those behind; they were followed by Dominico and his sons, and all the rest. Neither Rognvald nor Svein was to be seen, but Cait fell into line behind the others and proceeded to the church.
The service was blessedly short. Brother Timotheus simply read out a Psalm and led his faithful flock in a few prayers; the congregation sang a song, and then they all trooped back outside where everyone hailed everyone else with an enthusiastic Yuletide greeting. Cait was swept up in wave upon wave of hugging and kissing, as one after another of the villagers embraced her. Then they all went off to resume the celebration.
As the last released her and hurried away, she looked up to find Rognvald standing before her. 'Glad Yule, Lady Caitriona,' he said. 'It seems I am too late for prayers, but not, I hope, for a greeting.' With that, he opened his arms and folded her into a warm embrace and gave her a kiss that left her blinking at its sudden, virile intensity.
'Glad Yule, my lord,' she said, gazing up into his face.
He smiled, his blue eyes keen and clear as the skies high overhead. 'Will you break fast with me?'
'It would be a pleasure,' she replied, taking Rognvald's arm. They walked slowly, enjoying one another's company and the fine, sparkling day. The sound of the snow squeaking beneath her feet filled Cait with a youthful joy she had not known for years. 'It seems our search is soon concluded,' she said after a time.
When Rognvald did not answer, she glanced sideways at his face and saw that he was gazing at the mountains towering above the village, their smooth, snow-dusted slopes gleaming in the new day's light. They appeared to Cait like stately monarchs robed in winter furs and enthroned around the bowl of the valley, gazing at their own splendour in the bright mirror of its lake.
'Tell me about the Cele De,' he said. 'Who are they?'
'There is little enough to tell,' she began. 'They are priests of an order that holds itself apart from Rome-a small order, but tenacious, and fiercely loyal to its calling.'
'What is that?'
'To preserve the True Path and guard the Holy Light.'
Rognvald nodded. 'They are heretics then.'
'Not in the least,' Cait protested. 'They simply embrace an older tradition than Rome. There were Christians in the West before Rome, you know. The church of the Celts is older by far than the one decreed by Emperor Constantine, and -'
Rognvald chuckled.
'Are you laughing at me?' she said defensively.
'You sound like a priest now,' he replied, 'trying to convert the unbeliever.'
'I suppose I am,' she allowed, accepting his chiding. 'The Cele De are a small and much maligned sect, and we grow protective.'
'Are you one of these Cele De?'
She nodded. 'All of my family belong to the sect-ever since my grandfather went on the Great Pilgrimage to Jerusalem.'
'He discovered them in Jerusalem?'
'No, he met some priests aboard the ship that carried him to the Holy Land. He would not have survived the journey without them. When he returned he rewarded them with lands, and money to build a monastery. And,' she added with quiet defiance, 'no matter what anyone says, they are the kindliest, most compassionate, and thoughtful people you will ever meet.'
'If that is true, why are they so reviled?'
'But they are not reviled!' protested Cait.
'You said they were maligned,' he pointed out. 'It is the same thing.'
'No it is not!' she snapped. 'There is a world of difference. The Cele De are never reviled.'
'No?' He looked at her askance. 'If they were not, would you defend them so heartily?' Before she could challenge this observation, he said, 'What is this True Path that they follow?'
'I am not going to tell you,' she replied crisply. 'You will only make sport of it, and -' Rognvald stopped walking. He was looking straight along the path beaten through the snow by the villagers. 'What is it? Why have you stopped?'
'More visitors.'
'Bandits?' Cait looked around quickly, but could not see anyone. 'Where?'
'Just there.' He indicated a clump of villagers a few dozen paces before them. Cait had been looking for horses and riders, and missed the two pale, slender figures standing directly in her path. Like Brother Timotheus, they were dressed in hooded robes of undyed wool and, judging from the enthusiastic welcome they were receiving from the villagers, they were well known and well liked.
'They arrived last night-burst in on us during the service,' the priest was saying. 'Ah, here are two of them now!' He motioned Cait and Rognvald to join them. 'Here, I was just telling Sister Efa about you. And this,' he said, indicating the woman next to her, 'is Sister Siaran.'
'God's peace to you, sisters,' Cait said. 'I am pleased to meet you. I am Caitriona, and this is Lord Rognvald of Haukeland in Norway.'
Both nuns pressed their hands together and inclined their heads politely. 'God bless you and keep you,' they intoned together.
When everyone had become a little better acquainted, Brother Timotheus said, 'I believe these good people have business with Abbess Annora. I was going to send word to you today, although now, as you are here, I will let them speak for themselves.' Before Cait could open her mouth, however, the priest said, 'But come, it is cold and they will have made a warming drink for us. Let us discuss matters over our cups before the fire.'
They proceeded to Dominico's house where, as Timotheus had predicted, a cauldron of hot, spiced ale was just being poured into jars-much to the noisy delight of the knights, who extolled the virtues of their host with rousing cheers as they drank his health, and that of his sons, and wife, and daughters.
Cait, Rognvald and the two sisters settled on benches in a corner of the room and the priest went to fetch the ale. 'It is such a beautiful morning,' said Cait, easing her way into the conversation. 'Have you travelled far?'
The sister called Efa replied, 'A small distance, my lady.'
That was all she said, and when it appeared there was no more forthcoming, Rognvald spoke up. 'Your robes are very like Brother Timo's here. Are you of the same order?'
'Yes, my lord,' she said, and looked down at her hands folded tightly in her lap.
'I see,' he said. 'Then you are Cele De, too.'
The two glanced quickly at one another in nervous amazement. 'You know of the Cele De?' asked the one called Siaran.
'I know all about them,' he said confidently. 'Lady Caitriona here is a stalwart defender of the order. Her family's lands support a monastery in the far north-a place called Caithness. Have you ever heard of it?'
The nuns shook their heads. 'It is true, my lady?' asked a wide-eyed Sister Efa. 'Your family maintains a monastery?'
'Yes,' Cait assured them. 'And my uncle is abbot of the order.'
'Truly?' wondered Brother Timotheus, returning just then. 'Celebrations came between us somewhat last night, but I still want to hear all about this haven in the north.'
'You must be Alethea's sister,' volunteered Sister Siaran.
'She is that,' said Rognvald, beaming with the pleasure of making these small revelations.
'We have been searching for her,' explained Cait quickly. 'Brother Timo told us she was with you.' Cait smiled, trying to put the timid sisters at their ease. 'I understand she is well.'
'Yes, my lady,' replied Efa, then lapsed into silence once more.
'Where is she? I want to see her at once. Is it far?'
The two sisters exchanged an uncertain glance, but said nothing.
'Is there something which prevents me from bringing her home?' asked Cait, growing frustrated with their reticence.
'Allow me, my lady,' said Timotheus. Addressing the two young nuns, he said, Tf I am not mistaken, you have been instructed not to speak of this matter-am I right?'
Sister Siaran, looking at her hands in her lap, nodded.
'There! You see?' cried Timotheus, as if this were the answer to all their troubles.
