The Shining City

by Kate Forsyth

  Nina curtsied gracefully, and Rhiannon did her awkward best to copy her.

  ‘Ye are Rhiannon o’ Dubhslain? The lass who rides the winged horse?’

  ‘Aye, Your Majesty.’

  ‘And where is your pretty mare?’

  ‘I dinna ken, Your Majesty. The dragon scared her away.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘I will call her, and she will come again.’

  ‘Will she just?’ The Banrìgh’s interest quickened, and she looked Rhiannon over.

  ‘Aye, she will.’

  ‘Well, I hope so. A lass that rides a winged horse! That is something new indeed. It would’ve been a shame to lose ye.’

  ‘Aye, Your Majesty. I mean, thank ye, Your Majesty,’ Rhiannon stammered and flushed, then gritted her jaw, hating to be made to look foolish.

  The Banrìgh said, ‘I hope ye will stay close, Rhiannon. I can see a thigearn being o’ great use to me in days to come.’

  ‘Aye, Your Majesty. It would be an honour to serve ye.’ Rhiannon spoke the words Nina had taught her, even though she did not believe them.

  The Banrìgh regarded her a moment longer, her gaze thoughtful. ‘Call your horse to ye,’ she said, then abruptly, ‘and have a message sent to me. I would like to see ye ride her.’

  Rhiannon nodded and agreed, even though she had no desire to bring Blackthorn anywhere near men armed with ropes and bows and arrows. As if reading her thoughts, the Banrìgh said sweetly, ‘But do be careful no’ to fly too far away just yet, Rhiannon. It would be a shame to have to fetch ye back again.’

  ‘Aye, Your Majesty,’ Rhiannon said, and then the interview was over. The Banrìgh turned back to her papers, and Nina led her out of the room.

  ‘Ye had best call Blackthorn straightaway,’ Nina said. ‘One thing we have learnt about our new Banrìgh is that she is very impatient.’

  Rhiannon nodded, though she seethed with rebelliousness. They were taken out to the stableyards by the young man with the floppy brown hair, who Nina called Neil. He was the new Master of Horse, he told Nina proudly, and it was his job to overlook the work of the grooms and stablehands, and to ride out with the Banrìgh each morning.

  There was a big field behind the stables where a curious crowd gathered as soon as it was realised Rhiannon meant to call her flying horse. Rhiannon was angry and told Neil to tell them to all go away. After a moment’s hesitation, he retreated a little but did not leave.

  Rhiannon gripped her hands into fists and called to Blackthorn silently. She was anxious indeed about her horse, for the last time she had seen the winged mare, Blackthorn had been reeling from the spiteful swipe of the dragon’s claw. She had fretted and worried about her ever since, but had had no chance to do more than fling out a silent plea, or query, and hope that all was well.

  Long minutes passed, and the crowd grew restive. Still Rhiannon called, her eyes searching the sky. Her eyesight was much keener than everyone else’s. She saw the far-distant shape of the flying horse long before anyone else, and her shoulders sagged with relief. Then someone in the crowd spotted the mare, and a roar went up.

  Rhiannon turned on Neil. ‘Tell them to shut up,’ she hissed, ‘else they’ll scare her away!’

  Neil looked rather taken aback at her lack of respect, but did as she asked, then turned to a page to send a message to the Banrìgh.

  Blackthorn came circling down, looking as delicate and unearthly as ever, with her great blue-tipped wings spread wide. She landed daintily on the grass, and bowed her head to nudge Rhiannon on the shoulder, before dancing away nervously, her ears back, her eyes showing a rim of white. There was a long cut on her flank, crusted with dried blood. Rhiannon examined it anxiously, but thankfully it was shallow. The dragon had judged its swipe precisely.

  Rhiannon soothed and petted the mare lovingly, reassuring her and bringing her to eat at a trough Neil had ordered filled with warm oat mash. Blackthorn fed greedily, and drank some water, then allowed Rhiannon to tend the scratch. Then, and only then, did Rhiannon mount her winged beast and fly around the field, much to the delight of the watching courtiers. Blackthorn flew easily, not at all troubled by her sore flank, and Rhiannon felt a warm tide of happiness rise up through her. She was free, she was alive, Lewen loved her, and the Banrìgh had called her a thigearn. A thigearn would not be expected to stay at court and sew a fine seam and listen to gossip. Perhaps the Banrìgh had other, more exciting plans for her.

  Rhiannon’s face was glowing when she made her way back to the Banrìgh, who was watching intently from the sidelines.

  Bronwen nodded at the sight of her. ‘A bonny creature,’ she said. ‘Tell me, how far can she fly?’

  ‘A long way,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I do no’ ken how far. When I first captured her, she flew many, many miles, all the way down from Dubhslain to Lewen’s parents’ farm.’

  ‘Two hundred miles or more, Your Majesty,’ Nina said.

  ‘And how fast can she fly?’ Bronwen asked.

  ‘Very fast,’ Rhiannon replied, and added belatedly, at Nina’s frown, ‘Your Majesty.’ Rhiannon thought it was a stupid thing to call a woman who was only a few years older than her, but then, many, many things these humans did seemed stupid.

  ‘Excellent,’ Bronwen said. ‘Let me think on this. I will call ye when I want ye.’

  Rhiannon nodded, and then, as Nina nudged her sharply with her elbow, said woodenly, ‘Aye, Your Majesty. It would be an honour to serve ye.’

  Bronwen’s face relaxed into a spontaneous smile, which made Rhiannon understand, for the first time, why she was considered so beautiful. Then the Banrìgh walked away, with a beautiful liquid movement that Rhiannon found fascinating. Looking around her, she saw she was not the only one.

  Rhiannon spent another happy half-hour with Blackthorn in the stable, grooming her, and feeding her carrots. Then, wiping her slobbery hand on her breeches, she had gone in search of Lewen.

  Now she stood, watching him sleep. His lashes made two dark crescents on his cheeks, and he breathed shallowly, occasionally turning his head against the pillow. Once he muttered her name, and Rhiannon’s pulse leapt.

  There was a warm, painful glow about her heart. Lewen had saved her. He could have died, everyone said so, and yet he had risked his life and limbs to stop the bell from ringing. He must love her. No matter what spell that witch Olwynne had cast upon him, somehow Lewen had remembered her, the girl he had named Rhiannon.

  She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. He sighed and stirred, and turned his head on the pillow. She laid down his hand, stripped off her clothes and, naked except for the wooden charm around her neck, slipped into bed beside him.

  At the feel of her bare skin, he roused sleepily. She pressed every inch of her long body against him, wrapping her arm about his chest and kissing the side of his neck. He turned towards her, still half-asleep, and she kissed his ear, and then his cheek, and then his mouth. The kiss was all sweetness, a long, slow, languorous kiss that made her shiver with longing and grief.

  She lifted her mouth away, and dropped a kiss on his chest, laying down her head so her black hair flowed over him.

  ‘Rhiannon,’ he whispered.

  She could not look at him. ‘Aye,’ she whispered back.

  ‘What are ye doing here? Ye should no’ …’

  She did not want to hear him, so she burrowed her head under the bedclothes, kissing and licking and biting her way down his body. There was a great bruise on one side, and she kissed it gently and eased her weight away from it, tangling his thick dark pubic hair with her fingers. He moaned. With her mouth and her hand, she pleasured him, and his response was fierce and immediate. When he was so close to climax that his back was arching, she mounted him and took him within her, feeling her own urgent desire flowering. For a few fast, frantic moments, they coupled, each panting and crying aloud, and then together they subsided, still glued together.

  Lewen ran his hands down her back to her buttocks, and then up
again. ‘Rhiannon.’

  ‘Aye.’

  They were silent. His hands repeated their slow caress. She felt his chest heave beneath her. She sighed herself, and eased herself away from him, curling up against his side.

  He tangled his fingers in her hair. ‘Rhiannon, ye should no’… I should no’ …’

  ‘Ye saved me,’ she said fiercely.

  ‘Aye,’ he answered, and smoothed her hair down.

  ‘They had the noose about my neck. They were yelling to him to hang me, but he wouldna, for the bell had no’ rung. He said he had to wait for the bell to ring. But ye stopped it, ye stopped it!’

  ‘That’s good,’ he said, and put one hand up to gingerly feel the great bruise marring his temple.

  She bent her head and kissed his hand. When she glanced up again, there was a long look between them, charged with emotion that was impossible to read.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said again, and sighed.

  ‘Why did ye do it?’ she demanded. ‘I thought ye hated me.’

  ‘The bluebird came to me,’ he answered, lifting his other hand and letting it fall. ‘I …’

  He stopped, unable to frame the words.

  ‘I could no’ let ye die,’ he said at last, simply.

  ‘I’m glad,’ she said, in that same fierce, exultant voice. ‘Me yours, ye mine.’

  He bit his lip and looked away. ‘Olwynne …’

  ‘That’s all a lie and a sham,’ she said. ‘She ensorcelled ye! She’s a witch and a cursehag, and I will never, ever forgive her.’

  ‘She’s been taken,’ he said, and felt tears flood into his eyes. ‘Owein and Roden too. Laird Malvern has them. He means to kill them, I ken it!’

  ‘I imagine so,’ she agreed.

  Lewen could not speak.

  She frowned. ‘Ye’re mine,’ she reminded him. ‘No’ hers! Why do ye look so?’

  ‘She was always my friend, my dearest friend, and Owein too,’ he managed to say. ‘And … I still love her, Rhiannon! We are handfasted!’

  She jerked a shoulder. ‘So what? Anyone can jump a fire together. It is what’s in here that matters!’ She pounded her heart.

  He shut his eyes. ‘I ken. I ken. Oh, but Rhiannon …’

  She lay silently for a moment. ‘Ye say ye love her still,’ she said at last. ‘Do ye mean ye do no’ love me?’

  ‘I dinna ken,’ he said miserably. ‘I mean, I do, I do, Eà damn it, I do! When ye are with me, when I think o’ ye being hanged …’ He shuddered. ‘But there is something … that ties me still to her. I canna understand it. I never thought this could happen to me. I’ve always believed, I’ve always thought … but … still there is something …’

  She got up.

  ‘Where are ye going?’ he asked. There was despair in his voice.

  ‘I am going to get her,’ she said.

  Whatever Lewen had been expecting, it was not this. He gaped at her in surprise, then rose up on one elbow as she began to drag on her clothes.

  ‘Rhiannon! What do ye mean? Where are ye going?’

  ‘I will call Blackthorn, and I will go and save her from that blaygird laird,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘And Owein and Roden too. I dinna want him to kill Roden.’

  ‘But … but … why?’ was all Lewen managed to say.

  ‘Ye’re mine,’ she said passionately. ‘I will go and save her, and then I’ll get her by the neck and I’ll squeeze and squeeze until she swears to let ye go again. If a spell can be spun, it can be undone, and she’s the only one who can do it.’

  ‘What if it is no spell?’ Lewen asked.

  She looked at him in surprise and scorn. ‘O’ course it’s a spell. She’s a witch, isn’t she? A witch who wanted my man. Well, she’s no’ going to have ye. Ye’re mine! And I’ll make her admit it if I have to kill her to do it.’

  Lewen could not help but laugh. ‘Oh, Rhiannon.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Everything is all such a mess. I dinna ken …’

  ‘I do,’ she said. ‘Ye saved me. Ye mine and me yours. What else is there to ken?’

  He lay back down, watching with regret as she covered up her nakedness.

  ‘Naught,’ he said. ‘Naught at all.’

  Thunder growled as deep and menacing as a shadow-hound. Lightning stalked the horizon, and all the horses in the stable shifted uneasily, their hooves clattering on the cobblestones.

  ‘Are ye sure ye wish to do this?’ Nina said, clasping her hands together. ‘It’ll be so dangerous. Are ye sure, Rhiannon?’

  Rhiannon looked up from the girth she was tightening. ‘Sure I’m sure.’

  ‘Oh, thank ye, Rhiannon, thank ye! We will no’ be far behind ye, we’ll be following just as fast as we can. And Finn and Jay are close on their heels too, ye will no’ need to face them alone. Just find them for us, and … and …’ She faltered, not wanting to say and save my little boy for me, but meaning it nonetheless.

  Rhiannon nodded, and gathered the reins together, swinging into the soft saddle she used to pad Blackthorn’s bony back.

  ‘Just send me the wee bluebird if ye have news,’ Nina gabbled. Tears were streaming down her face, and she wiped them away impatiently. ‘It’ll ken how to find me, birds always do.’

  Rhiannon lifted her hand to the bluebird perched on her shoulder. It trilled gaily in response, and flitted down to the pommel of the saddle, and then across to Nina’s shoulder. She caressed it, then handed it back to Rhiannon, who tucked it away in the breast pocket of her coat. Rain began to pound down into the stableyard, turning the ground to mud, and Rhiannon drew her cloak more firmly about her.

  Once again Rhiannon was wearing the thick blue cloak and tam-o’-shanter that had once belonged to Connor, but this time she wore them honourably, with the permission and blessing of the Banrìgh Bronwen Mathilde NicCuinn. It seemed that she and Bronwen had had the same idea, for when Rhiannon had gone to the gentlemen ushers and demanded an audience with the Banrìgh, it was to find a page had just been sent to summon her.

  Apart from the natural affection with which Bronwen regarded her cousins, it was clear to the Banrìgh that she must be seen to be making strenuous attempts to rescue them from the lord of Fettercairn if she was ever going to be free of malicious gossip concerning their disappearance. She had done everything she could think of to waylay the evil lord and his minions, but again and again he had somehow managed to evade capture. It was clear his plans had been extremely well laid, and he had spent a great deal of money in ensuring nothing could go wrong.

  Having escaped Lucescere by boat, he had ditched the yacht at the first village, and had fine horses ready and waiting. Riding hell-for-leather, they had cut across country and been met by two light travelling carriages, each pulled by four strong horses. Bronwen had arranged for the roads to be blockaded, but he had cut his way through the first barricade, and disappeared somewhere before the second.

  Finn had found the tracks of the carriages leading into the forest, her latest message had said. Their own horses were foundering, however, and she thought it would take some time to find more as every hack in the area had been mysteriously bought the previous week.

  Bronwen was seriously disturbed by this news. The lord of Fettercairn must be found and stopped, yet his lead on his pursuers was growing with every hour. It was clear to her that their best chance of finding Owein and Olwynne and Roden was to send Rhiannon and Blackthorn after them. It was a perilous mission, to send one young woman after a gang of desperate kidnappers and murderers who had already shown their utter ruthlessness, but Bronwen considered Rhiannon’s life hers, since she had saved her from the gallows at the very last moment, and she was prepared to say so quite strongly, if Rhiannon was to baulk at the job.

  She had been most pleased then, when, having explained all this to Rhiannon with the utmost care and tact, Rhiannon had agreed readily, saying, ‘Och, aye, but o’ course. That is why I am here. I go now.’


  Bronwen had smiled. ‘First, let me make it official. If ye ride on my business, ye must be made one o’ my own guards. I canna call ye a Yeoman – can we say Yeo-woman?’

  ‘I dinna think so!’ Captain Dillon had protested, white-lipped with horror. ‘Your Majesty, I must protest!’

  ‘What, at the word, or the entire concept?’ Bronwen’s mouth had hardened.

  Captain Dillon took a deep breath, ready to speak angrily, but she had held up her hand. ‘No’ now, Captain Dillon! I have no’ the time nor the patience to listen. Our only concern now must be getting back my cousins. I hereby name thee, Rhiannon o’ Dubhslain, the Banrìgh’s own guard. When ye are safely returned to us, I will have a new livery made for ye. In white, I think. But for now, ye can wear the blue o’ the Yeomen. Very well?’

  ‘Aye!’ Rhiannon had cried, filled with fierce gladness. And so she wore the cloak and hat that had once belonged to Connor, with a white shield hastily tacked on to the breast, showing Bronwen’s new arms, the MacCuinn stag quartered with a white sea-serpent.

  Her saddlebags hung on Blackthorn’s withers, loaded once again with supplies and weapons, and a signed and sealed contract from Bronwen giving her the freedom to demand help in the Banrìgh’s name. Bronwen had felt no need to warn Rhiannon not to abuse this privilege, but Captain Dillon had, in no uncertain terms. Rhiannon had only smiled.

  ‘I must be off,’ she said now to Nina. ‘I’ll do my best to get him back for ye.’

  ‘I ken how good your best is,’ Nina said, weeping again. ‘Thank ye!’

  Rhiannon nodded, gave her an awkward salute, and wheeled Blackthorn about, trotting out of the stable and into the yard. A stable-boy opened the gate for her, and she urged Blackthorn forward, bending her head against the icy sleet lashing her face.

  A dark figure lurched at her out of the darkness. Blackthorn whinnied and reared in fright. Rhiannon brought her down with an iron hand on the reins, and drew her dagger, wheeling the mare about.