Epilogue

Fortingall

Early seventh century AD

While Mons Seion still slumbered in the mist-shrouded mountains of the north, to the south a rising sun made Dun Gael’s fortress glow white against a spring-blue sky. On the knoll next to it, the ancient yew seemed to yawn and stretch its green wings out like a mother hen over the banners, tents, and stalls of the fairgrounds below. ’Twas spring again.

Standing on the tower ramparts of her new home, Kella took a sip of steaming tea sweetened with honey gathered by the brethren of Heilyn’s church. Since the structures shared the same flat-headed hill, she’d awakened at the sound of its bell summoning the Brothers to morning prayers. Not that she minded. The church bells helped her keep precise track of her busy days as a master of language at the fledgling school she and Alyn had founded with King Drust’s support.

In exchange, Alyn promised to advise Drust as a merlin, working in concert with his secular adviser Beathan regarding court decisions and justice. It was an effective effort born of mutual respect with Beathan’s expertise in the old Brehon laws and Alyn’s in God’s law. And when Idwyr, who’d studied Scripture since the school opened, joined them over a cup of ale at the day’s end in Drust’s hall, Kella knew God’s mysteries would keep all three, and some of the court, awake until the wee hours.

Kella looked out with wonder over the spread of huts that housed students and masters. Had it been four years since she and her husband had come to Fortingall on their desperate mission? In some ways they’d achieved more than they ever dreamed, but in others they’d failed.

Aye, the genealogies were safe, hidden in the bowels of the holy mountain, but the Grail Church had given way to Iona’s dominion. Heilyn established her church, and Alyn’s intervention at Drust’s court prevented Arthur and Modred’s feud from erupting into an all-out war of the Scots and British kingdoms against all the Pictish nations. Many lives had been lost at the battle of Camboganna, including Arthur’s, Modred’s, and the cowardly Lorne’s, but many more had been spared.

Cassian vouched for the queen’s innocence upon his return to Strighlagh with Alyn, but the gauntlet between Arthur’s Scots and Cymri and Modred’s Miathi and Saxons had been cast and picked up. Neither priest could stop it. While a grieving Gwenhyfar saw to the transport of her husband’s body back to Carmelide, Cassian and Alyn walked together as equals on the bloody fields in the aftermath of the fighting to pray for the dead and dying.

The archbishop had been so distraught at his hand in the senseless bloodfest that he’d resigned from his post and gone into seclusion … at Iona. He didn’t question his Roman doctrine, but he wanted to learn more about his Celtic brethren. ’Twas Cassian who carved the sign over the Seion School of Wisdom’s great hall door where students and masters met for food, fellowship, and learning: Proverbs 1:7. “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge.”

The creak of the new oak door to the inner stairwell of the tower startled Kella out of reverie. She turned to see Alyn emerge, preceded by a black shot of energy in the new red jacket she’d made. Fatin scampered up on the wall and over to his favorite corner, where he promptly relieved himself. Thanks to his stay with Brenna and the recovering Daniel, he’d been broken of urinating on the cookfires. At least inside fires.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Alyn came up behind her and wrapped his arms about her waist.

They followed Fatin’s progress to the highest point on the wall, where he tried catching the fluttering white banner. Embroidered on it was a shield divided by an ornate cross. David’s harp, a quill and inkwell, a mathematical sign, and the sun occupied the quadrants.

Kella held her breath as she always did when that dear little imp frolicked so close to the brink of falling. “One of these days he’s …” She warded off thoughts of the unthinkable and leaned against her husband, drawing on his warmth, strength, and endless supply of love.

“He’s escaping the barbarian hoards who have taken over our hall below,” Alyn whispered into her ear. There was her kiss, warm upon her cheek. He always had one just for her. “The cousins are corrupting our daughter, much to Nona’s dismay.”

Their daughter, Aeda, had been born healthy and with a lusty set of lungs just before the harvest. Queen Heilyn sent the nurse Nona to help care for the babe, a godsend that enabled Kella to teach once recovered from the childbed. Brenna and Brisen arrived at Fortingall early to act as midwives and for Brisen and Egan’s wedding. After hearing more of Alyn’s teachings, Brisen had accepted Christ, and Egan’s proposal. The couple had barely finished their vows when little Aeda decided to join the party.

Both Brenna and Brisen declared Aeda’s was an easy delivery. Kella did not hold the same view. Still, that little towheaded angel had been worth the agony just to see the utter wonder and adoration on Alyn’s face when Brisen handed him his new daughter.

“’Tis like looking at her mother,” he’d said.

From what Kella had seen of the wrinkled little mite at that point, she forgave her husband’s misty-eyed babble. But wrinkled or nay, it was love at first sight for each of them.

“Aeda needs no help when it comes to mischief,” Kella reminded Alyn with a wry chuckle. She wasn’t such a doting mother that she failed to see when their child’s angelic qualities turned toward the impish. “Are our guests awake?”

Alyn’s brothers and their wives had traveled to the Fortingall fair to visit and to enroll their eldest children in Alyn’s school.

Even though Caden and Sorcha’s land of Trebold was now under Saxon rule, borders were blurred enough that the families still saw each other. Thanks to Sorcha’s Saxon upbringing and Trebold’s hospitality, the transition for her and the many Saxon refugees working the land had been tolerable, if not welcome. And for her sake and God’s, Caden had put aside his sword for a barrel tap. “Caden and I have learned to play the tune God gives us,” Sorcha had written after the invasion occurred.

“Are they awake?” Alyn snorted. “How could anyone sleep through that? Our kinsmen help Nona keep order while breaking the fast in the hall.”

Ronan and Brenna’s Conall would join the younger students, though he didn’t understand why he needed more than physical training to be a warrior king. On the other hand, Caden and Sorcha’s adopted son, Ebyn, couldn’t wait to study poetry and song with the older boys under the tutorship of Eadric, Sorcha’s cousin and master bard. Sorcha and her dwarf friend, Gemma, had already taught Ebyn to play the harp and pipe.

Then there was Conall’s younger sister, Joanna, who was vexed that she wasn’t old enough to study healing at the school, when the child lived with the best healer in all Albion—her mother, Brenna. The willful girl and Caden’s lively six-year-old daughter, Aelwyn, contented themselves to treat Aelwyn’s twin brothers, Rory and Lachlan, as their patients. The toddlings of three wore their splints and bandages like badges of honor.

As images of the chaos below gathered in her mind, guilt jarred Kella. Here was the mistress of the manor lost in the solitude of the morning instead of seeing to her guests!

“Oh, Alyn, I must get down there,” she fretted. “I am the worst hostess—”

“Our steward has reinforcements both for the meal and maintaining order,” Alyn assured her. “When I left, Daniel and Papa Egan had summoned the lot for a race. Though how the two men move about with children hanging on every limb is beyond me.”

“Da is too old for that.” Not that Kella would try to dissuade her bullheaded father. “Still, I should at least—”

Alyn grabbed her in midretreat and nipped at her ear in playful warning. “So stop casting aspersions against my good wife, for whom I thank God every day.”

Once upon a time, Kella had thought this kind of love did not exist this side of heaven … a love that her considerable imperfections could not faze. Then again, she hadn’t believed in angels, either. Now she knew better.

“Give way, Babel-Lips.” He turned her in the circle of his arms.

Kella surrendered willingly to her husband’s descending lips. How many sweet words they told her, declarations of love and devotion, worship and need.

Aye, there were still wars and rumors of wars, but here and now love prevailed.

God be thanked for this little bit of heaven here on earth.