ardently?'
'She is my sister,' Cait said. 'Is she well? Do you know where she has gone?'
'Please,' said the priest, holding up his hands to stem the flood of questions he feared were forthcoming. 'I can tell you she is well, and she is nearby.'
'God be praised,' breathed Rognvald, his voice a slow sigh of relief.
'Where?' demanded Cait, excitedly. 'Can we go there now?'
'Peace, my lady,' the priest protested gently. 'I dare not say more.'
'Alethea was abducted by bandits,' Rognvald explained. 'They carried her into these mountains, and we have been searching for her since she was taken.'
Brother Timotheus nodded as if he suspected that this had been the way of things all along. 'I believe you, my friends. I assure you, I do believe you. And if it were up to me, I would send for the girl at once and happily preside over your joyful reunion.' He spread his hands apologetically. 'Be that as it may, however, it is not so easy as that, nor can I say more.'
Cait, mystified by this irrational reluctance, stared at the monk in bewilderment. 'But why?'
'I promised Annora that I would say nothing.'
Rognvald, seeing the clouds gathering on Cait's furrowed brow, moved to avert the storm. 'Who is Annora? Could you tell her that we have come for Alethea?'
'Annora is abbess of the Order of the Klais Main's. The good sisters maintain an abbey near here.'
'Klais Mairis,' said Cait, repeating the words. The name was, so far as she could tell, quite similar to the Gaelic she knew; it meant the Grey Marys. 'Is it far, this abbey? Can we go there?'
'Alas, no – at least, not tonight,' said the priest, 'but tomorrow I can send word to the abbey that you are here.'
Cait shook her head in dismay. The kindly priest frowned with sympathy. 'I am sorry, daughter,' he said. 'This is how it must be. But be of good cheer, for she is safe and well cared for, and I have no doubt that in a day or two you will be reunited with your sister.'
Rognvald thanked the good brother for this assurance and Cait, forcing a smile, thanked him too, and said with as good a grace as she could muster: 'We have waited this long, I suppose a day or two longer will make no difference. In any event, it is good to know that she is safe and well-wherever she may be.'
'Yes, that is the spirit.' Timo rubbed his hands. 'Now then, you must be hungry and thirsty from your journey. Would you and your men care to join me in a simple repast? It is only beans and bread, mind, for tomorrow is the first of many feast days.'
'We would be most happy to break bread with you,' replied Cait, overcoming her disappointment. 'But nothing would please me more than to hear how one of the Cele De came to be living in this remote fastness.'
Brother Timotheus' eyebrows arched high in surprise. 'Deus mews/' he exclaimed. 'You know of the Cele De?'
'Oh, I know enough to recognize them when I see them,' Cait assured him. Rognvald regarded her curiously, but said nothing. 'You see, my family has long supported a Cele De monastery on our lands.'
'Come along then, daughter,' he said, taking her hand excitedly. 'You must come and sit with me and tell me everything.'
The priest busied himself with snuffing the candles, beginning with those on the altar-pausing before each one and bowing three times before lowering the crook-shaped snuffer over the flame. He moved around the room with a sprightly step, humming to himself and glancing every now and then at his visitors as if to reassure himself that they had not vanished as suddenly and inexplicably as they had arrived.
Then, taking up a lantern from beside the door, Timotheus led them out and around to the back of the chapel to a cell built against the church wall. Darting inside, he collected his staff and hooded cloak, and then led his guests across the village square to the settlement's largest house. The door was open and there was music coming from inside. 'This is Dominico's house,' he told them. 'That is his baptism name, mind. I cannot pronounce his birth name.'
Inside, they found the knights huddled together beside a generous hearth, their feet stretched before a log fire while they listened to a pair of lively young men play music on a pipe and drum while womenfolk of various ages darted here and there with platters, bowls, and cups. Dominico stood in the middle of the room, welcoming his guests, singing loudly, and calling orders to all the others in their incomprehensible tongue, while his wife, a small, round woman called Elantra, directed the preparations with quiet efficiency.
'Glad Yule, my lady!' called Yngvar as Cait and Rognvald entered. 'They have already fed our horses and now they are going to feed us.'
'Glad Yule!' added Svein, lofting the cup in his hand. 'They have ale, too!'
'And black bread like home!' said Dag, waving half a loaf at them.
'It seems the Yuletide celebrations have begun after all,' remarked Rognvald.
'The people here are like children in many ways,' sighed Brother Timotheus, 'they can never wait for anything.'
Dominico, chattering excitedly, gathered the late arrivals and herded them to a bench opposite the hearth. He dashed away, returning a moment later with two overflowing ale cups and a young girl bearing a tray of bread. The dark-eyed girl, grave with the weight of her responsibility, stood straight and, looking neither left nor right, offered the noble guests loaves of black bread from her tray. While Rognvald took charge of the cups, Cait accepted one of the loaves, smiled pleasantly, and thanked the girl, whose stoic solemnity wilted at their exchange. The household honour satisfied, she turned and scampered away, calling loudly for her mother.
The musicians, meanwhile, finished their song to the noisy acclaim of the knights, who began stamping their feet and slapping their knees and clamouring for more. The two boys grinned and quickly commenced another, yet more spirited tune. Dominico, clapping his hands and calling like a bird, began whirling around; spinning this way and that, his feet beating time to the music, he rounded on Cait, scooped her up and spun her on to the floor. The next thing she knew, she was caught up in the dance to the dizzy delight of one and all.
More and more villagers were crowding into the house by the moment, some bringing jars of wine and ale, and others bearing festive foods: boiled eggs, smoked meat and fish, flat bread flavoured with anise. When there was no more room in the house, the merrymaking spilled out into the snow and then the neighbouring houses. More musical instruments appeared: tabors and shakers, pipes made of gourds and clay, wooden flutes of several sizes, and an oddly shaped lyre with four strings.
They drank and sang and danced, and then drank some more. Cait quickly became the most sought-after partner, as one after another of the male villagers, young and old, seized the opportunity to dance with their noble visitor. Once, presented with two obstinate partners who asked at the same time, she averted hurt feelings by taking on both at once – to the exuberant approval of the women looking on.
Amidst the singing and dancing, the food came and went, and the night with it. One night's revelry spilled over into the next day's celebration. The light of a Yuletide dawn was showing when Cait finally found a chance to creep away. She went into her host's chamber, loosed her swordbelt and put the weapon aside, before sinking into a bed piled high with furs. She closed her eyes and slept only to be awakened a short time later by the clanging of a bell outside the house.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Cait sat up in bed; so strong was the sense of familiarity, she imagined she was home again in Caithness. The priests at Banvard rang the bells to signal the beginning of the Yuletide celebrations; she wondered if Brother Timotheus did the same.
When the music began again, she relinquished any expectation of sleep, rose from her bed, and made her way outside to a world of sparkling white made brilliant by the light of the rising sun. The sky was clear and heart-breakingly blue, and the high, encircling mountain peaks burned with a rosy glow like fired bronze.
The villagers were making their way in procession to the chapel, led by Brother Timotheus exuberantly swinging an oversize bell. The air was biting cold, and the pealing of the bell piercing in its clarity. Yngvar, Dag and Rodrigo were in the forefront of the parade, trampling triumphantly through the snow as if to make a path for
