Were he here, Emrys himself would draw his cloak of invisibility about his shoulders and walk out. Not that the man had such a cloak, but he could fade into a crowd as though he were invisible.
“This birdsong is best heard in a church, not in Arthur’s great hall,” someone called out.
“Aye, give us Taliesen,” cried another.
A pang of guilt struck Alyn as he nodded in agreement with the rabble-rousers. The musical chant of Latin aimed to draw a soul close to its spiritual home and God’s love, but what Alyn craved most now was the familiarity of his clan lands and family.
Let the rafters ring with how Merlin Emrys of Powys served the Son and Albion. His example spoke so much louder than this clanging liturgy.
Alyn searched the bejeweled and elegant guests of honor gathered on the dais for any sign of Merlin Emrys’s old friend Taliesen. The bard’s wife, Vivianne, Lady of the Lake, did not sit with her sisters—Arthur’s widowed aunt Morgause and his mother, the church-robed Ygerna. Had Rheged’s master bard gone to the Other Side as well in the years Alyn had spent in the East?
Perhaps when Alyn received an audience with the queen, he would find out more about the state of Cymri affairs and of his family in Gododdin. Correspondence between Alyn and his family had been scant at best. Even his native Cymric felt awkward to Alyn’s tongue after his years of studying and speaking Arabic at the prestigious House of Wisdom. But ’twas welcome to his ears.
“Not a soul will be left awake by the time the bishop ceases trying to save this motley lot,” a deep voice said nearby. Too close for comfort.
Alyn jerked away but broke into a grin upon seeing Daniel of Gowrys at his side. Before Alyn could reply, Daniel clapped him on the back, knocking his reply into silence. “Well, you don’t look like much of a priest,” his friend observed upon letting Alyn go.
“And you still look much the same … you fey highlander,” Alyn managed.
Faith, those tattooed forearms were nigh as thick as some men’s thighs. Daniel’s long hair was unbound and tangled, save the fraying braids bracketing his square-jawed face. Mud stained the red, green, and yellow of his plaid cloak, which was fastened with a silver brooch shaped like a roaring lion.
Alyn leaned in with an exaggerated sniff and wrinkled his nose. “And you certainly smell like one.”
After living in the East for so long with its baths and exotic oils and scents, Alyn found that it was taking time for him to reacclimate to Western hygiene. Or lack thereof.
Daniel brandished a sheepish grin. “Me ’n’ the lads arrived just this morning. Roads are naught but mire, but the Angus was determined to be here. Won’t let the queen and her people down, like some.” He cast a dubious glance at the royal dais where one bench was conspicuously empty. Modred of Lothian’s.
“Are any others here from Glenarden?”
The Gowrys were a subclan of the O’Byrnes, and his friend was the only one Alyn had recognized. Not that Daniel wasn’t qualified to speak for Glenarden. Despite his untamed highland demeanor, he’d had a princely education at chieftain Ronan O’Byrne’s insistence. Still, Daniel had been pained by the years spent at the university at Llantwit as much as Alyn had been thrilled by his own time there. Above all, Daniel was trusted by the Glenarden.
“Times are fiercer on the border than ever,” Daniel told Alyn. “Note none of the Miathi Picts have come. And the rest of the border tribes present have sent no more than a token to represent them, much as Emrys was esteemed. They need every weapon-bearing man on hand. Truth b’told, I’d rather be one of them than here listening to all this holy gum-flapping.”
“How did you find me in this crowd?” Alyn asked, though he knew Daniel’s gaze was sharp as an eagle’s, formed by a life spent mostly in the wild.
“I spied you coming in, though I scarce believed my eyes at first. I’m used to seeing you in something more colorful than this drab gray.” Daniel picked at the wool of Alyn’s traveling cloak. “When did you return? Surely Ronan and Brenna weren’t expecting you when I left Glenarden.”
’Twas Alyn’s eldest sibling, Ronan of Glenarden, and Daniel’s cousin Brenna of Gowrys who, thanks be to God’s grace, had finally brought peace to their troubled clan lands by their loving union.
“Are they here?” Alyn glanced past Daniel, hoping to catch sight of his brother or more of the Glenarden folk.
“Nay,” Daniel told him. “Ronan asked me to speak for Glenarden.”
Disappointment clouded Alyn’s heart. “My ship made anchor this morning. I came here when I heard the news of Emrys’s death. Would that I’d come home sooner.” Or that Merlin’s death is another of his tricks. Alyn still could not believe the man was gone, especially when Alyn needed his genius most.
“The main thing is that you’re here, though why you’re still wearing your cloak wrapped so tightly about yourself makes me wonder if you didn’t leave your mind back in the East.” Daniel wiped perspiration from his brow and tucked his thumbs into his kilted wrap. “Are you hiding something in the folds?”
“I am.” With a smug grin, Alyn tugged a fold of the wool away to reveal a creature curled like a sleeping baby against his tunic. “A gift from a friend.”
“Faith, that’s the ugliest babe I’ve ever seen! Sired by a bear, was it?”
“Fatin is an African monkey,” Alyn whispered, closing the gap in hopes that the animal would continue his nap. “Who is the new archbishop?”
Daniel cast a disdainful glance in that direction. “Cassian, he calls himself. And Arthur’s made him the new merlin.”
“Adviser to the king?” Alyn cut his gaze toward the dais in disbelief. What would a Roman bishop know of Alba and its people?
Yet Arthur listened solemnly to every utterance from Cassian’s lips while kings and princes from the pagan and Christian noble houses of the Cymri—the Briton and Welsh brotherhood—and even the Scot and Pict nations stood proud, if not interested, behind their shields in places of honor.
When at last Cassian stopped talking and motioned for his fellow priests to help him close the service with the Eucharist, some of the warrior kings waited dutifully for the sacrament. Others grumbled and shifted from foot to foot but stayed in tolerance for an end to the ceremony. But a few, devoted to their own gods of war and bounty, simply walked out of the hall in disrespect.
“’Tis a fragile peace the Dux Bellorum is weaving here,” Daniel observed. “I’d like to think all in attendance will stand by Arthur when the need arises. Most of the great houses of Alba and Albion are here.”
If not for Alyn’s ring—onyx inlaid with a pearl-white dove symbolizing his connection to his cousin Queen Gwenhyfar—and some smooth talk, he surely would not have been admitted among even the lesser ambassadors and scholars of such an esteemed group. While a prince himself, Alyn’s status of being third in line for chieftain carried little weight in state affairs.
A small but surprisingly strong tug on his cloak drew his attention to where Fatin peeked out with large dark eyes, cautiously taking in the crowded hall.
“Time for me to leave,” Alyn announced to Daniel. “You have no idea how much trouble he can get into, especially in this crowd.”
Daniel chuckled. “Nay, but I’d give good silver to see it. His jacket’s fine as most noblemen’s here.” He poked gently at the monkey’s belly. “Fatin, is it?” he crooned to the animal.
Ordinarily Fatin did not take right away to strangers, but this was no ordinary stranger. Daniel of Gowrys was more at home with animals than people. The monkey gave him a toothy smile.
Daniel couldn’t help but match it. “I’ve heard of monkeys but never seen one close up.”
Fatin, now wide awake, squirmed in the constraints of his sling.
Alyn hadn’t had the heart to leave him in his cage at the docks with the other goods to be delivered to a nearby inn. He tightened Fatin’s leash and looked for the fastest way out. Except perhaps in a circus, few Cymri had ever seen a monkey, much less
one dressed in princely garb. Alyn could hear the cry “Demon!” ringing in his ears just at the thought of Fatin scampering across the sea of heads and shoulders.
Although Emrys would have enjoyed such a distraction, Alyn knew.
Smothering a pained smile, Alyn asked silent forgiveness for avoiding the Holy Communion. “Follow me,” he said to Daniel, pressing his hand against the fidgeting Fatin.
Exasperation fanning his footsteps, Alyn took the closest exit from the hall. The door led to a columned Roman portico that connected the plain lime-washed stone of the Queen’s Tower and Arthur’s Hall.
The moment Alyn released the leash, Fatin wrestled free from his grasp and took to the vine-covered passage as naturally as his ancestors had their jungle trees. In no time at all, the small monkey found the right spot and relieved himself, chattering in bliss.
Daniel laughed out loud. “I’m sure the queen’s garden needed water.”
“All he does is eat, chatter, and—”
A splash announced Fatin’s dive into a fishpond.
“Play in water,” Alyn finished wryly as the black animal emerged with a shriek of horror at the icy temperature so different from his native waters. “He’s yet to learn the chill of Alba’s waters.”
Daniel laughed out loud as the wet monkey shook himself and gave them an earful of his opinion. Alyn took off his cloak and held it out to the shivering creature, but Fatin eyed him warily. Like a babe, he’d had his nap and was ready for a romp.
“Come on, you furry excuse for breath,” Alyn ground out, shaking his cloak. He didn’t have the patience Hassan had with the creature. Not for the first time, he wondered why he’d even accepted the gift. “I didn’t have the heart to tell my friend Hassan to keep the little beast after he’d purchased it for me to remember him by,” he told Daniel. “But right now …”
Fatin scampered up a large arched trellis, swinging down under one side and up on the other, using his long, thin limbs and versatile tail.
“The East must produce some strange friends,” Daniel observed, “if you remember him like that.” The highlander reached up to the trellis and mimicked Fatin’s chatter, all the while coaxing him to the edge.
The thick door from which they’d just emerged opened without warning. Startled, Fatin fled straight into Daniel’s arms, soaking his tunic in the process. So as not to call attention to their presence in the garden, which was usually reserved for the leisure of the court ladies, Alyn and Daniel hastily stepped into the cover of the thick-vined arbor. Alyn had spent hours in this very spot, talking with his late mother’s cousin, and he was certain Gwenhyfar would be delighted to hear he’d returned from the East—but it was awkward to be found here without invitation.
A woman rushed out of the hall, her hair a wild tumble of curls the color of summer wheat. Head down, the lower half of her face covered with her hand as if to conceal her identity, she marched straight for the arbor and smack into Alyn’s chest.
“Easy, milady—”
Her shriek withered behind the press of her palm against her mouth.
Alyn placed his own hand over hers to make certain it stayed there. “You’ve nothing to fear. We’re only two guests who sought relief from the closeness of the assembly in the fresh air of the queen’s garden.”
Recognition rippled across the hazel eyes that possessed a chameleonlike quality to favor blue, green, or amber, depending on her humor and the color she wore. Today they were rimmed in blue. “Alyn O’Byrne!” Kella O’Toole gasped as he released her. “B-but when? How?”
Alyn thought he’d have known his younger foster sister anywhere. He’d watched her grow into womanhood. But when Kella backed away to collect herself, he was no longer certain. When he’d last seen her, she was pretty and ripe of figure, but today she was so stunning that his tongue turned upon itself, leaving him utterly speechless.
As if she distrusted her own eyes, Kella reached up and touched his natural hairline, where once he’d shaved it in the druidic and priestly tonsure of his station. But that seemed a lifetime ago. Now he wore his long, straight hair pulled tightly off his face with a leather thong, the rest falling down his back to his shoulders.
“You’ve got hair,” she marveled. Her lips formed the perfect rosy O he remembered.
Alyn strove to analyze what exactly was different, but the scent of her perfume assailing his nostrils dulled his thought processes, enhancing his senses and leaving them hungry for more. How could senses make no sense?
“Welcome home!” Kella threw both arms about his neck and pressed a heavenly sculpted body against his with a more familiar childlike gusto.
Her lips were intended for his fresh-shaven cheek, Alyn’s for her rosy one, but somehow his claimed hers as if following some primal order given and executed faster than his brain could process. Heat flushed through his body with an urgency he hadn’t known existed until a moment ago.
“I, too, have hair, my lady,” Daniel of Gowrys drawled. His wryness penetrated the heady cloud cover of Alyn’s brain.
Reluctant, Alyn released the delicious Kella from his embrace. Delicious? Bards used such words to describe women, as if the human species could be compared to food. Emotions were mercurial things, not to be trusted. They made great literature for poets but left a man of sciencia unimpressed with their instability.
“I … I gave up the tonsure,” Alyn stammered.
If Kella required more detail, he’d stand as if upon his tongue. Right now, she was enough reason for his doubts regarding his calling to the priesthood.
Her face as red as Alyn’s felt, Kella opened her mouth to speak, but the whatever-was-that-about? in her eyes thankfully did not find voice. Instead, she turned her attention to Daniel, who puckered his lips in sheer devilment.
She stepped back, gathering a proper huff of indignation. “Daniel of Gowrys, the High King’s dogs would think twice before kissing that bristly face.” A tug at the corner of her lips betrayed her humor. “Though it is good to see you as well,” she admitted.
“You always favored him,” Daniel chided, “over me.”
“I’ve known him—” Her gaze fell from Daniel’s face to the wet Fatin. “What is that?” she exclaimed in horror. “Are rats mated with humans to produce such creatures?”
“That,” Daniel announced, dislodging Fatin from his shirt and handing him over to Alyn, “is Alyn’s new pet monkey.”
“It’s wearing clothes.” She looked to Alyn for some kind of explanation.
Sure, her eyes could not be more round or filled with confusion. Perhaps Alyn was not the only one taken aback by the unexpected reaction resulting from their meeting.
“Fatin is a prince,” he explained. The jab of Daniel’s elbow brought home the foolishness of his reply. “That is, Fatin is a gift from an Arab prince,” Alyn added hastily. “He has a royal wardrobe.”
“He dresses better than most people I know,” Daniel put in.
Kella cut him a sidewise glance. “You might learn from the little mite.”
Alyn chuckled, relieved that his inexplicable behavior had been dismissed and the interaction of this threesome had returned to normal. “I see you two still love each other.”
“Forever and always.” Kella gave Daniel a wicked grin. “But I’d have him bathe before I greet him with a proper hug.”
Kella had always been drawn to the glamour and customs of court life—to the point that it used to irritate Alyn no end. He’d done his best to warn her that glitter did not mean gold, nor perfume cleanliness of the body or soul.
Though she shone like the purest gold right now. And her cheeks were the first of this year’s roses to bloom in the queen’s gar—
Alyn reined in his rambling thoughts, heat scorching his cheeks. First, he’d regressed to a behavior more suited to Fatin’s ancestors. Now ’twas as if Hassan’s poetic brain had overtaken his.
It wasn’t as if he’d given Kella much thought beyond that of a concerned older brother since he
’d set off for the East to further his education. He’d left behind a sweet but sometimes shallow maiden who had an ear for languages and dreams of making a noble marriage.
As Kella peered at the monkey, now balled into the folds of Alyn’s cloak, Alyn grasped for words. “His name means ‘clever,’ but I fear my friend Hassan gave it with too high a hope. The monkey just leapt into a barely thawed goldfish pond.”
Kella cautiously touched the pet. Fatin hesitantly wrapped his tiny fingers about hers. “Does he bite?” she whispered, caught between alarm and the little monkey’s charm.
“Not often,” Alyn teased.
“I’ve only heard of one death resulting from monkey bites,” Daniel chimed in.
Kella’s eyes slashed them with disdain, but her even teeth worried her bottom lip as she stroked Fatin. “The poor thing is trembling with cold.”
How could those lips taste like honeyed wine? Perhaps it lingered from the Eucharist. Alyn pulled his senses in line once again. Poetic fantasy, and annoying at that.
“Bring him into the Queen’s Tower,” Kella instructed them. “He can dry by the fire while I find out what brings home my wandering foster brother.” She grinned at Daniel. “You can come too, if you wish.”
Daniel declined. “If I’m to represent Glenarden in Arthur’s court, I’d best return.” He cut a glance at Alyn. “That is, if you two think you can control your joy at seeing each other again.”
Kella gently withdrew her finger from Fatin’s grasp. “We both turned our heads at the same time, silly,” she explained, avoiding eye contact with Alyn. “’Twas a mis-kiss, nothing more,” she added with a careless wave of her hand.
“Precisely,” Alyn chimed in. Heaven knew, he’d not intended such a reunion.
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