His words got the reaction he’d intended. Her beautiful green eyes flashed with fury and for a moment, he thought she would strike him. Then she recovered herself and turned and stalked away, disdain and rage visible in every step. “Find your own way back, Bridei ap Maelgwn,” she called out. “If you can.”
Dessia could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her breath came in choking sobs. Her stomach churned with an excruciating mix of emotions. He’d hurt her. And he’d done it deliberately, which it made even worse. But that wasn’t all of it. She had a nagging sense he’d done it because she’d hurt him. He’d been speaking with her honestly and she’d responded with sarcasm and scorn. Why had she done that? Was it because she couldn’t bear to think he might truly care about her?
She trudged on miserably. The forest had turned dark and gloomy. The rain poured down.
Chapter 11
Bridei was working on his usual task of breaking rocks when he saw Eth and Usan had quit their work and were watching three men approach the hillfort. Two of the men wore heavy packs while the third pushed a hand cart. Since they were arriving from the east, the direction of the sea, Bridei could easily guess they were traders. His presumption was confirmed when Eth grinned broadly and said, “The traders are here. Now we can have a celebration and you can play the harp!”
“I’m not certain it’s ready,” Bridei said. Seeing Eth’s face fall, he added, “Perhaps I should go and look at it.”
By the time Bridei had gathered up his tools and washed in the cistern, there was no sign of the traders in yard. The guard at the gate must have taken them into the hall as soon as they arrived. Although curious to meet the traders, Bridei decided to fulfill his promise to Eth and check on the harp.
When he arrived at the smithy, Niall was pounding a knife blade into shape on the anvil. He nodded when he saw Bridei, then continued to work the glowing blade. Bridei went to the workbench and picked up the harp. He ran his fingers over the strings. They weren’t as taut as he would have hoped. Ideally, they should cure another sennight.
Niall, having finished shaping the blade, dumped it into the water trough to cool, then came over. “What do you think?”
Bridei was on the verge of saying the strings were still too green when he realized the smith was asking about something else. “Whatever its sound, this harp is a thing of beauty,” he said, touching one of the embossed decorations. “Your work is very fine, Niall. As good as anything I’ve seen, outside the markets of Gaul, of course.”
“I’m very pleased with the design,” Niall said. “I would have liked to use more gold, but that was all I had.” He gestured to the metal piece affixed below the strings. The center of the swirling pattern glinted with small nodules of gold.
“It’s actually prettier this way,” said Bridei. “The contrast between the silver and the gold makes the design more subtle. More like what the finer metalsmiths make.”
Niall nodded again, looking satisfied. “What I’d really like to learn to do is enamelwork. Then I could add color to the pattern. Perhaps when the traders come, they’ll have a piece done in that fashion and I can show you what I mean.”
Bridei looked up. “In fact, some traders are here. I saw them arriving when I was working on the wall. That’s why I came to look at the harp. I presume the queen will have some sort of feast in their honor, and I’d like to play the harp for the gathering. But I’m not certain it’s ready.” He picked up the instrument again and strummed the strings.
“It sounds good to me.”
Bridei shrugged. “It’s a little flat in tone, but I’ll have to make do. I can’t disappoint Eth. I don’t think he can bear to wait much longer. And knowing the queen, she’d think it a waste to have people gather in the hall a week from now, after hosting the traders so recently.”
“If the traders are here, I should finish up and go meet them,” said Niall. “I’m eager to see what they’ve brought. My store of copper isn’t used up, but I need tin and iron badly.”
“What usually happens when traders arrive?” asked Bridei. “Will Dessia—the queen—will she have some sort of feast or celebration?”
“Aye. That will be tomorrow night, to give the people who live away from the rath time to get the news and bring whatever goods they have to trade.”
Niall went to bank down the fire in the forge. Bridei followed him. “Is it always the same traders who come?”
“Not always. They all use different routes and stop different places before arriving here, so the goods they bring vary quite a bit. The ones coming from the north usually have the better selection, as they haven’t yet been to Ath Cliath and Craimor. If they come from the south, we often have to make do with whatever’s left after they’ve visited the main trading settlements on this side of the isle.”
“If their coloring has anything to do with it, these men may well hail from the north. Two of them looked almost Saxon, they were so fair-haired, and tall as well.”
That information seemed to spur Niall on, for he shoveled up the glowing ashes with more speed than Bridei had ever seen him exhibit. As soon as the fire was safely banked, Niall motioned to the door. “I need to wash and change my clothes. I don’t want to meet the traders covered in soot.”
“I should do the same,” Bridei agreed.
* * *
Dessia sat near the hearth with the traders, all of them drinking wine. To her right was Penrick, a tall, lean man whose skin was so weathered it contrasted startlingly with his hair, which was bleached by the sun until strands of it were almost white. She vaguely remembered him from a few years before, and wondered why he hadn’t been back until now.
Next to him was small, dark-haired Rinc. He had skin more like her people’s, which meant it freckled instead of tanned, though his freckles were so numerous he appeared almost as dark as Penrick. The third man was huge and foreign looking, with a bald head, lightly tanned skin and dark eyes. Because of his size, Dessia wondered if he were a servant brought along to protect his master’s goods. Penrick hadn’t introduced him, and the man appeared to have little interest in what was being said. Instead he concentrated on his wine, of which he’d already drunk an alarming amount.
Turning her attention back to Penrick, Dessia realized he was talking about the British leader Arthur, telling much the same story Bridei had. “Some people thought Arthur’s defeat would be the end of Britain,” he said. “But hasn’t really made that much difference, at least in the west and north. The Saxons have made peace with the chieftains there and things continue on much as they have. The tribes in the south and east have lost their lands, of course, but that was happening ten years ago. The holymen hate the Saxons and call them heathen savages, but it hasn’t been as bad as people feared. The Saxons are different than the British in some ways, but they purchase parchment and ink, so some of them are literate. And they enjoy music and song, although perhaps not as much as the Irish.” he smiled at her ingratiatingly.
“Aye, my people are very fond of music,” she said.
“Indeed, we are,” put in Aife, who’d arrived with a tray of cheese and bread, as well as more wine. “In fact, we’re fortunate to a have skilled bard living at Cahermara,” she added as she set down the tray.
“A bard? Where does he hail from?”
“As a boy, he called Gwynedd in north Britain his home,” Aife said as she poured more wine into the third trader’s cup, “but he’s lived many other places since then.”
“Gwynedd?” Penrick raised his nearly silver brows. He glanced at Rinc. “It couldn’t be Talisen. He’s dead. And Aneirin’s far too old to travel this far. It must be Bridei ap Maelgwn.” Rinc grunted in response. Penrick continued, “Last I heard he was in Arthur’s train, but I suppose after Camboglanna, he had to find another patron. Still, I’m surprised he came here.”
“You know Bridei?” asked Aife, her voice full of excitement.
“In truth, I’ve never met the man,” said Penrick. He gave Aife a
n assessing look. “But I’ve heard tell of him. ... and his effect on young maidens.”
Aife flushed, then darted a swift look around the hall, as if looking for Keenan.
Dessia knew a stab of irritation. Penrick seemed to think Bridei captured the heart of every woman he met. Well, he hadn’t captured hers.
Even as she had the thought, Bridei entered the hall. His appearance should have irritated her. Instead, she felt the same searing attraction she experienced the first time she saw him. Only now it was even more intense, as every aspect of his appearance aroused a memory: His violet blue eyes gazing at her with tenderness. The feel of his well-shaped, sensual mouth on hers. The strength of his lean, muscular body as he held her...
“It appears even you have succumbed to the young bard’s charms,” Penrick said, leaning near.
Dessia gave the trader her most withering look.
Penrick shrugged, smiling. “I meant no offense. He’s a fine-looking man. If my inclinations ran that way, I’d be intrigued by him myself.”
Dessia gritted her teeth. Then she lowered her voice and said very quietly, “The truth is, I can’t wait to be rid of the man.”
Penrick drew back in surprise. But before he could respond, Bridei reached them. He bowed. “Milady,” he said in his musical voice. He nodded to the traders. “My name is Bridei ap Maelgwn.”
Penrick motioned to himself and the other men. “I’m Penrick and this is Rinc and Sarlic. We’d already guessed who you were. What takes you so far from Britain?”
“After Arthur’s defeat, I wanted to get away,” Bridei responded. Dessia was surprised by his answer. Why hadn’t he mentioned the slavers who’d brought him here against his will?
Bridei had seated himself on the bench on other side of the traders. He accepted the goblet Aife offered him and took a swallow. “You’ll find that Queen Dessia is a most gracious host. And her people are very generous as well. Indeed, they’ve done me the great honor of making me a new harp. It’s nearly finished.” He nodded to the traders. “If you stay another day, you’ll be able to judge the results of their work yourself.”
“The harp is finished?” Dessia asked.
Bridei glanced at her. “Nearly so. I want to give the strings another day to cure. But then I’ll be pleased to play for you and your people, and your guests, of course.”
Dessia was torn. On one hand, she was glad her people would be able to enjoy the harp they’d labored on so long. On the other hand, she had a strong sense that once she heard him play, all her lingering resistance to Bridei’s charms would vanish.
* * *
“Were you pleased with how the trading went?” Aife asked as Dessia was bathing before the feast.
“Aye,” Dessia answered as she sat in the big wooden tub soaping herself. “Their boat was well-stocked and had most of the things we needed. I purchased a good supply of iron and tin for Niall, salt and spices for Doona, and several casks of wine to replace my stores, much of which was depleted by the traders themselves, especially Sarlic. I’m saving the rest of it for the Yule celebration. For tonight’s meal, everyone will have to make do with mead or cider.”
“I’m certain no one but the traders will care,” said Aife.
“And Bridei. He drank a fair amount of wine himself last night.”
“To me, he seemed distracted. As if he had much on his mind. Did you think so?”
“Bridei’s moods are of no concern to me. And if they were, I’d simply ask your opinion of what he’s thinking or feeling.” As soon as the words were out, Dessia regretted them. There was no reason for her to be short with her maid.
Aife sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t pay so much attention to Bridei. I know it makes Keenan furious. But I can’t seem to help myself. He’s so good-looking, and when he smiles—” She sighed again.
“Just remember he’s worked years to cultivate his charm. It’s what he does to earn his livelihood.”
“I disagree,” Aife said. “Bridei’s kind to everyone, not just people he wants to impress or get something from. Consider the way he treats Eth. Why should he go out of his way to talk to a dull-witted farmboy?”
“Over the years, he’s probably found that the people who can be of most use to him aren’t necessarily those who appear most important. After all, it was Eth’s idea to build him a harp, and Eth’s enthusiasm is the reason everyone else got involved. So, now Bridei gets a harp and all he had to do was spend a bit of time cosseting Eth.”
“Couldn’t it be that he felt sorry for Eth and was touched by his interest in music?”
“Really, Aife,” Dessia said as she stood and reached for the towel the maidservant held out. “Sometimes you’re so foolish.”
“I’d rather be foolish than too stubborn to face the truth. I think you’re in love with Bridei, but you’re terrified he’ll break your heart.”
Dessia froze, her fingers clutching the towel. Her first thought was to reprimand Aife for her insolence. Her second was to deny the horrifying words. She finally fought through the waves of anger and outrage and said weakly, “I suppose I am a bit infatuated. Is it so obvious? Do you think everyone knows?”
Aife smiled and her hazel eyes softened. “I doubt anyone else guesses, and your secret’s safe with me. But I do think you must stop denying the truth to yourself. What’s so terrible about being in love?”
“I don’t want to be vulnerable. I can’t. I’m responsible for too many people to take such a chance.”
“What chance?”
Dessia looked at Aife, her insides tight and aching. “What if my worst fears about Bridei are true? What if he’s a threat to all I’ve worked so hard for?”
“What if he isn’t? You always think the worst of Bridei, but I think you’re wrong to be so suspicious. I think he’s a good and decent person who’s been forced by life to view the world cynically. Maybe if you gave him a chance, you’d find out he cares for you as much as you do him.”
As Dessia finished drying off and allowed Aife to help her into her shift, she considered the maidservant’s words. If Bridei were in love with her, that was almost worse. For then she’d have no reason not to give into her feelings. And she didn’t want to care that much for anyone. Because if she did and something happened to them, she’d have to endure that agony all over again. She thought of how despairing she’d been after her family was killed. Even now, thinking of it filled her with a terrible sense of loss and reminded her of how dangerous it was to love.
“You’re afraid,” Aife said softly, as if reading her thoughts. “I understand that. It’s frightening to feel so much for another person. To know that if they died, you would want to die as well. But it can also be glorious. The best thing you’ve ever known.” Aife’s face grew radiant, and Dessia decided that Keenan had nothing to worry about. Bridei might charm Aife, but it was Keenan who held her heart. As Bridei—for better or worse—appeared to hold hers.
* * *
Bridei stood by the worktable in the smith’s shop and stared at the harp. He’d heard the expression “having butterflies in your stomach”, but never known what it meant. It was strange how nervous he was. Well, not nervous exactly, but filled with a sense of expectation so intense it made him breathless. He’d scarcely touched the harp, wanting to give the strings as much time as possible to cure. Playing it tonight would be like going to bed with a woman he’d never met before that moment, entering her darkened bedchamber and reaching out for her unknown body. He’d have to hope the familiar landmarks would be enough to guide him, and he’d be able to guess what would please her from her response.
The idea of lovemaking immediately brought to mind Dessia, and his apprehension grew even more intense. He thought of the song he’d composed for her. Would she be flattered or angry? Anyone listening would know it was composed with her in mind. They would also know that the man who wrote it was in love with her.
He took a deep, shaky breath. He felt like a man wagering everything he ow
ned on one roll of the dice, and it was terrifying and exhilarating.
Not a good state of mind for a performer to be in. Somehow he had to calm himself. He glanced down at his clothing. After Beatha had given him the fine cloak, the other women—not wanting to be outdone—had gifted him with various other garments: a red and blue checked tunic, a fine linen leine to wear underneath it and a new pair of woolen trews. Nally had jested that he would be finest dressed man in the hall, and Bridei knew it might well be true.
But a part of him felt as if he were walking into the hall naked. For the first time in his adult life, he was going to reveal a part of himself he’d always kept hidden. For a brief moment, as he sang that song, he would take off the mask of nonchalance and let them see the uncertain, yearning boy beneath.
The thought made him so uneasy that his hands shook as he picked up the harp. For a moment, he cradled it against his chest, admiring the workmanship. Regardless of what it sounded like, it was a handsome instrument. The wood had been polished to a shining gloss and the silver and gold decorations glinted brightly.
He stroked his fingers along the strings, then paused, surprised by the sweetness of the sound. It was as if all the love and care that had gone into the making of the harp had infused it with a warm and vibrant tone. He strummed it again, then plucked each string individually, adjusting the pins, tuning it as he went. The fear and anxiety seemed to drain out of him as he played. This he knew. This was a part of him.
* * *
It seemed half of Ireland was coming to Cahermara, Dessia thought as she stared out the tower window. A steady stream of people filed up the trackway leading to the gate, more than she could ever recall since her parents’ day. She felt a vague stab of anxiety, wondering if there would be enough food. They would have to serve the wine she’d purchased after all; she didn’t want to deplete their entire stock of mead, and she couldn’t expect the adults to drink cider. And where was everyone going to sit? They’d probably have to eat in shifts, then remove the tables and let everyone crowd in to hear Bridei.
The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) Page 13