“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.
Stop it! This is ridiculous! You can’t be jealous of a serving girl!
She went back to the window and peered down into the deepening twilight. A moment later, she heard the door open. Aife burst in, her face flushed and her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I know what they’re doing! They’re making Bridei a harp!”
“What?” Dessia exclaimed. “What do you mean they’re building him a harp?”
“You should see it! They’ve gotten a lot done already. Eth has cut the frame and is working on the part called the tail. Niall is making pins to hold the strings in place, and Cook has saved back some gut that when dried will make the strings. Bridei says the instrument will have limited range,
in that it only has six strings. But ‘twill be better than nothing.” The sparkle faded from Aife’s eyes. “You look angry. What’s wrong?”
“I was very clear with Bridei ap Maelgwn. I told him soon after he arrived that I didn’t need, nor want, a bard in my household. The man not only ignored my wishes but cajoled and manipulated the other workmen into subverting my will.”
“But why don’t you want him to perform for us? He could do it in the evening, when it’s too dark for the men to work on the wall. What would it hurt to have him sing a few songs?”
Dessia turned away from the maidservant. There was no way she could tell Aife that she feared if she listened to Bridei perform, she would fall utterly under his spell. But she had to give some sort of explanation. Perhaps a partial truth would suffice.
She turned back to face Aife. “I’ve accomplished a great deal these past ten years. I’ve fought off my enemies, reclaimed my family’s lands and rebuilt my home. I’ve done those things by being single-minded and determined, and letting nothing distract me from my goal. Bridei ap Maelgwn threatens all of that. I worry he will entice us with his tales and cause us forget our ultimate goal, which is to make Cahermara so strong and formidable it can never be attacked.”
“I don’t think any of us are so foolish or weak-witted that we will suddenly shirk our responsibilities if we have a little entertainment and pleasure in our lives,” said Aife. “Indeed, I think it would make most people work all the harder during the day, knowing they have something to look forward to in the evenings.” Aife’s voice grew pleading. “Please. At least give him a chance. Let him perform at least one time when the harp is finished.”
Dessia sighed. “I can’t fight all of you. When the harp is finished, he may perform.”
Chapter 8
This was absurd, Dessia thought as she walked toward the workmen’s barracks. The whole fortress was her domain. She had the right to access any part of it. Yet her heart was fluttering in her chest as if she were a young girl spying on her elders. She paused just outside the door and sought to regain her composure. Then she entered the long, low building.
The men, including Bridei, were all seated around Eth. On his lap, Eth cradled an oblong piece of wood. With one big beefy hand he was doing something to the top of the object. The men were all watching him, their attention so firmly fixed on him that no one noticed her entrance.
Dessia cleared her throat and all the men looked at her. They got to their feet, their expressions startled and slightly shamefaced. All except Bridei. He stood with maddening slowness, like a cat languidly stretching.
“Milady. We didn’t expect this pleasure.” Bridei’s violet blue eyes bored into her, making her feel breathless.
“I wanted to see how the harp was coming,” she said, trying to sound crisp and matter-of-fact.
Eth stepped forward, holding out the wooden object with reverence. “See, Milady.”
“It looks like no harp I’ve ever seen,” she said.
Bridei moved closer to her. The sheer impact of his physical presence affected her so strongly she almost pulled back. “It’s a lyre harp,” he answered in his rich, well-modulated voice. “They’re common in Gaul and among the Saxon tribes.” He took the harp from Eth and gestured as he spoke. “The strings, once they’re ready, will be attached to these pins, and to this small tailpiece below. The musician strums across them like this, and the sound resonates down through the frame, which is hollow inside.”
“And you showed them how to make this?”
“Aye. It’s a bit crude compared to the instruments I’m used to.” He flashed a reassuring smile at Eth. “But I think it will have a decent sound. We have to wait for the gut for the strings to cure, and then we’ll know.”
“How long will that take?” Despite herself, Dessia was fascinated. It seemed almost magical that a piece of wood, metal pins and some pieces of cowgut could be made into a musical instrument.
Bridei shrugged. “A week or two.”
“That will give Niall time to finish the adornment,” said Eth, taking the half-made harp back from Bridei.
“Adornment?” asked Dessia.
“Aye. He’s making some metal decorations for the harp. The bits of metal will go here and here.” With his big fingers, Eth gestured to the top of the harp and to a place below where the strings would be attached.
“And where is the metal for these decorations coming from?” Dessia gave Bridei a searching look. “I assumed the slavers had seized all your possessions.”
“I had nothing but the clothes on my back when they dragged me onto their boat.”
“So, where is this precious metal coming from?” she persisted.
“You’ll have to ask Niall.”
His manner was cool, almost disdainful. Dessia felt a surge of anger. “Aye, I’ll do that.” Straightening her shoulders, she left the barracks.
The whole experience unnerved her. She felt as if Bridei had somehow taken over her household. He was the one they listened to, rather than her. He was the one who made decisions about what her people would do and how they would spend their time. If it had been anyone else involved but simple Eth, she’d have put a stop to all of it. But it seemed cruel to take away the young man’s dream. How his eyes had glowed as he spoke of the harp, transforming his broad, plain face. And the other men were clearly keen on the project as well. Even level-headed, solid Nally seemed enthused about the harp.
The thought aroused a new sense of irritation in Dessia. Her only hope was Niall. She’d explain to the smith that she couldn’t afford for him to spend his time on something so frivolous. She needed him to make tools and weapons, not decorations for a harp. And then there was a matter of the metal involved. Metal was too precious to squander on ornamentation. She’d make herself clear. There was probably nothing she could do about the harp itself, since it was nearly finished. But she would be very plain about this bit of nonsense.
The smith was one of the few individuals who had their own dwelling inside the fortress walls. As she approached, she saw it was dark. The smith and his wife must have gone to bed. She turned away with a sigh. The conversation would have to wait until the morrow.
* * *
That night she dreamed again of her escape from the burning fortress of Cahermara. But this time it wasn’t a cat that led her to safety but Bridei. When he appeared he was carrying a harp over his shoulder. He smiled and beckoned. She followed after him. The next thing she knew they were on a hillside, and Bridei was seated on the ground. He settled the harp in front of himself, set his fingers to the strings and began to sing.
She woke feeling chilled and uneasy, wondering if there was a message in the dream. If it meant she was supposed to trust Bridei and let him stay. But the thought didn’t sway her from her plan of talking to the smith. As soon as she was dressed and Aife had fixed her hair, she set out for Niall’s workshop.
Entering, she saw the smith was making a sword, vigorously pounding the heated metal of the blade. The sight relieved her. The smith hadn’t abandoned his duties. But there was still the matter of the metal he was using for the harp.
Niall looked up and saw her. He nodded, then said, “Let me finish this. It takes a long time to get the metal to the right temperature.”
She waited while he worked the blade with swift, skillful blows of the hammer. He wore no tunic and the muscles in his massive shoulders and arms rippled and flexed as he worked. She admired the power exhibited by his body and at the same time thought of Bridei and how he’d looked without his tunic. He was much more finely made than the smith, his muscles much less massive. But he was still strong. She recalled the implacable feel of his arms as he pinned her against his body while they were at the lake. She also recalled the feel of his manhood pressing against her buttocks. The memory caused a shiver of desire to course through her.
She jerked her attention back to the smith. After a few moments, he held up the sword blade with his tongs. The tip wa
s sleek and pointed, the edges, thin, sharp and deadly. She murmured her approval, then watched as he plunged the sword blade into a tub of water to cool it.
“Is it finished?” she asked.
“Nay. It must be reheated several more times until it’s hard and strong enough to tolerate use in battle.”
“I’m glad to see you’re working on a sword,” she said. “We can always use more weapons.”
He didn’t respond, merely cocked a sandy brow, clearly wondering why she was there.
She said, “The men are making a harp for the man the slavers left. They told me you were fashioning some metal pieces to adorn it.”
“That’s true,” he answered.
“Where did you get the metal?” She hated the accusing sound of her voice. But metal was something that had to be purchased from the traders. By rights all the raw material Niall used in his work belonged to her.
The smith shrugged. “I had a few odds and ends lying around.”
Why did everyone act as if the harp was none of her business? It was very aggravating. “Have you gotten very far on the decoration?”
Niall shrugged again. “A fair piece.”
Dessia took a deep breath, striving for calm. “May I see what you’ve done?”
Niall went to the back of the shop, then came back a moment later and held out his hand.
“That’s not bronze! That’s gold!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe this! How dare you use up our small store of costly metal for this! You’re going to have to melt it down. I won’t allow my gold to be used for such a purpose!”
“It’s not your gold,” said Niall.
“Where did it come from? Nay, don’t bother answering!” she snapped, jerking her head towards the workmen’s barracks. “I’m certain I know where it came from. That lying wretch Bridei had it. Well, perhaps you should consider how he came by it.” She pointed to the delicate piece of metalwork. “The gold in that undoubtedly represents payment from one of our enemies. Can’t you see what’s going on? They’ve hired Bridei to spy on us. And you’ve all fallen right into their trap.” She let out a hiss of exasperation.
The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) Page 8