by Kate Forsyth
He said, pleadingly, ‘Ye canna pretend ye do no’ enjoy dancing with me, my lady.’
She straightened up and took a step away, raising her brows. ‘Why would I pretend any such thing? I have always said ye were a very pretty dancer.’
‘Is that all I am to ye?’ he demanded.
‘But o’ course,’ she answered, drawing up the fragile folds of her silvery-green skirt. ‘What else?’
He flushed dark red, and she gave him a little ironic curtsy and moved away. Mathias caught her arm.
‘Unhand me at once!’ she hissed through her teeth. ‘Do ye seek to make a scene?’
‘I must speak with ye,’ he said unsteadily. ‘Please, my lady … Your Highness. I wish … I wish to apologise … to explain …’
‘Surely no’ here and now, in the middle o’ the dance floor, with every eye upon us?’ the Banprionnsa answered haughtily.
‘Then when?’
She disengaged her arm and yawned behind her fan of bhanias feathers. ‘I am sure I shall tire o’ dancing soon and shall seek to cool myself with an iced bellfruit juice in the garden, away from the heat o’ the fire. Happen I shall see ye there. Though, really, there is no need for ye to explain. Ye are no’ the first man to drink too much seasquill wine and make a fool o’ himself.’
He coloured angrily, and bowed with a click of his heels that made her roll her eyes impatiently as she moved away. The crowd parted to let her through, the men bowing their heads, the women curtsying gracefully. More than one set of eyes followed her, both men and women. Bronwen knew the women were eyeing her dress, and the men the long-limbed, supple body underneath. She had designed her dress herself, for maximum affect. Made of pale green gauze, the gown tied over her shoulders with nothing more than a narrow satin ribbon, leaving her arms and shoulders bare. Beneath the gauze, Bronwen wore a tight satin sheath that had been carefully matched to the hue of her skin, so that it looked as if she was naked beneath. A few sprays of appliquéd beading helped preserve her modesty. She wore her hair loose, like a young girl, under the crown of flowers that declared her May Queen, the most beautiful girl at the court.
Bronwen had moved only three steps when she was accosted by one of her uncle’s squires, young Fymbar MacThanach of Blèssem, a plump boy with a shock of tow-coloured hair and an unfortunate tendency to blush. Bronwen smiled, waved her fan languidly, and begged him to find her something to drink. Fymbar turned scarlet, stammered his willingness to serve her, and went plunging off to find a waiter. Another few steps, and Aindrew MacRuraich was bowing over her hand and begging her for the next dance.
‘But I have already danced with ye three times tonight, my laird,’ she said, smiling demurely at him from behind her fan. ‘Any more and we’ll cause a scandal.’
‘I thought ye delighted in scandalising the court,’ he said with a grin. ‘And ye ken I am always willing to assist ye in putting firecrackers under those auld biddies’ tails.’
‘Indeed, ye are a fine companion in any game, but I feel I should, perhaps, play a more sober and respectable charade tonight,’ she said. ‘Given that my beloved betrothed has seen fit to return to my side, after these long months o’ absence.’
‘And looking very sour too, I should add,’ Aindrew said. ‘Surely ye do no’ really want to marry that sober-sides?’
Bronwen looked thoughtfully across the floor at Donncan, who was watching her with a very unhappy expression on his face. ‘Donncan does no’ dance,’ she said regretfully. ‘He finds his wings can be rather a nuisance on a crowded dance floor.’
‘But surely he does no’ forbid ye from dancing?’ Aindrew cried. ‘When ye are the bonniest dancer in the whole court?’
‘Nay,’ Bronwen answered. ‘He does no’ forbid me.’
‘But he doesna like it, does he?’
Bronwen returned her gaze to Aindrew’s handsome, laughing countenance. ‘Would ye?’ she answered.
He sobered. ‘Nay, I would no’,’ he answered.
‘So we can hardly blame him, can we?’ she said and, smiling, left him.
Donncan watched her approach with no lightening of his expression.
‘Ye are failing in your duties as Green Man,’ she chided him. ‘The Green Man is meant to lead the festivities, drinking and dancing till dawn.’
‘Happen your cavalier would have been a better choice then,’ he said stiffly.
‘Ye mean Mathias Bright-Eyed? Well, he certainly is a keen dancer and an even keener drinker. I’ll warrant he is still here, drinking and dancing at dawn, long after ye’ve sought your bed.’
He flushed. ‘I’ll warrant ye’re right. The question is, where will ye be?’
She drew away from him. ‘What kind o’ question is that?’
‘A fair enough one, by all accounts.’
‘So ye listen to the gossip-mongers now, do ye?’
‘It’s rather hard no’ to, when there is so much to listen to.’
‘It’s all malicious and untrue,’ Bronwen cried, then recollected herself, remembering the many curious eyes upon them. For a moment she stood still, trying to regain her composure, and then she said lightly, ‘Come, Donncan, I have no’ seen ye in months. Is this the way ye greet me? It is no’ like ye to believe the false tales o’ those who delight in spite and mischief. Ye ken what the court is like after the long winter. Everyone is restless and out-o’-sorts, me among them. I ken ye willna dance with me, with the floor so crowded, but can we no’ walk in the gardens together? I have no’ had a chance to hear a single thing about your stay in Arran these past months. How was the Tower o’ Mists?’
Donncan frowned. ‘Strange,’ he answered after a while. ‘It is very isolated, ye ken, hidden at the heart o’ the fens as it is, and so often covered in mist. There was no’ much to do there, really. We boated on the lake, and when the marsh was iced over we had some good hunting. But once the thaw came, it all grew rather flat. I dinna sleep so well while I was there … they say the air is bad, ye ken, and certainly I had some strange dreams.’
‘Really?’ Bronwen asked. ‘What kind o’ dreams?’
Donncan shrugged, looking uncomfortable. ‘Just run-o’-the-mill nightmares, I guess. Darkness, and no’ being able to breathe. A heavy stone on my chest. Wings beating around my head. Birds, or bats, or something. Naught I could really remember the next day.’
‘So did ye no’ dream about me?’ Bronwen asked provocatively, as they stepped away from the glare of the torches and into the soft breathing dark of the gardens.
At once he turned and seized her wrist, drawing her close to him. ‘Ye ken I did,’ he said angrily. ‘I was tormented with dreams o’ ye, as is every man who crosses your path.’
She was surprised to find it hard to catch her breath. ‘Och, I think ye exaggerate.’
‘I wish I did,’ he answered, and let go of her wrist.
She rubbed it, torn between feeling flattered and angered. He stood, staring moodily into the candle-lit trees, sipping at his wine. She decided to be flattered.
‘I’m glad ye thought o’ me,’ she said softly. ‘Ye were gone a long time.’
He glanced at her, surprised into a smile. ‘Did ye miss me?’
‘Maybe just a little,’ she said.
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. By all accounts, ye were having too much fun to even notice I was gone.’
‘Did ye expect me to just sit in my rooms and mope?’ Bronwen’s voice sharpened.
‘Some moping would have been nice.’
‘Moping is just no’ my style,’ Bronwen said with a sweet smile, and drank down her punch recklessly.
‘So I heard.’
‘Ye seem to have heard a great deal o’ me while ye were gone. Am I to infer ye had spies watching my every movement and reporting back to ye?’
‘I had no need o’ spies,’ Donncan said. ‘Every travelling tinker had a new tale to tell o’ Bronwen the Bonny. There’s no’ a village inn in the land where ye are no’ the favoured topic o’ conversati
on.’
‘Wonderful!’ Bronwen retorted. ‘I’m glad I’ve given so many people something new to talk about. Their lives are so very drab and boring, it is my pleasure to bring them some poor form o’ excitement.’
‘Well, I canna say I’m glad,’ Donncan said, his voice under tight control. ‘It gave me no pleasure at all to hear my wife-to-be has been entertaining other men in her boudoir by swimming naked in the pool.’
Bronwen bit her lip. She was rather sorry for that particular escapade, which had been prompted by Iseult quietly advising her that perhaps she should not make such an exhibition of her Fairgean ancestry. Bronwen was not fond of her betrothed’s mother, who always seemed to view her with disfavour. She grew weary of everyone expecting her to be the model of prudence and discretion, just because she was a banprionnsa and betrothed to the heir to the throne. A throne that she should have inherited, she reminded herself. Her uncle may think that he had sidestepped the issue by promising Bronwen to his own son when they were mere bairns, but Bronwen had not forgotten she had been named heir by her own father, and certainly others had not forgotten either. The Rìgh and Banrìgh liked to think they had her trapped in a silken net, bound to a future not of her own devising, but Bronwen enjoyed reminding them that she was not entirely without power, even if the only way she could express her defiance was in wearing unsuitable gowns, and spending her time in expensive frivolities.
Bronwen had no real desire to escape her fate. She certainly wanted to be Banrìgh one day, and if she had to marry anyone it might as well be Donncan, who was as handsome as any man she had ever seen, and kind, courteous and generally good-natured as well. She certainly did not want to accept everyone else’s plans for her meekly, however. As far as she was concerned, it was good for Donncan to worry occasionally, and as for her uncle Lachlan, she had never forgiven him for loading her mother with chains and keeping her captive, or for rendering her mute, a cruel and imaginative punishment that saw the former Banrìgh a mere servant to the witches she had once persecuted.
Her lips lifted in a secret smile. ‘I was no’ entirely naked,’ she protested with a little look of mischief at Donncan. ‘I had quite a few artfully placed frills, I assure ye. And it was quite dark. I had Maura snuff a few candles first.’
‘I think that only made it worse,’ Donncan said, responding to her roguish smile despite himself.
She shrugged one bare shoulder. ‘I swear the tattlemongers would whisper if all I did was sit in my boudoir and sew a fine seam. I may as well do something worth gossiping about.’
Donncan turned and seized her by the arm, looking down into her eyes. ‘Bronwen, ye ken I do no’ care what the court gossips about, as long as there is no truth in it …’
She looked away. ‘Well, my ladies and I did swim in the pool, though we were no’ really naked … no’ entirely.’
‘I do no’ care about ye swimming, naked or no’,’ he said impatiently. ‘It is the other things they say.’
‘What other things?’ she said, although she knew.
He took a deep breath. ‘That ye take lover after lover, discarding them when they no longer amuse ye.’
‘And whom am I meant to have taken as my lover?’ she said scornfully. ‘That poor boy ye scowled at so fiercely afore? Am I meant to have taken him to my bed?’
‘O’ course I do no’ think ye’ve taken Fymbar o’ Blèssem to bed! He’s little more than a lad, though it’s clear he’s smitten with ye.’
‘Then who? Who are these so-called lovers o’ mine?’
Donncan’s grip tightened. ‘I have heard Alta, the Fairgean ambassador, is often seen in and out o’ your rooms, and has brought ye many fine gifts.’
‘On behalf o’ my uncle Nila,’ she answered furiously. ‘Except for a barrel o’ seasquill wine and a platter o’ raw fish which he brought me after I expressed curiosity about the cuisine o’ my mother’s people. I thought it was very kind o’ him.’
‘So he has no’ …’ Donncan hesitated, finding it hard to put what he wanted to know into words.
‘Nay, he has no’,’ Bronwen replied icily. ‘He has three wives and half a dozen concubines o’ his own, and far too much sense to try to seduce his king’s niece. I do enjoy speaking with him, however. He has told me many fascinating things about the Fairgean, and about my mother’s family.’
‘So all ye do is talk?’
‘Aye, all we do is talk. I would like to gamble with him too, as he is said to be clever at cards and dice, but he, being very stuffy and proper, does no’ think it would be seemly.’
Donncan’s breath came out in a sigh. ‘What about your cavalier, then?’ he asked, in a slightly mollified tone. ‘Ye certainly seemed to be enjoying dancing with him earlier.’
‘He’s a very pretty dancer,’ Bronwen replied.
Donncan snorted. ‘A bit o’ a show-off.’
‘That’s all the rage now,’ Bronwen replied, nose in the air. ‘The young bloods compete with each other to show the highest kicks and leaps, the fastest spins. If ye had spent more time at court, ye would ken this.’
‘He certainly seemed to wish to do more than speak with ye.’
‘Maybe so, but that does no’ mean I wish the same,’ she answered angrily. ‘When did it become a crime to enjoy dancing?’
He drew her close. ‘Bronwen, can ye no’ understand how I feel? It is less than two months until we are to be married. Do ye think I like hearing such tales about ye?’
‘Do ye think I like having such tales told about me?’ she countered.
‘But ye seem to positively delight in stirring the scandal-broth! Look at what ye are wearing!’
She gave a little twirl. ‘Do ye no’ like it? I designed it myself.’
‘It’s quite scandalous,’ Donncan said. ‘It looks as if ye wear naught beneath it.’
‘That was the effect I was trying to achieve.’
‘But why! No wonder they …’ He stopped and took a breath, making a visible effort to control his tongue.
‘Call me a whore?’ Bronwen said pleasantly. ‘I thought if my own mother-in-law was to name me such, I may as well look the part.’
Donncan was taken aback. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Your mother,’ Bronwen clarified. ‘Said I looked like a whore. Ye ken how much I wish to please your mother. I would no’ like the court to think she exaggerated.’
‘My mother said that to ye?’
‘No’ to me,’ Bronwen answered, smiling still, though her fingers were clenched hard on the stem of her glass. ‘O’ course no’! Nay, she said it behind my back, o’ course. I have it on the best o’ authorities. I made a special effort today to make sure I looked the part.’
‘I’m sure my mother said no such thing,’ Donncan said angrily.
‘She has said as much, though in slightly more moderate language, to my face,’ Bronwen replied. ‘Why should I doubt she would say so behind my back? Though I suppose ye are right. I should no’ believe all I hear, should I?’
‘Nay,’ Donncan said. ‘Perhaps ye should have gone to speak to her, and ask her, no matter how difficult that might be, as I am here asking ye.’
For the first time, colour rose in Bronwen’s cheeks. She looked up at Donncan, then looked away. After a moment she said lightly, ‘I assure ye, I have done naught to cause ye any shame, my laird.’
His grip on her wrist relaxed, and he ran his hand up her bare arm. ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ he said softly. ‘As I am sorry to hear ye were bored without me. I will do my best to remedy that.’
He bent his head and kissed her.
Bronwen’s breath caught. His kiss deepened, his thumbs tracing small circles on her arms. When at last he lifted his head, to brush a kiss across her temple, she looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘I would be most grateful,’ she murmured. ‘Ye ken I am very easily bored.’
He grinned. ‘Ye witch,’ he said admiringly. ‘What am I to do with ye?’
She slipped her arms
up about his neck. ‘Kiss me again?’
He obliged, sliding his hand up under the heavy fall of hair to find the soft nape of her neck. Suddenly his fingers stiffened, and he drew away from her.
Bronwen opened her eyes. ‘Donncan?’
He was frowning, his mouth grim. ‘What is this?’ he demanded.
‘What?’ She twisted, but could see nothing, for his hand was gripping her by the back of her hair.
‘Ye have cut off a lock o’ your hair, here at the back, where none can see. Why?’
For a moment her poise deserted her. ‘What? My hair?’
‘Ye have cut some off, here at the back, I can feel the tuft where it is shorn. Who did ye give it to? Some paramour o’ yours?’
She drew away angrily. ‘Nay! O’ course no’!’
‘Who? Who did ye give it to?’
‘That is none o’ your business,’ she retorted, then tried to recover. ‘Indeed, ye are being foolish. Ye think I would cut off a lock o’ hair to give as some kind o’ love token? O’ course I have no’. I had a knot there, that is all, that I was too impatient to comb out.’
‘Ye expect me to believe that? Ye have a bevy o’ handmaidens who would gladly spend all day combing out your hair for ye. Ye think I do no’ ken your hair has never afore been touched by scissors? Ye would no more chop out a knot than ye would hack off a finger because o’ a hangnail. Nay, ye had some other reason for cutting off a lock o’ your hair. Who? Who did ye give it to?’ He shook her.
Bronwen took a deep breath, and put up her hand to ease the strain of his furious grip on her hair. ‘Nay, nay, ye wrong me. I was cross, impatient, I could no’ bear them tugging at my hair, so I cut it out, that’s all … please let me go!’
Suddenly someone came leaping out of the darkness towards them, fist swinging.
‘Unhand my lady!’ he cried. ‘Bronwen, my darling, are ye hurt?’
Instinctively Donncan spun on his foot, releasing Bronwen’s hair and swinging her behind him. It all happened so fast Bronwen tripped and almost fell. She grabbed at Donncan’s arm to save herself, accidentally inhibiting him as he tried to block the blow that smashed into his jaw. The Prionnsa staggered, his wings flying up to save him from falling, and then leapt at his attacker furiously.