The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island)

by Mary Gillgannon

  She worried they wouldn’t believe her. A few hours ago, she would have also sworn Bridei was content and happy at Cahermara. She’d also have sworn he loved her. But actions speak louder than words, as she’d remind anyone who brought up the matter. Since he’d left, it must mean he’d grown tired of staying in one place. His performance the night before had been a triumph. There was no way he could ever match it. Instead, he’d moved on to somewhere else to dazzle and charm a new audience.

  Even as she told herself these things, a part of her screamed in protest that the man she was describing wasn’t the Bridei she knew. The man who’d made love to her with such finesse and passion, the man who’d composed a beautiful song for her, that man wasn’t capable of any of these things. He would never betray her. Never leave her so casually.

  Doubts began to eat at her resolve. Perhaps she’d misunderstood the conversation with the traders. Maybe there was some harmless explanation. But how could she take the chance? It wasn’t merely her heart that was at stake, it was her kingdom, her people, everything she’d worked so hard for. There was no other choice. She would have to imprison Bridei, at least until she could be certain of his loyalty.

  Her mind made up, she walked resolutely toward the hillfort.

  * * *

  “The queen’s back.” Aife told Bridei in a low voice. “She’s talking to Keenan near the gatehouse.”

  Bridei was sitting in the hall with the traders. At Aife’s words, he rose and motioned to the bowl of pottage a servant had placed before him a moment before. “You can have mine,” he told Penrick. “I find I’m not hungry this morning.”

  Penrick fixed him with an ironic look. “At least not for food.”

  Bridei didn’t respond, but hurried after Aife. His impatience built as he maneuvered through the many people crowded into the hall. He was desperate to see Dessia; he needed to reassure her, and also reassure himself. Never before had he felt this way after bedding a woman. He was elated . . . but also anxious. What if he hadn’t pleased her? What if he’d satisfied her curiosity about lovemaking and now she had no interest in doing it again? What if it didn’t mean as much to her as it did to him?

  He longed to look at her, to kiss her and hold her in his arms. His yearning for her was like a deep ache inside him, as powerful any urge he’d ever felt. He didn’t know how he could bear to leave her for the few weeks it would take for him to accomplish his mission in Ath Cliath. But he needed to accumulate some wealth so he could do something special for her. He’d changed his mind about the gift. Rather than jewelry, he meant to give her something more substantial. Instead of a brooch with the design of a horse, he was going to buy her a real horse, or maybe several.

  The idea filled him with such satisfaction he could almost face the prospect of leaving her. And before he said goodbye, he would make love to her once again. He would satisfy her so completely, give her such pleasure that she would never even look at another man. He would win her heart as she’d already won his.

  But when he reached the gate, there was no sign of either the queen or Keenan. Bridei knew a moment of consternation as he glanced around the hillfort. It seemed unlikely she’d go to the barracks, since the traders weren’t there. What about the kitchen? Perhaps she was making certain that everyone was being fed. But if she was concerned for the welfare of her guests, she’d have gone to the hall, and then he would have seen her. And what was she doing with Keenan? The idea that she might be somewhere alone with the warrior aroused Bridei’s jealousy. But that was absurd. Of course, she must discuss matters with her man-of-arms; the security of the hillfort depended on it.

  He was mulling over where to look when he saw Dessia walking towards him. His heart seemed to expand with joy at the sight of her. “Milady,” he said, smiling. As she drew near, he said “cariad,” in a softer voice meant only for her. He was startled when she winced instead of smiling. Was she really that uncomfortable with him after what they shared?

  “Bridei,” she said. “I wanted to ask your opinion on something. Will you come with me?” She motioned.

  He nodded, puzzled over her behavior. Dessia didn’t seem to want to meet his eyes. What was wrong? He started to ask her, but she turned and walked away before he could. A dozen thoughts went through his mind as he followed her. Finally, he decided she was taking him to someplace where they could be alone. It made sense. She couldn’t take him up to her tower room with everyone watching, so she’d sought out somewhere else.

  He was instantly aroused and eager. His body throbbed with longing as she led him to one of the storehouses. The door creaked as she opened it. She hesitated a moment before entering. Then she stepped inside. He followed.

  “Shut the door,” she said. He turned and closed it. It wasn’t totally dark inside, but nearly so. He started toward her, intending to pull her into his arms. Something struck the back of the head. He saw swirling lights. Then everything went black.

  * * *

  “By the gods, you didn’t have to hit him!” Dessia cried as she bent down to examine Bridei. Her heart seemed to be in her throat until she found his pulse.

  “I had to disable him somehow,” responded Keenan. “It seemed the easiest way.”

  “What if you’ve hurt him!”

  “He’ll wake up with an aching head, but recover soon enough. Besides, if what you say is true, the bastard deserves death.”

  Dessia made an agonized sound. “We don’t know for certain that he’s really a spy.”

  “He must be. Why else would he be talking to the traders about such things?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I misunderstood. I only caught phrases here and there.”

  “It would take much less to convince me. Ever since he came here, I suspected he was up to no good. He’s so slippery and cunning. Playing up to everyone. What sort of man seeks to charm everyone he meets? I caught him flirting with the cook, Doona, and she’s as ugly as the back side of a cow.”

  “He’s an entertainer, a performer!” Dessia exclaimed. “It’s his way to try to please people and make them like him.”

  “Aye, and he’s succeeded, hasn’t he? Even you’ve fallen under his spell.”

  “That’s not true. If I’d fallen under his spell I wouldn’t be doing this. I’d be . . .” Abruptly, she remembered whom she was talking to. She couldn’t very well admit to her chief man-of-arms that what she longed to be doing at this moment was making love with Bridei.

  “Well, I’m glad you came to your senses at last,” said Keenan. “I just hope it’s not too late. There’s no telling what he told the traders. They might go to O’Bannon themselves.”

  “I don’t think so. They have other business to attend to. Besides, even if they’re a danger to us, there’s nothing we can do. We can’t very well imprison or kill them.”

  “Why not?”

  Dessia exhaled in exasperation. “Because it would be a breach of the ancient tradition of hospitality. There’s no way to know if the traders are a threat to us. We can’t take such drastic action based on vague fears that they might be spies.”

  “There are ways to make men talk.”

  “Torture?” Dessia shook her head emphatically. Then she motioned to Bridei. “Shouldn’t we get him down in the souterrain before he wakes?”

  “You’re certain that’s what you want to do? It would be much easier to end his life right now.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t kill him.” Even contemplating such a thing made her ache with misery.

  “Very well.” Keenan bent down and picked Bridei up by the ankles. He began to drag him toward the opening in the floor.

  * * *

  Dessia paced in the tiny tower chamber. She felt physically ill as she considered what she’d done. What if he’s hurt? What if he doesn’t wake up? She stopped pacing and moaned in despair. Every fiber of her being wanted to go back there, climb down into the souterrain and gather her lover into her arms. It was agony to think of him injured o
r suffering. But she must be strong. She must remember her duty. She had to protect her heritage, even if it broke her heart.

  “Milady, the traders are leaving now.”

  Dessia turned as Aife called up to her. That was the answer. She must keep busy. So busy she couldn’t think about Bridei. She went to the stairs and started down. “I surprised the traders are leaving so soon. I thought they meant to stay another day.”

  “The storm’s blown over, and they’re anxious to move on.”

  Would the traders be looking for Bridei? Dessia wondered with a spasm of dread as they reached the bottom of the stairs. What would she say to them?

  She followed Aife through the still-crowded hall and then through the hillfort to where the workshops were located. Penrick and Rinc stood outside the smithy talking to Niall. They nodded to her as she approached. “Where’s the bard?” asked Penrick.

  “Bridei? I . . . I thought he was with you.”

  Penrick raised his brow in surprise. Then he shrugged. “I’m certain he’ll turn up soon. Tell him that we had to leave, but that we will . . . consider the matters we discussed.”

  “Of course,” Dessia answered. Was this Penrick’s cryptic way of telling Bridei they would meet up with him after he’d completed his mission? The vagueness of the trader’s manner seemed to confirm her worst fears.

  Penrick gave a slight bow. “Thank you for your hospitality, milady. And thank your bard, Bridei ap Maelgwn, when you see him. Last night he gave one of the finest performances I’ve ever experienced. You’re very fortunate to have a man of such talent in your household.”

  Nodding stiffly, Dessia agreed to pass on his words of praise. The traders said farewell to Niall and headed for the gate. They each carried only a small pack, so Dessia surmised that their servant, Sarlic, had already taken the rest of their goods to the ship.

  “It’s a pity Bridei wasn’t here to say goodbye to them,” Niall said. “I’m very surprised he isn’t around. He spent a great deal of time with them while they were here.”

  “Aye. As did you.” She looked at Niall speculatively. “Did you ever hear them discussing Tiernan O’Bannon or any of the other neighboring chieftains?”

  “Nay, milady. Why would they care about our local politics?”

  “I thought something might have come up.”

  “All we talked about was jewelry-making and enamelwork.” Niall held out his hand. “Penrick gave me a small brooch to study, to see if I could figure out the technique. He said it was flawed and wouldn’t fetch much. As payment, I repaired the clasp on another piece, but I’m certain he made me a bargain.”

  Dessia glanced at the brooch. It was stunning, the colors of the enamel remarkably bright and vivid. Niall was right. It was very good of Penrick to part with such a fine piece in exchange for a little repair work. Having never before encountered a trader who exhibited such generosity, Dessia was immediately suspicious. Was the brooch a payment for information?

  She studied Niall’s face. Was he so desperate to advance his skills that he’d betray her? It didn’t seem possible. The smith was a solid, straight-forward man, devoted to his family and to his work. But it was conceivable he’d unknowingly passed on information to the traders. Or to Bridei.

  Dessia sighed. It all came back to Bridei. Before he arrived, she’d been confident in her ability to assess people and situations. Then he came along, appearing to be one thing and turning out to be another. Or had he? She’d always been suspicious of him. He seemed too good to be true—too handsome, too charming, too eager to please her. She sighed again.

  “Milady, is something wrong?” Niall asked.

  She shook her head distractedly. “I’m not certain I trust those traders. They seemed too accommodating, too agreeable.”

  “Perhaps they were pleased by the quality of our trade goods. Our women are skilled in dying and weaving, and the wool cloth they make is of excellent quality. Our hides are also superior. Besides, Penrick told me that this was a very convenient place for their ship to put in. Much closer than Ath Cliath or Craimor. I also think they were very impressed by Bridei.” He paused, then gazed at her searchingly. “Where can he be, milady?”

  “I don’t know!” As she walked away from Niall, Dessia chewed her lower lip and wished she hadn’t been so short with the smith. People were already going to be suspicious when Bridei didn’t reappear. If she didn’t attempt to behave normally, they might guess she’d done something to him.

  But how was she to behave normally when she felt sick with guilt and despair? Although she knew she should mingle with her guests before they left, she didn’t see how she could manage it. Everyone would ask about Bridei. And every time she lied and said she didn’t know where he was, she would feel the brutal stab of regret. Nay, she would go to her chambers and stay there. Have Aife tell everyone she was ill. It was the truth. She was so heartsick and anguished she thought she would die of it.

  * * *

  Bridei woke to darkness. From the smell of earth, rot and damp surrounding him, he could guess he was somewhere underground. There was a throbbing pain in the back of his head. Searching his mind for an explanation of his circumstances, he came up with a vague recollection of following Dessia as she made her way among the buildings of the hillfort. She must have brought him here. Then someone—probably Keenan—had hit him on the head. But why? “Why, Dessia?” he asked aloud.

  He struggled to come up with a reason for her actions. Perhaps she’d overheard him talking to the traders and knew he was planning to leave Cahermara. She might think he was disappearing for good and this was her clumsy, desperate attempt to keep him near.

  He sighed and sat up. When his stomach lurched with nausea, he lay down again. It could be awhile before Dessia worked up the nerve to confront him. In the meantime, he might as well give in to the enticing oblivion reaching out for him.

  * * *

  Dessia stared out the window of the tower room, waiting for night to fall. As soon as it was dark, she would go to the souterrain and make certain Bridei was all right. She would take him food and water and confront him about what she’d heard. But perhaps that wasn’t the best plan. It would be far too easy for Bridei to convince her of his innocence. To explain away what she’d heard with sly, placating words.

  Nay. She didn’t dare go to him by herself. She’d have to take Keenan. Her man-of-arms wouldn’t be so easily convinced. He’d be able to evaluate Bridei’s explanations and see if they made sense. If Bridei could make Keenan believe he wasn’t a spy, then she’d finally be able to trust her lover.

  Her lover. That’s what he was. But he was also something more. He was her . . . cariad, her beloved. And if it turned out that he truly was a spy, she would never recover. Everything she’d worked for, everything she cared about—none of it would matter. She’d never be the same. Oh, she would go on. She must. Too many people depended upon her. But she would be a shell of what she once was. She would live in a drab, gray, winter-bare world. In her heart, summer would never come.

  She sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, and watched the gray twilight seep over the land.

  * * *

  It seemed like days later when she finally judged it late enough that she dare leave her chambers. She put on her dark green cloak and crept down the stairs and through the hall crowded with sleeping people. Outside the door, she paused and glanced around. The hillfort was quiet. Except for the warrior unfortunate to be on duty in the gatetower this night, everyone must be asleep, including Keenan. She knew a twinge of regret at the thought of waking him. After the last few days, he must be exhausted.

  Stealthily, she made her way to the barn. Aife had let it slip that this was where she and Keenan went to be alone. Dessia opened the door, wincing at the creaking sound it made. She started toward the stairs that led to the upper area where hay and straw was stored. Before she got halfway there, she heard a voice call out, “Who’s there?”

  “Keenan?” she
responded in a half-whisper. “Is that you?”

  “Milady?”

  She could hear the surprise in his voice, and also caught the soft murmur of a woman’s voice. As she’d guessed, Aife was with Keenan. Dessia knew a pang of envy as she considered that Aife could enjoy her lover without worrying about his motivations. How fortunate her maidservant was.

  Hearing the soft rustle of Keenan dressing, Dessia grimaced with regret at interrupting the two. A few moments later Keenan came down the stairs, fully clothed and wearing his swordbelt. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

  “I going to go see Bridei,” she whispered back. “I need you to come with me.”

  “Now?” Keenan sounded dismayed.

  “Aye. I don’t dare go there during the day.”

  “Why not?” Keenan asked, his voice rising. “You’re the queen. You can do whatever you think best and no one will question your decisions.”

  “That’s not true,” Dessia responded in a whisper. “You know it’s not.”

  She grasped Keenan by the sleeve of his tunic and pulled him toward the door. Once they were outside, she continued, “Everyone loves Bridei. If they find out I’ve done this, they’ll despise me.”

  “Aye, because they’re fools.”

  “That may be. But it doesn’t change the fact that I want to keep Bridei’s whereabouts a secret, at least until I can talk to him and try to find out the truth.”

  “You think you’ll get the truth by questioning him?” Keenan’s voice dripped with scorn.

  “Aye. If you’re there. I need you to help me. There must be some way to find out his intentions, what sort of person he really is.”

  “There is. But you said you disliked the idea of torture.”

  “Nay. I won’t do that. We’ll have to find out by other means.”

  “I suppose we can try,” said Keenan wearily.