there had been some estrangement between his parents in the latter years of their marriage, but surely Alaric wouldn't have...

Catriona laughed, wrenching Kelson's puzzled imaginings back to the present. "General Morgan," she chided gently, "you may delight in dressing as if you're evil incarnate, but don't leave my brother of Gwynedd in suspense." Turning her attention back to Kelson, she explained. "I was in another form when last we met." She spared another quick glance at Morgan, who nodded in seeming agreement at some silent thought that passed between them, and then she changed before Kelson's stunned eyes, the woman morphing into a young man-at-arms, still clad in the same raiment which—Kelson belatedly realized—looked just as appropriate garbing a youth as a maiden, unlike the fuller-skirted gowns favored among the ladies of Gwynedd's Court.

He blinked. The young man—or, rather, the illusion of one, for now that he looked more closely with his Deryni senses fully engaged, Kelson could see that it was mere illusion—remained before him a few moments longer before the glamour faded away, leaving the Lady of Llyr standing before Gwynedd's King once more.

"And that's how I first met 'Kyle of Shiele,'" Kelson said, stretching his long legs before him to enjoy the hearth's warmth. "Or, more accurately, The Kyle of Shiele. It's one of her lesser titles among the people of Llyr, though when she takes on that illusion, it also serves as a convenience. 'Catriona,' or even 'Cat,' isn't a particularly masculine name, you know."

I nodded. "Aye. Afore Cat explained how she came by th' title, I just assumed that 'Kyle' was of Sheele, the earldom north of Valoret."

Kelson chuckled. "Most folk do. I prefer to keep it that way." He stood, moving closer to the fireplace, and picked up a poker to stir idly at the coals.

"So, The Kyle started out in yer father's service, but transferred those loyalties to ye when ye became King?"

"Yes. Not without some qualms on my part, though, I assure you. I needn't tell you the hazards to her, even on top of the mere fact that she's Deryni and that in itself is still enough to get her killed in some areas, though we're doing our best to change that now. But I suspect, whether I willed it or not, she would offer me The Kyle's services anyway, unless I directly forbade her." He shrugged. "Unlike most who answer to me, she's not fully my subject." Kelson shot me a sidelong glance and a wry smile. "God only knows what she'd do if I tried. Probably find some other way to help my House that gives me equally sleepless nights."

"She's only yer subject insofar as she inherits her father's lands off the northern coast of Gwynedd, aye?"

He nodded. "Yes. But her brother is sovereign of Llyr now, so her greater fealty is to him. But since it's in Llyr's best interests to continue in amity with Gwynedd—or at least with the House of Haldane—and in my own best interests to take full advantage of any Deryni's services who is willing to assume the risks of lending their powers to use secretly on Gwynedd's behalf…." He allowed the sentence to trail off, staring down at the fire, his features seeming shadowed despite the flicker of light playing across them, and added. "Still, damn it, Dhugal, there are times when I wish with all my heart I had refused her." He blinked away sudden tears. I thought I could guess at the reason, although I knew almost none of the details of the story behind it.

"Because o' Wencit o'Torenth?"

"She's told you, then?" Kelson looked somehow both pained and relieved.

I chose my next words carefully. "Aye. In part. I know tha' Derry an' Ca—Kyle were both taken captive while scoutin,' an' tha' ye dinnae get Derry back until th' night afore th' Duel Arcane wi' Wencit an' his men. An' ye very nearly dinnae get Cat back at all." I looked down at my hands. "I dinnae know much more'n tha', tho', 'cept that Wencit saw through her glamour in th' end, an' was nae more merciful tae her than he was tae poor Derry." Possibly even less so, I suspected, but was suddenly reluctant to ask.

"Kel...what exactly happened at Cardosa? How badly was Cat injured?"

"Physically? She was nearly dead when we rescued her from Wencit's cell, as much from near-starvation as outright injury. Emotionally and psychically?" He closed his eyes, not quite managing to suppress a shudder. "Well, the fortunate thing is that she was a fully trained Deryni; I suppose that's what kept her from developing the same horror for magic that Derry developed from his own experience at Wencit's hands. But she was in rough shape, and it took all of Morgan's power as a healer, both physical and psychic, to bring her back to full health. And Father Duncan's as well, though…." Kelson swallowed. "There were reasons I felt it more appropriate to hand her over primarily to Morgan's care, at least at first." The clear gray eyes glanced across at me. "She's not told you any of this, has she?"

I shook my head slowly. He drew a deep breath, let it back out with an explosive sigh.

"Well, if you're determined to have Catriona to wife, there's more you probably ought to know, but it's not my place to share it. I'm sure…well, I hope…that if she decides to accept you, she'll tell you the rest in her own time."

I pondered Kelson's words, wondering what it was that he was leaving out. Once, when Morgan's trusted aide Sean Lord Derry had been well into his cups, I had managed to get him to open up a little bit about what he had endured in Wencit's dungeons. Just the tiniest of insights, for even in his drunken state (and given Derry's near-legendary tolerance for strong drink, it had taken an insane amount of ale to bring him to that pass!) Derry was reluctant to revisit those old nightmares, mercifully toned down though they were by Morgan's mind-healing. But I had gathered that Wencit had ransacked Derry's mind to discover his greatest fear—the fear of losing his honor, his integrity—and then had proceeded to launch a full-on assault on this weakness, violating his prisoner in body, mind, and—at the end—down to his very spirit and soul.

What had Catriona, Lady of Llyr, most feared? What had Wencit discovered lurking in the deep recesses of her unshielded, merasha-fuddled mind and preyed upon, unleashing his full wrath on one who had dared to oppose his desire for conquest?

I thought upon the lady I loved, strong and fiercely proud, and thought I knew the answer.

"Wencit raped her, dinnae he?" I forced myself to meet my blood-brother's eyes. "Answer me truly on tha' at least, Kel. Ye know it willnae change my feelin's for her, but I need tae know if that's the reason she'll no' have me. If she's afraid o' th' marriage bed..."

Kelson shook his head with a faint compassionate smile. "No, whatever her reasons, I don't think that's one. Not one she'd consider insurmountable, at any rate. Dhugal, when have you ever known Catriona to run from her fears? No, she's more likely to charge them head-on until she's bloody well vanquished them, like the ancient line of warrior-queens of Shiele before her. You know her better than that!" His gaze dropped down to the fire before us for a long moment, then rose again to meet mine squarely. "Yes, that's one way Wencit of Torenth thought to break her, and it very nearly did, though not for the usual reasons. A mere rape would've almost been a kindness. No, Wencit's cruelty was not merely an assault on her body; he struck far deeper to her very heart and soul. But if Cat's not spoken to you of it yet..." He closed his eyes again, obviously struggling within himself for the right words to say. "Dhugal, Catriona has risked all—has nearly given all—in my service, without obligation, for God knows I'd release her from all such risks if she'd allow me, and has done so for no reason apart for love and loyalty to me and my House and her calling to serve the Deryni of Gwynedd in this way. If she's not ready to share all of her secrets with you yet, then I must honor her choice. I'd not take that from her as well, not even for you."

I knew that Kelson had offered up all he was willing to share on the matter, so I pressed him no further. Anything else I might learn of the Lady of Llyr would have to wait for another place and time.