The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (45 page)

He took a deep breath. “When I was a slave, I was forced to submit to the man who bought me. I knew the horror of being forced against my will. I understood then what a terrible thing I’d done.”

Dessia was stunned.  At one time she would have thought she could never care for a man capable of doing something as vile as rape.  But Bridei hadn’t really been a man when he’d forced that young woman, and he’d obviously paid bitterly for what he’d done.  Most importantly, he changed.  The man standing before her wasn’t that cold, selfish youth any longer, but a man who’d risked his life for her sake.   

She saw him watching her with an anxious expression. He feared she would despise him for what he’d done, as his father had.   She said, “It was a long time ago.  And I think you clearly learned your lesson.”

 He nodded.  “I can’t take back what happened, but I’ve never forced a woman since.  If a woman says no, or even acts reluctant, I leave her be.  I know exactly how horrible and degrading it feels to be coerced.” 

Again, his face spasmed with pain, and Dessia felt a stab of sympathy.  “I can scarcely imagine the despair and anger you must have felt when you were a slave. I don’t know if I could have endured what you did. When I was in O’Bannon’s prison, I thought about what I would do if he tried to rape me. At the time, not knowing I was carrying your babe, I’d made up my mind I’d rather die than submit to him. But you . . . you didn’t die. You survived, and eventually got your revenge. You didn’t let what happened crush you.  How can you think your father will still be angry with you? He has only to look at you to see a man who endured terrible things and yet triumphed.”

“I’m not certain he’ll see it that way,” said Bridei. “Especially since I’m never going to tell him what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

He was on the verge of answering when Senewyr arrived with several other men. They carried blankets, a tray of food, water for washing and a brazier. After the men left, Bridei and Dessia washed, arranged the blankets in a kind of bed near the glowing brazier, then sat down at the table to eat. They quickly consumed the cold roast fowl and bread, washing it done with wine the men had brought.

When they’d finished, Bridei sat back and said, “I’m very tired. I think I’d better lie down before I fall off the stool.”

“Lie down if you will,” said Dessia, “but I insist you answer my question before you sleep.”

“What question is that?”

“You said you’re never going to tell your father that you were enslaved. I don’t understand that. Why shouldn’t he know what his actions cost you?”

Bridei rose. “I never want to speak of that part of life again, especially not with him.”

“But if he doesn’t know how you suffered, how his actions hurt you, he’ll never understand who you are and how much you’ve changed.”

Bridei shrugged. “So be it. I have no desire to have him know what I endured. It’s too . . . humiliating.”

“I suppose I can understand that. But it doesn’t seem quite right he’ll never realize how much his actions hurt you, even if it was unintentional.”

“I don’t care,” said Bridei. “I don’t want him to learn that I was a slave, and not only a slave, but a rich merchant’s catamite.” He grimaced as he used the Latin word for a young male kept for sexual purposes. Dessia wouldn’t know the word, but she would guess the meaning.

“Your secret is safe with me,” said Dessia, her voice low and gentle.

He turned to her, searching her face in the firelight. “Does knowing these things about me . . . does it change how you see me?”

“If anything, it makes you all the more dear to me. When you first came to Cahermara, you appeared so confident, so certain you were irresistible. But now that I know you have doubts and fears, and regret things you’ve done, you seem even more appealing. I know you’re a man, not some beautiful god-like creature I must be wary of.”

“God-like!” Bridei gave a hoot of laughter. “You thought I was god-like?”

“Well, your appearance at least.” She made an embarrassed gesture. “You know all those tales where a god visits a human household to test them, to see if they behave with nobility and honesty? Well, the thought did cross my mind that you might be someone . . . something like that. You were so beautiful. I’d never seen a man like you, so unscarred . . . so perfect.”

He strode over to her, grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. “When first saw you in the hall at Cahermara, I thought I’d never seen a more magnificent woman. I’d known many beautiful women, but none of them were queens. And none of them looked as if they would be formidable on the battlefield.”

“You liked that about me? That I’ve fought beside warriors? That I’ve killed men in combat?”

“It’s not so much that you did such things, as the reason for it. I was impressed that you believed so powerfully in your dream. That you endured what you did as a girl and went on to reclaim your lands and rebuild Cahermara.”

“Which I’ve since lost,” Dessia said bitterly. “I’m not so brave and magnificent now. I’m a queen without subjects or lands.”

“Ah, but you’ll always be queen to me,” Bridei whispered. He pulled her close and kissed her.

The heat built between them until they both drew back. Dessia gazed at him thoughtfully. “You said you were very tired.”

“Not
that
tired,” he said smiling.

They both hurried to undress. After taking off his cloak, Bridei found himself shivering. “The brazier doesn’t help much, does it?”

“Nay.”

He gave her a meaningful look. “There’s really no need to take everything off.”

“I suppose not,” she agreed.

Bridei unfastened the tie of his trews and let them drop. When he looked over, Dessia had lain down on the makeshift bed, still wearing her gown. As he drew near, she slowly raised the garment. Bridei’s breathing quickened as he gazed at the beautiful image before him: long, creamy-skinned legs, curving hips, the vivid red triangle of maidenhair. Part of him longed to take time to fondle and caress her. To kiss the sweet, tender flesh between her thighs. But at this moment, he felt he would burst if he didn’t enter her. Glancing at her flushed face and slitted eyes he guessed she felt much the same.

He positioned himself over her. She slid her legs apart, welcoming him as he thrust deep. “Uhhh,” he groaned. “I won’t last long.”

“There’s . . . really . . . no need . . . to last . . .” she gasped back, then let out a hoarse cry as the passion broke over them, as wild and tumultuous as the churning sea.

As the raft neared the shore, Bridei motioned toward the fortress on the hills above them. “There it is—Deganwy.” Dessia stared at the stone walls of the hillfort, glowing pale gold in the fading sunlight, and a wave of relief rushed through her. It had been a long journey here, nearly two days of riding, as well as a boat ride across the straits between Mona and the mainland and now having to cross this river.

Reaching the other side, they climbed off the raft and waited for the other vessel carrying their horses to dock. At last their horses arrived and they were mounted. They followed the winding trackway along the coast—edged with gorse and hawthorn—then made their way up into the hills. Finally, they reached the grassy slopes at the bottom of Deganwy Hill. Gazing up at the massive stone hillfort, Dessia felt a shiver of apprehension. The fortress looked so forbidding, perhaps reflecting the nature of the man who’d built it.

Dismounting, they led the horses up the path that wound around the hillside up to the entrance of the fortress. When they reached the timber gate, it was already closed. Bridei called up to the watchtower. The guard responded, and there was a long exchange.

“What’s happening?” Dessia asked Bridei. “Doesn’t the guard believe it’s really you?”

“I haven’t told him who I am,” Bridei said. “I merely said I was a traveling bard”

“Why don’t you tell them you’re Maelgwn’s son? Are you still afraid your father won’t be glad to see you?”

“It’s bound to be a shock to have me come back after all these years. I thought I would wait until they’ve had a chance to know me before I told them who I really am.”

Bridei truly dreaded confronting his father and meant to put it off as long as possible. But Dessia didn’t think he’d get away with it. “You don’t think they’ll recognize you?” she asked. “If Senewyr knew you by torchlight, your own family is bound to guess who you are as soon as they see you.”

“Maybe there’s a way we can avoid seeing anyone but the guard and a few servants tonight. I’ll say I’m very tired and would rather not perform tonight. It’s hardly a lie. It’s been a very long journey.”

Although the idea of going directly to a bedchamber sounded wonderful, Dessia still doubted that Bridei would be able to avoid greeting their host.

They could hear the guard making his way down the ladder from the watchtower. As he reached the bottom, he spoke to someone. A moment later, the wooden gate creaked open, and they rode into the fortress.

Ahead was a sprawling timber structure Dessia guessed must be the hall and the main living quarters. One of the well-armed guards closed the gate behind them. The other spoke to Bridei.

As Dessia drew near, Bridei said in Irish, “I tried to beg off going to the hall tonight, but these men insist we must join the chieftain and his wife for the evening meal.”

“They didn’t recognize you? she asked.

“Nay. I think the beard helps, not to mention that it’s been nearly ten years since I’ve seen either of them.”

“You know these men?” asked Dessia.

“Aye. They’re older looking, of course, but still recognizable.”

One of the men gestured. Bridei nodded, then said to Dessia, “I guess we can’t delay any longer.”

Dessia felt a surge of sympathy for Bridei. Grasping his arm, she said. “I’m right beside you.”

They started after the younger guard, leaving the older one to climb back up to the gatetower. As they neared the entrance of the feast hall, Dessia’s heart began to pound. The cavernous room was full of people eating. A least three dozen adults and another dozen children sat on benches pushed up to the long wooden tables. Glancing beyond them, Dessia saw the banner of a dragon hanging on the far wall, gold emblazoned on dark red. Halting, she gasped aloud.

Bridei leaned near. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The banner,” she said. “I’ve seen it before . . . in a vision.” She felt a sense of wonder as she recalled how the banner had appeared behind Bridei when he first stood before her in the hall at Cahermara. She laughed weakly. “It must be destiny that I come here.”

“Of course it is,” said Bridei, smiling. Taking her arm, he led her forward.

At the back of the hall, beneath the banner, was a table on a raised platform. Seated at the table was tallest man Dessia had ever seen. His hair and beard were black streaked with silver. When he raised his gaze to stare at them, she saw he had deep-set blue eyes. Sitting next to Maelgwn was the Lady Rhiannon. She seemed tiny compared to her husband. Her russet hair was also threaded with white, but her face seemed ageless, her features delicate and perfect. After a glance at the visitors, she gestured for a servant. She spoke quietly to the woman, most likely telling her to bring food for the unexpected guests. Then she resumed eating.

Meanwhile, Maelgwn was staring hard at Bridei. The king motioned to the guard who’d escorted them in and spoke in a deep, rumbling voice. The guard answered, looking uneasy. Maelgwn’s gaze snapped back to Bridei. Dessia couldn’t tell exactly what Bridei said in response, but she knew he hadn’t given his name.

The next moment, Lady Rhiannon looked up. She studied Bridei for a moment, then a stunned expression came over her face. She stood, swaying slightly, and said something to her husband. Maelgwn shook his head, his tone short. But Lady Rhiannon clearly knew who was standing before them. Her luminous eyes fixed on Bridei. Her chest heaved slightly. Then she smiled, her lovely face radiant. “Bridei,” she said.

Bridei whispered a word that even Dessia could tell was “mother,” then made a choked sound—half laugh, half sob. His mother moved with amazing quickness. Two heartbeats and she was off the dais and embracing Bridei. She held him tight for a long while. When she released her son, her face was wet with tears. Bridei’s eyes also glistened, although he appeared stunned as much as anything.

Still grasping Bridei’s hand, the Lady Rhiannon spoke to the people gathered, clearly announcing who he was. In moments, a petite dark-haired woman and two boys with reddish tresses appeared at her side. Bridei gazed at them in amazement, while they stared back at him. As Lady Rhiannon introduced the three young people to Bridei, it struck Dessia all at once: These were Bridei’s siblings, his sister and twin brothers. The young woman had Rhiannon’s fine-boned grace, while the two boys were tall and lanky like Maelgwn. But something in all of their smiles reminded Dessia of Bridei . . . and Lady Rhiannon.

Bridei hugged his sister, then shook the hands of his brothers. The slight awkwardness of their greeting reminded Dessia that these youths would have been little more than babes when Bridei left Deganwy. They could not remember him.

As she was having these thoughts, Dessia looked at Maelgwn, wondering at his reaction. She was startled by the wary, cold expression on his face. Her insides squeezed with dismay. Although she hadn’t thought it possible, it appeared Maelgwn hadn’t forgiven his son. A fierce anger overtook her. She wished she spoke Cymry. Then she would tell the great king everything Bridei had endured, and chide Maelgwn for his cruelty in sending his young son away to fend for himself!