Free The Quest for Saint Camber by Katherine Kurtz Page B

humiliation and anguish. It had not been pleasant. Kelson himself was yet a virgin, for a variety of tiresome but practical reasons that seemed valid to him, as king, but occasionally he had wondered, since that night, whether the intense psychic experience of reliving Janniver’s ordeal would unman him when the time came for his own sexual initiation. He had been taught to believe that rape and the act of love were as different as night and day, but until he knew for certain, from his own experience, his imagination sometimes inspired far more apprehension than confidence.
    That Rothana had been the one to trigger that apprehension made Kelson even more wary where she was concerned—especially since it was her shadow-face and form that occasionally intruded, all unbidden, on the increasingly erotic fantasies that he, like most eighteen-year-old males, experienced in his dreams. There were other faces, to be sure, but none whom he could identify as living, breathing women.
    That only made the apprehension even more concrete, for Rothana was a living, breathing woman—and vowed to God. Despite that avowal, something more frighteningly personal and intense than the violence of Janniver’s rape had also surged across their brief psychic link. Both of them had been denying it all winter, with only indifferent success, neither willing to admit or accept that the attraction was mutual.
    â€œGood afternoon, Kelson,” Meraude said, she and both girls rising to make him dutiful curtsies as Kelson and his companions approached—though Rothana kept her dark eyes primly averted to the scroll she had been reading, as was seemly for a female religious in the presence of three virile young men just coming into their prime. Janniver dared a glance at them, but she blushed prettily and retreated all in a fluster when Jatham eased a little closer to his master’s side—and to her—and tried, unsuccessfully, to keep from smiling.
    â€œWhy, Aunt Meraude, what a pleasant surprise,” Kelson said, suddenly aware of the chemistry between his soon-to-be ex-squire and the princess and making an effort to be courtly, despite the ache behind his eyes. “Pray, ladies, be seated. I see that the spring sunshine has brought out the flowers.”
    His frankly appreciative survey of the three of them left no doubt that he was not talking about flowers that grew in the castle gardens beyond.
    â€œWhy, here’s a fair rose of Rhenndall,” he went on, with a bow flourished in Meraude’s direction, “and Mary bells, to honor our Blessed Lady.” He gave restrained and proper salute to Rothana’s pale blue habit. “And surely here is a golden jonquil, Princess, unless I disremember all my lessons in botany. Dhugal, have you ever seen fairer blossoms? Or you, Jatham?”
    As a blushing Janniver ducked her head and fumbled for a hank of yarn in her embroidery basket, Jatham knelt to retrieve one that tumbled from her lap.
    â€œNever, Sire,” he breathed. “’Tis the loveliest bouquet that I have ever seen.”
    â€œWhy, my lords, you shall turn our heads with such flattery,” Meraude scolded, though she could not keep the mirth from her eyes. “Besides, ’tis far too early for most flowers.”
    â€œBut not too early,” Rothana said, lifting her eyes boldly to Kelson’s, “to ask His Majesty about the greenery for the basilica tomorrow. May I speak with you for a moment in private, Sire?” she continued, touching his sleeve as she brushed past to lead him away from the others. “Please to come into the next window with me and look into the garden, where I may point out what might be useful. At this time of year, the possibilities are somewhat limited, but there are a few that might suit. After all, it is not fitting that young men should keep their knight’s vigil before an unadorned altar.”
    She had said all in a low voice, so