The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (19 page)

He let them see the bright ornaments sparkling in the torchlight, then glanced at Niall, savoring the flush of pleasure on his face. “It was Niall’s art that imbued this instrument with beauty. Eth and other the workmen’s industry and generosity blessed it with grace and warmth. But the magic of the music you will hear this night comes from all of you, from this place, this land, and most of all, from your extraordinary queen.”

At last, Bridei allowed himself to seek out Dessia. He’d been vaguely aware of where she was standing, but feared that if he looked at her, he might lose his composure. Now he dared to meet her gaze, to risk his soul in the depths of her green eyes. He cleared his throat and sought to slow his thudding heart, then said, “For it was Queen Dessia’s tragic past and her triumphant defiance of her enemies that has inspired me to write this song. Her love of the land and her people that made me understand how truly fortunate I was to have found this place. Her beauty that has captured my heart.”

Dessia stared at him, looking so stricken that his mouth went dry. Was she offended? Had he been too bold? If he had, there was no hope for it now. What was done, was done. He resumed his place on the stool and lightly strummed the harp strings. The sweetness of the sound calmed him. He played a chord, and then another, and began to sing.

Dessia couldn’t move. Indeed, she could barely breathe. Bridei had said he was singing this song for her, that she had inspired him. Nay, she must not believe it, for if she did, she would want to weep. The melody was crystalline and pure. It made her think of the stream that ran through the Forest of Mist, trickling down to the still, gleaming lake. His voice rose above it, rich and vibrant, as keen as the wind through the trees. And the words were about her. They told her story, revealed her essence: Her grief and despair. Her defiance and resolve. Her dedication to restoring her home, her lands, her legacy.

Then it changed and became a love song. He described her beauty, her proud bearing, her passion. Heated blood crept to her face. From the way he sang, everyone would think he’d bedded her. And then the song changed again, and her embarrassment turned to awe. He’d made her into a magical being, a goddess. She who brings the bounty of the summer, the rich plenty of autumn, the fierceness of winter, the joyous warm of spring. And then he was singing about the land itself. Rich gleaming meadows. Glistening lakes and streams. Wild forests teeming with life. The sky, a dream of light and rainbow colors. Soft, sweet rain. And the restless energy of the sea that washed the shores of the land.

“And the great waves will wash her tears away,

The deep thunder of the surf soothe her aching heart.

Someday, borne on the fierce wind of the untamed sea

Will come a man to love her and stand beside her.”

As the last notes died away like the last sparkling drops of a cresting wave falling into the surf, Dessia stood rooted in place. She was afraid to move, almost to breathe. Bridei had sung a song that bared his heart, offering her his admiration, his loyalty, his love, his being. Offering himself. It was a gift so amazing, so unexpected, so . . . terrifying. She had no idea how to respond. What to do or say.

She was grateful when he began to sing another song, a lively melody. The mood in the hall shifted from utter stillness to a more normal atmosphere of celebration and gaiety. People began to tap their feet and sway to the music, and Dessia immediately thought it was a pity the hall was too crowded for them to be able to dance properly.

But at least the spell was broken, and she didn’t feel as if Bridei held her heart in his hands and each movement of his fingers on the harp was like a caress of her soul. She drew a deep breath and licked her dry lips and composed herself to smile at the people around her, and say, “He’s very talented. I’ve never heard the like.”

She thought the looks they gave her were searching and curious, but their responses of “Aye” and “Indeed” gave no indication if they thought it odd that she should react to Bridei’s passionate performance with such banal remarks. She silently thanked them for their discretion, and focused her gaze on Bridei. While he’d sung the first song, she’d been too embarrassed to look at him. Instead, she’d closed her eyes and concentrated on the words and the melody. But now she let herself feast her eyes upon the audacious bard.

In the dazzle of the firelight, he seemed to glow. The sleek dark sweep of his long hair shone like a raven’s wing in sunlight and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his tanned skin, giving it a silvery aura. His features and movements were so graceful that she could almost imagine him as some sort of fairy king, a magical being so fine to look upon that the very sight could steal a human’s soul and make them forget everything else. The comparison seemed very apt, for fairies were said to ensorcel their victims with beautiful music.

The first song was over, and now Bridei sang a ballad, sad and keening. She could almost hear the sighs around the hall as he told a tale of two lovers that fate kept apart. His skill was amazing. He had the ability to reach inside his listeners and touch their emotions as deftly as he plucked the strings of the harp.

Thinking of this made her wonder about her earlier reaction. She felt as if he’d declared his love for her. As if he held out his beating, vulnerable heart as an offering. But he was so gifted. It might have all been a performance. How could she ever be certain what he really felt?

The thought made her panic, and she knew she had to get away. The hall was crowded with people deeply under Bridei’s spell. In their eyes, he could do no wrong. But as queen, she dare not give so easily. She had to be canny and cautious. She had to imagine every threat. Anticipate every danger.

Half frantic, she started toward the door. People moved aside for her, their faces clearly registering puzzlement. Why was she leaving now? their expressions seemed to ask. By the time she made her way outside, she was breathing hard. She walked swiftly across the yard and tried to decide where to go. When she was a little girl and she was distressed, she would go to see the horses. Stroking the nose of one the animals, she would pour out her tale of unhappiness. Something about being close to the beautiful beasts soothed her and made her feel better.

And if it wasn’t the horses she sought out, it was one of her father’s hounds or the cats that lived near the storage shed and waited to pounce on the mice the grain attracted. Somewhere along the way she’d lost the intense connection to the animals she’d once had. She’d been too busy being queen to indulge in such simple pursuits. With dismay, she realized that Bridei was right. She’d given up many things to be Queen Dessia, ruler of the Fionnlairaos.

Conflicting emotions warred inside her. She was proud of what she accomplished, but she never felt secure . . . nor happy either. Was that simply the way life was? Dare she reach out and take what was in front of her? Bridei’s vibrant voice and stirring music promised her passion and love. But was that enough to risk everything she’d worked for? What if she allowed herself to be a woman for one night and to indulge in the satisfactions most women knew, and ended up destroying her whole life’s legacy?

It was cold outside, and the wind was chill and damp, seeping through her gown. She would have to go back soon; she would have to decide.

Although Bridei kept playing, he was simply going through the motions, singing a song he’d sung dozens of times before. As soon as he saw Dessia leave the hall, his heart was no longer engaged in what he was doing. Nay, his heart had left with her, and he felt the loss of it as a deep ache in his chest. What did her departure mean? Was she offended? Angry? Had he been too bold? Choked with anxiety, he struggled to keep singing. At last he finished the song. He forced a smile to his face and said, “I’m afraid I need a drink.”

Immediately, a half dozen people appeared holding out full cups. He took one from a plain young woman with a shy smile, and found it contained mead. Aye, he needed mead, but more than a cup. He needed enough to bring oblivion. Again, he thought of Dessia and wondered where she’d gone and what it meant. He drank slowly, aware that everyone expected him to continue performing. In the past he would have done so. In the past he would also have shrugged off having a woman walk away from him. But this wasn’t any woman, this was Dessia. She made him feel things no one else ever had. But he couldn’t go after her. Couldn’t disappoint all these people waiting to hear more songs.

He asked for another drink, and drained a second cup of mead. The potent liquid seemed to clear his head, and as it burned deep in his belly, he knew what he must do. He began another ballad and poured all his own despair and longing into it. This one was even sadder than the first, for in the end, when the young man finally returns to claim his love, he finds her dead. Stricken, the man plunges his knife into his chest.

As Bridei sang the final verse, he saw some of the women weeping openly. Aye, weep for me, he thought.
Weep for me. For if Dessia loves me not, then I, too, will want to die.
The next moment, he saw her, near the doorway. The torchlights caught the fiery brightness of her hair and cast her tall silhouette upon the wall. His heart sang with joy. She’d come back.

He celebrated with another song, this one a light, rousing tune meant for dancing. To keep the rhythm, Bridei tapped his fingers on the body of the harp. Soon people began to clap, and the whole hall seemed to vibrate. When the song was finished, he didn’t pause but immediately began another one, this one a marching song that kept them clapping. As he started the refrain, he saw two little girls making their way through the crowd. They finally reached him and stood watching with wide eyes. When he smiled at them, they grabbed each other, giggling wildly. They were both redheads, one with ruddy gold curls and the other with straight auburn hair. Looking at them, he thought of Dessia and wondered if they had a child together, if the babe would resemble one of these sweet little lasses.

Oh, my, you are far gone, aren’t you?
thought the old, cynical part of him that had always kept the world at a distance.

He finished the song, and everyone stopped clapping. For a few heartbeats, the hall was amazingly still. Then it erupted in wild cheers. Bridei stood, and with fingers that trembled slightly, placed the harp on the bench. He felt the warmth and adoration of the people wash over him. It felt good, yet different than usual. Along with pride of accomplishment, he experienced a deep sense of gratification that he’d been able to give them so much pleasure, and repay them for what they’d done for him.

As people came up to speak to him, he answered questions, showed off the harp and nodded graciously to their praises. He was aware of Dessia moving through the hall, mingling with her subjects. Now that the entertainment was over, people began to gather up their belongings and collect their children in preparation for going to bed. Bridei couldn’t help wondering where everyone was going to sleep. On a normal night, two dozen or so people slept in the hall. Tonight it would have to accommodate many more, with the rest bedding down in the stables, the barracks and what other shelters they could find.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bridei saw Penrick and Sarlic. He’d been meaning to speak with them ever since they arrived, but not under these circumstances. What he wanted to ask them must be done in private. They approached and talked with him briefly, Penrick commented on the design of his harp, which he said looked much like what Saxon performers used. Bridei managed to respond genially, despite his growing tension. He was desperate to speak to Dessia, to gaze into her eyes and see if he had a chance with her. It seemed she was avoiding him, but perhaps that was his imagination. She did have her duty as hostess. The other question looming in his mind was how they would ever manage to be alone. Would they have to find a secluded place outside the hillfort?

Finally, too restless to remain still any longer, he excused himself from the two traders and made his way through the press of people. Although he could see that many of them longed to talk to him, he kept moving, telling those few who persisted that he needed to use the midden. Once outside, he headed there quickly. As soon as he’d finished, he circled around to the cistern by the gate, moving stealthily in the darkness. He washed his hands and face, then removed his tunic and leine and splashed water on his upper body. Despite the chill of the air, he was sweating from nervousness.

He toweled off with the linen leine, then put it and his tunic back on again. After pacing the perimeter of the fortress for what seemed like an endless while, he started back to the hall.

* * *

Where was Bridei?
The question haunted Dessia’s brain as she alternately paced in the tiny open area of her bedchamber, went to the window to look out at the darkness, then paced some more. It seemed a very long time since she’d seen him depart the hall. Had he left the hillfort, vanishing into the winter’s night? It almost seemed so. But where would he go? To the lake?

She wondered if she should go after him, then realized she couldn’t. Cahermara was crammed with people who were her guests. Unlike Bridei, she had responsibilities. She couldn’t go wandering off as the mood took her. The thought aroused a stab of resentment, but it was quickly replaced by fear.
Where was he? Was he ever coming back?

Recalling his magical performance, she had the desperate thought that maybe he
was
some sort of supernatural being, and having set his spell on her, he’d vanished like a will o’ the wisp—here one moment, gone the next.