The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (17 page)

“I think nothing of the sort. I wasn’t trying to compare your situation to the one in Britain at all. I was trying to reassure you, to tell you that I’ve almost come to believe that it’s worthwhile to have dreams, to care so deeply about something that you’ll give up everything for it.”

“And what is that you care about? What is
your
dream?” She spoke with such scathing sarcasm that Bridei went tense with anger. He’d been on verge of saying how much he admired her devotion to her people and that he was inspired to do whatever he could to help her. But now the folly of such a confession became clear to him. She would never accept his help. She loathed him and thought he was a threat to all she cared about.

The realization hurt, and much more than he could have imagined. The voice in his head reminded him what a lackwit he’d been, to ever let his guard down, to ever care. Smiling his mocking smile, he said, “My dream is to bed you, of course. To feel your lush, lovely body beneath mine. To make you submit.”

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.

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 an 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.”