The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (30 page)

Bridei sought to unclench his hands. The idea that O’Bannon might rape Dessia filled him with a rage so intense he could scarcely breathe, but he couldn’t give into his emotions now. He took another deep breath and tried to regain his usual outlook: calm and confident, seldom bothered or distressed about anything. For Dessia’s sake, he must become the old Bridei.

With that thought in mind, he started walking toward Dun Cullan. Since it was daytime, the gate to the hillfort was open, but as soon he was within shouting distance, someone hailed him from the gatetower, demanding his name and his reason for being there.

“I’m Bridei ap Maelgwn,” he called back. “A traveling bard. I’ve come to offer my services for a night or two. I’ve performed for kings and chieftains throughout Britain and Gaul, and I would willingly entertain your lord and his guests for the compensation of a few meals and a place to sleep.”

There was no response. Bridei felt a stab of anxiety. What if he were refused entrance? He told himself to pretend it didn’t matter. If O’Bannon sent him away, he could always find another place to perform.

It took awhile, but eventually the guard called out, “My lord said to let you come in.”

Bridei felt a frisson of warning. Now that he’d gotten his way, he worried it had been too easy. Did O’Bannon guess what he was up to?

He walked swiftly through the gate and was confronted by a well-armed and burly warrior. Although he greeted the man with a pleasant smile, the warrior insisted he hand over his pack. Bridei did so agreeably. “Be careful of my harp. It’s the only thing of value I possess.” The man examined the contents of his pack, then set it aside. “Now,” he said, “remove your cloak.”

Bridei quickly complied with the order. Then, guessing that he might be searched for weapons and not wanting the man to feel the gold in his inner tunic, he stripped off both tunics. When he started to undo his trews, the man waved dismissingly. “Don’t bother. I’ve seen enough to be satisfied that you’re unarmed.”

Bridei put his clothes back on and the man led him into the hillfort. Although he tried to appear casual, Bridei was careful to note the location of every structure he encountered. Dessia might be held in any one of them.

They reached a hall similar in size to the one at Cahermara. Entering, Bridei saw a group of men gathered around the hearth, mending and polishing weapons. In the center was a stocky man of middle years with black hair going gray. The man’s shrewd, deep-set eyes focused on Bridei, who reminded himself to remember he was the old Bridei, carefree and easygoing.

When he was a few feet away from group of men, Bridei bowed, then called out in ringing tones, “Greetings, Tiernan O’Bannon. I am Bridei ap Maelgwn, famed bard of Britain, Gaul and Catraith. I’ve come to entertain your household. All I ask in return is a meal or two and a place to bed down for the night.”

O’Bannon’s eyes narrowed further. He responded, “I’ve heard of you, Bridei ap Maelgwn. Of how you beguiled everyone at Cahermara with your music and your charm, even Lady Dessia herself. If you think you can do likewise here, you are mistaken. This is a warriors’ household. We have no use for cunning-faced poets.”

Bridei shrugged. “If you think I only know songs and tales pleasing to womenfolk, you’re mistaken.” He immediately began singing. The song was a stirring, rhythmic tune often sung by King Arthur’s men when they were on the march. To mark the beat, Bridei pounded his hand on a nearby table.

He’d once told Dessia that music was his magic, and as he had many times before, he watched as the song cast its spell. He could see the subtle changes on his audience’s faces and in their bodies as they anticipated the beat. The driving rhythm was affecting them, making their hearts beat faster and the blood rush through their bodies. Soon they would be ready to fight . . . or at least to dance.

Bridei glanced at O’Bannon and saw that the chieftain seemed to be clenching his jaw, as if willing himself to resist the music’s pulsing lure. As his enemy’s his face flushed, Bridei felt a twinge of unease. It was possible his strategy would backfire. Instead of pleasing O’Bannon, the song would end up goading him to violence. But he pushed his doubts aside and continued singing. He must trust the music. Trust the goddess Rhiannon to make certain the song did as he intended.

He repeated the chorus of the song and finished. O’Bannon met his gaze with a hard look. “You’re skilled,” he said. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I have no use for a bard.”

“If you rather I didn’t perform, I won’t. But I would still presume upon the tradition of hospitality and ask that you allow me to spend the night. I’ve traveled quite far already and I doubt there’s another settlement near enough to reach before nightfall.” He deliberately mentioned Irish hospitality, hoping to make O’Bannon feel he no choice but to allow him stay the night. If O’Bannon still appeared reluctant, he would point out that Queen Dessia had hosted him for several weeks.

“Very well. You can stay for one night.” O’Bannon’s expression bespoke reluctance and suspicion. Bridei bowed again and pretended to be well pleased. O’Bannon motioned to the warrior who had led Bridei there. The man approached O’Bannon and the chieftain spoke to him in low tones. The warrior nodded and returned to where Bridei waited, motioning that he should come with him. Bridei followed the man out of the hall.

“What’s your name?” Bridei asked his escort.

“Dermot.”

“I’m Bridei, but of course you know that.”

The man grunted and continued walking.

As Bridei scanned the area for possible places where Dessia might be held, Dermot turned and glared at him. Bridei hurried to catch up. The warrior led him to a roundhouse set off from the rest of the buildings and motioned that Bridei should enter.

The dwelling was decently furnished with two beds, a small low table and woven mats upon the floor. Bridei put his pack on one of the beds, then went out again. Dermot was standing by the door. Bridei said, “I’m certain I will rest there most comfortably. But I wonder if I might have candle or lamp for light and possibly a brazier to warm the place.”

“I have no orders to provide such things. You have a decent place to sleep. That should be enough.”

“I suppose if it were up to you, you’d have me sleep in the stables, or worse.” Bridei kept his voice light. Dermot didn’t answer, but his expression revealed his agreement.

“Have you a particular dislike of bards?” Bridei asked. “Or are you wary of me simply because I’m a visitor?”

Dermot’s blue-gray eyes focused on him coldly. “’Tis said you beguiled everyone at Cahermara with your tales and songs. You’ll find that our tribe isn’t as soft and easily led as those fools.”

“Speaking of tales,” Bridei said, “when I was at Cahermara, they told me how your king, Tiernan O’Bannon, burned the old rath to the ground and killed Queen Dessia’s family. But there are always two sides to every tale. I wonder if O’Bannon was provoked in some way. Or if the feud between your tribes goes back to previous generations.”

“Of course it does,” Dermot answered hotly. “Our people were here long before the Fionnlairaos. Then they came and stole our lands!”

“How long ago did this happen?”

Dermot frowned. “I don’t know. Too many generations to count.”

“Is that why your people appear to have mostly dark coloring, while the Fionnlairaos have reddish hair?”

“Aye. We’re two different peoples.”

“There must been some intermingling of your tribes over the years.”

“Some. But that doesn’t mean it’s right.”

“You think your tribes should remain separate?”

“Aye. We’re nothing like the Fionnlairaos. They’re sly and cunning and not to be trusted.”

“But it appears you live much the same as they do,” Bridei said, gesturing. “Your houses, clothing and the way you wear your hair is almost the same.”

“That doesn’t change what’s inside people. We’re very different.” Dermot folded his arms across his chest. “I have no use for the Fionnlairaos. If it were up to me I would have burned Cahermara a second time and killed everyone of them I could get my hands on.”

“Even Queen Dessia?”

Dermot’s eyes gleamed with hatred. “Especially her. I can’t understand what Tiernan thinks he’s doing. This plan of his is witless.”

“What plan is that?”

Dermot hesitated, as if deciding whether he dare answer. He tightened his lips, then responded. “He plans to wed with her, the fool!” The next moment he glanced around, as if worrying someone might have heard him.

“Well, it seems like a sensible plan to me,” Bridei said. “By making her his wife, the conflict between your two tribes will be ended. Then you’ll both able to use your resources to become more prosperous instead wasting them fighting each other.”

Dermot’s face flushed a vivid hue. “What about all the people who died at the hands of the Fionnlairaos? Who will avenge their deaths?”

“Did someone in your family die at the hands of the Fionnlairaos?”

“Aye. My father was killed by Queen Dessia’s father.”

“And you’ve nursed a grudge ever since?”

“It’s not a grudge. It’s my duty to avenge him!”

“Are you the eldest son?”

Dermot nodded.

“What do you think the chieftain should do with Queen Dessia?”

“Kill her, of course! Spill her traitorous blood. She’s the last of the line. Then we can begin anew.”

Interesting, thought Bridei. “Are there others at Dun Cullan who feel as you do?” he asked.

“Of course. There are many who of us who lost family members at the hands of the Fionnlairaos.”

“But O'Bannon won’t listen to you? Is that it?”

Dermot nodded. “He fears if he kills Queen Dessia, her people will want revenge and keep fighting us.”

“Isn’t that likely true?”

“I suppose so.”

“It seems to me that if O’Bannon weds Queen Dessia and ends the conflict between your tribes, everyone will benefit.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m honor bound to avenge my father.”

“If you feel that way, perhaps you should take matters into your hands,” Bridei suggested. “Perhaps you’ll have to kill Queen Dessia on your own and thwart O’Bannon’s plan.”

Bridei watched Dermot carefully. When the warrior’s gaze shifted briefly, he knew a sense of triumph. For a split second, Dermot had glanced toward the back of the hillfort, suggesting Dessia was being held somewhere near there.

“I can’t do that,” Dermot finally answered. “I can’t go against the chieftain’s wishes. I have a duty to him as well.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to make the best of what happens. Of course, there’s always the possibility Lady Dessia will refuse to wed O’Bannon.”

“Oh, she’ll agree, eventually.” Dermot’s voice was grim.

“What does he mean to do? Starve her into submission?”

“If necessary.”

“She might choose to die rather than give in to him. Has Dermot considered that?”

“Why would she do something so foolish?”

Bridei shrugged. “Just as you are unwilling to give up your hatred toward the Fionnlairaos, she may well be unwilling to let go of her animosity towards O’Bannon. She might choose to die rather than submit to him.”

“She’s a woman. She’ll weaken in the end.” Dermot’s gaze fixed on Bridei. “You seem to know a great deal about Lady Dessia. But of course you would.” Contempt flickered in his eyes. “You’ve shared her bed.”

“Is that what they’re saying?”

“Aye.”

“Did O’Bannon have a spy at Cahermara? Or, perhaps more than one?” Bridei asked the question casually, but his heart was pounding. As he’d guessed, Dermot’s moody nature had worked to his advantage. The man had already told him a great deal.

But Dermot finally seemed to realize what he was doing. “Of course he had spies,” he answered. “But who they are is none of your business.”

“Fair enough,” said Bridei. “As for my relationship with Lady Dessia, bear in mind that it’s my business to please the ruler who employs me. I wouldn’t last long as a traveling bard if I didn’t know how to ingratiate myself with my patrons.”

“Is that why you bedded her?”

“It’s as good a reason as any. Then again, she’s not bad to look at.”

Dermot made a face. “If you like wenches that are the same size as a man, with cat-green eyes and a haughty, disdainful manner.”

Bridei raised his brows. This man’s grudge against Dessia appeared to go deeper than simple vengeance. “I like all kinds of women,” he answered, grinning at Dermot. “I’m not generally particular.”

“Fond of Lady Dessia, are you?”

Bridei shrugged. “Now that she can no longer be of benefit to me, I care little for her circumstances. When dealing with women, I always put my own interests first.”

“What about when you’re dealing with men?” Dermot asked.

Bridei laughed. “Aye, when dealing with men, I also put my own interests first.”

Dermot gave him a dark look. “So, you have no loyalty to anyone?”

“I have loyalty to my family and tribe back in Britain, of course. But since they’re not here, I don’t see why I shouldn’t make decisions based on what will benefit
me
the most.”