The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (10 page)

“Don’t be foolish,” said Cori. “Harps are very expensive, the sort of thing you have to pay for in gold.”

“How difficult are they to make?” asked Eth.

“It depends on the harp,” Bridei answered. “The kind of harp I’m used to playing takes years to make.” He thought of his beloved instrument, with its elegant triangular shape and intricately-carved frame of lime and ashwood. “Such an instrument is beyond the skill of anyone but a master craftsman. But I’ve also used a much less complex kind of harp called a lyre. It only has six strings and is made of one kind of hardwood. Then you would need bronze or iron for the pins and gut or bronze for the strings.”

Eth nodded. “I might be able to find a piece of wood and shape it. But you’d need a smith to make the pins.”

“I’m certain Niall would be willing to make them,” suggested Cori. “At least if he knew what it was for. The few times we’ve had a
filidh
come to visit, he’s enjoyed their performances as much as anyone.”

“And next time a steer or pig is butchered, you could have Cook save back the entrails,” Eth added.

“That might mean she would make fewer sausages,” said Cori, grinning.

“I’d willingly give up a few sausages to hear Bridei play the harp,” Eth responded.

Bridei couldn’t help smiling at the farmboy’s serious expression. Although he’d brought up the idea of making a harp half derisively, the men’s obvious enthusiasm for the project made him consider that it might truly be possible to make some sort of simple instrument. Even a primitive harp would be better than none at all. Besides, all this focus on his musical ability might force Queen Dessia to relent and let him perform, instead of breaking rocks.

“The frame’s the main thing,” he said. “You need a good-sized piece of hardwood. Ash preferably. I can show you the size and shape to cut it. You’ll need two pieces glued together . . .”

* * *

Dessia gazed out the tower window. From this vantage point, she could just barely make out the four men who were supposed to be building the stone wall guarding Cahermara. Instead of working, they were gathered around Bridei ap Maelgwn. She could see him gesturing, while the rest of the men watched with rapt attention. She gritted her teeth, then muttered, “I thought at least my workmen would be safe from his charm. But, nay, they’ve fallen under his spell the same as everyone else.”

“Milady, did you say something?” Aife asked from behind her.

“’Twas nothing,” Dessia responded.

“Did you hear Bridei singing?” asked Aife. “He has a wonderful voice, doesn’t he?”

“Aye,” Dessia admitted grudgingly.

“Perhaps you could have him could sing in the hall some evening. After he’s finished his other duties.”

The serving maid’s wistful tone sparked a pang of regret in Dessia’s chest. It seemed very harsh to refuse Aife’s request. Especially since her main reason for refusing to let Bridei perform was that she feared being in the same room with him. Against her will, her mind strayed to the memory of him kissing and fondling her. Merely the thought of that passionate embrace made her knees grow weak. It had been as if they were made for each other . . . their bodies fitting together like two halves of a whole.

As if to remind her of his compelling charm, Bridei began singing again. Dessia looked out the window and saw he was working as he sang, swinging the hammer in rhythm to the song. This was a much simpler song than the first, but his voice was still compelling. Listening to him, she started to weaken.

Such talent was a gift, and it seemed unfair to deny her people the benefit of it. For a few moments she wavered, then another thought came to her. What if her people were so charmed by Bridei that they grew complacent? If they became less vigilant, it might be exactly the opening her enemies needed. Indeed, rather than spying, that might be Bridei’s purpose here. He might have been sent by her enemies to distract her from her goals.

The thought horrified her, especially when she considered how close she’d come to giving in. The one kiss they’d shared had weakened her to the point where she’d nearly lost control. She must never let Bridei get that close again. To have him around, even as a laborer, was too risky. She must find a way to be rid of him.

The chief obstacle to sending him away was the fear he would go to her enemies and betray her secrets. But what if she found some other means of being rid of him? There should be a least one more trading party coming to visit before winter set in. Maybe she could pay them to take Bridei far away from Ireland. It would require gold she was loath to part with, but it might be worth it. Even if Bridei eventually made his way back to Ireland and had contact with her enemies, it wouldn’t be until next spring. By then, the stone wall would be finished—she hoped—and they would be in a better position to fend off attack.

She had only to wait until the traders came . . . and keep her resolve from wavering in the meantime. It seemed wrong to force Bridei to go with the traders. But she had no choice. She had to be rid of him somehow. Of course, there was the possibility he wasn’t a spy. If that were true, then she’d be doing him a grave injustice. Her actions would be almost as loathsome as the slavers who’d brought him to this place. But she couldn’t think about that. She had to be strong and consider what was best for her people.

She turned away from the window. Let Bridei ap Maelgwn sing his heart out. And let her people enjoy it. But he would have to do so while he worked. She wouldn’t relent and let him perform in the hall. That would imply she’d accepted him as part of her household, and then her plan to send him away against his will would seem even more despicable.

* * *

The next day when he went out to the work area, Bridei found the other men gathered around Eth. Eth held out a flat piece of wood. “Will this do for making a harp?”

Bridei stared at him. He hadn’t thought they would take him seriously, nor act so quickly. “Aye, it will work,” he said after examining the wood.

Eth beamed. “We’ll start tonight.” When Bridei raised his brows in surprise, Eth added, “We can’t work on it during the day because we’re busy building the wall for the queen.”

“What about going home to help your family?” Bridei asked. Unlike the other workmen, Eth didn’t sleep in the barracks but returned to his father’s farm every night.

“I’ve talked to them, and they’ve agreed this is more important.”

Bridei raised his brows again. For a poor farmer to consider building a harp more important than having his son help with the chores was rather amazing.

Bridei resumed his task of breaking rocks. After a moment he cast a glance up at the tower. Queen Dessia had sought to keep him from plying his trade as a bard. Wouldn’t she be surprised when he gave his first performance using a harp her people had made? Of course, there was much to do before that happened. Despite what he’d said, he wasn’t entirely convinced Eth and the other men could build a decent-sounding harp. But for them to even attempt it was a contradiction of Dessia’s wishes.

Bridei wondered what she’d do when she found out what was going on. Would she take the harp away? Or would she give in gracefully and accept his natural role as a performer? He’d decided he would tell her he was willing to keep working on the stone wall during the day and perform in the hall in the evenings. That way she couldn’t say he wasn’t useful to her.

A sigh escaped his lips. He was behaving like fool. Staying here when there were so many other opportunities out there. Households where he’d be treated like a prince and have a dozen women vying to warm his bed. But try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself to leave.

He paused in breaking rocks and surveyed the hillfort with its partially finished defenses and the rich lands surrounding it. Part of the reason he stayed was the sense the gods had sent him here for a purpose. There did seem to be an aura of destiny surrounding Cahermara. The eerily beautiful lake and the enchanted forest that seemed to guard it. And even Queen Dessia herself. The miraculous way she’d survived when the rest of her family perished. Recalling the vision he’d seen of her as a girl, he felt a sense of foreboding. His first Seeing . . . and it had been of Dessia.

“Bridei?”

He looked up to see Nally watching him with a bemused expression.

“I vow, you’re acting more witless than Eth today. Don’t tell me some wench has caught your fancy. That’s what that blank, sheep-eyed look usually means. I wouldn’t think a man like you would succumb to such nonsense.”

Bridei forced himself to laugh heartily. “In a way, you’re right about me being a lovelorn fool. I was thinking about the harp the men are making. I can hardly wait to get my hands on the sweet beauty. I’ve been without the pleasure for so long.”

“Well, you can drool over your paramour at night while they’re working on her. For now, you need to keep to the task at hand. The weather’s been mostly clear for a fortnight, but that won’t last. In the meantime, we have to get as much done as possible.”

“Understood,” Bridei answered as he took his place at the mixing cauldron and began stirring the sand, lime and water that formed the mortar.

* * *

Aife entered the tower chamber and came to stand in front of Dessia. “Milady. You asked to speak to me.”

Dessia struggled with how to phrase what she was asking of her maidservant. It was embarrassing to request that Aife spy on Dessia’s own people. But she knew no other way to find out what was going on with Bridei and the other workmen. “I would like you to go to the barracks where the workmen sleep,” Dessia said. “Tonight after they’ve eaten their evening meal. I want you to find out what they’re up to.”

“But why? What do you suspect them of doing?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m sending you to find out.”

Aife’s expression was puzzled, then her gaze snapped back to Dessia’s. “It’s the visitor, isn’t it? The man named Bridei. You want me to find out if he’s a spy.”

“Even if he is, I doubt he would be so foolish as to reveal himself. Nay, what I want to know is how he and the other men spend their evenings.”

“Why?” Aife looked even more perplexed.

“I’ve seen them gathered together on the work site, deep in conversation. I want to know what they’re talking about. I don’t really think they’re planning anything evil or treacherous, I’m just curious as to what they’re up to.”

“But how shall I explain what I’m doing there?”

Dessia wanted to roll her eyes but didn’t. Part of the reason she liked Aife was that she was so guileless and sweet. But in this instance, her forthright innocence was a disadvantage.

Dessia searched her mind for a plausible reason for sending Aife to the barracks. “Tell them that Cook has made a special treat for them. Say she prepared it on my orders . . . because I’ve been so impressed with their progress.” Not true. She was certain they would have made much greater progress if Bridei hadn’t distracted them with whatever scheme he’d involved them in.

Dessia motioned to Aife. “Go to the kitchen and ask Doona to make some honey cakes. Then tonight, when the cakes are finished, take them to the workmen. Linger while they eat and report back to me, both on what they were doing when you entered the barracks and their conversation while they ate.”

“Honey cakes will make them thirsty,” Aife pointed out. “Perhaps I should take them something to drink as well.”

“And excellent idea,” Dessia responded. She needed to loosen the men’s tongues and make them relax. Water wouldn’t fit the purpose, while mead might be too strong—she didn’t want them to wake up the next day with aching heads. There was a bit of wine left over from last summer. She usually saved it for visitors, but at this time of the year the only people likely to travel to Cahermara were traders from across the sea, and she could purchase more wine from them.

“There’s some wine in the root cellar,” she told Aife. “Have one of the kitchen boys bring it up. But the men shouldn’t have too much. A cup apiece should suffice.”

“That’s a lot to carry,” Aife said.

“Aye, it is,” Dessia agreed. For a moment she entertained the idea of helping Aife transport the food and drink. It was tantalizing to contemplate seeing Bridei up close again. But that would defeat the purpose of her plan. If she were around, the men wouldn’t talk freely.

“Have one of the kitchen boys carry the wine in a ewer while you carry the cups and honey cakes in a basket.” Dessia gazed at Aife, waiting for her to broach the next problem.

“Could the honey cakes be made with nuts?” Aife asked.

“I don’t see why not. Now go. We don’t want to wait until the last minute to tell Cook.”

As Aife left, Dessia mused that she’d never realized Aife fancied nuts. Indeed, there was probably much she didn’t know about the serving girl, or the other people of Cahermara either. They served her eagerly, but saw her as apart and above them. It made life quite lonely sometimes. It would be nice to have a companion of her own status, someone to share her thoughts with. The traitorous idea crept into her mind that Bridei ap Maelgwn would be more than willing to serve as her confidante and “friend”. She gritted her teeth at the thought.

* * *

Dessia paced in the tower room, her body taut with tension. It seemed like hours since she’d watched Aife and the auburn-haired kitchen boy crossing the yard on their way to the workmen’s barracks. She envisioned the men sitting around eating honey cakes and drinking wine. Bridei’s blue eyes would sparkle and he would make jests and flirt with Aife, then laugh in that rich, musical voice of his.