The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (46 page)

She glanced at Bridei, her heart going out to him. He’d feared this moment, dreading his father would feel this way. She reached out and touched his arm. As she did so, the Lady Rhiannon’s gaze focused on her and the queen smiled. The warmth in her expression soothed Dessia. Perhaps Lady Rhiannon loved her son enough that it wouldn’t matter what her husband thought.

Bridei’s mind struggled to function. This was so overwhelming. To see Mabon, Gwydion and Elen once again. And his mother, of course. She looked older, but still beautiful. He’d forgotten how she seemed to fill the room with warmth and light. Glancing again at Dessia, his mother said, “Who is this young woman, Bridei? Is this your wife?”

“In a manner of speaking. We haven’t hand fasted yet.” He couldn’t lie to his mother, couldn’t pretend he had any right to claim Dessia as his wife.

His mother gazed a Dessia quizzically. “She doesn’t speak Cymry?”

“Nay. She’s Irish.”

“You should introduce me.”

His mother’s prompt was gentle, but it reminded Bridei of his terrible breach of manners. He’d been so overwhelmed by seeing his mother and brothers and sister again, he’d almost forgotten about Dessia. “Dessia,” he said, turning toward her and speaking in Irish. “This is my mother, the Lady Rhiannon. And mother . . .” He switched to Cymry. “This is Queen Dessia of the Fionnlairaos.”

Dessia bowed, which pleased him. He then introduced her to his siblings. Elen made a dainty curtsy, while Mabon and Gwydion bowed low.

His mother continued to smile at Dessia, then she looked at Bridei, her eyes sparkling. “A queen, my son? You always did aim high.”

“Aye,” he answered. “I wanted the most beautiful woman in the world, and now I’ve found her. Excepting you, of course, Mother,” he added swiftly.

She beamed back at him. Then she perused Dessia. “Aye, she is beautiful. The two of you shall have fine bonny children.”

“And sooner than you might expect,” Bridei added.

“Ah,” said his mother. She looked at Bridei. “Why haven’t you wedded her yet?”

“The last few weeks have been very eventful, for both of us. It’s quite the tale, but perhaps I should save it for another time.”

“
Another time?”
Her brows shot up and she gave his brothers and sister a look of mock horror. “My son returns after nearly ten years and I’m supposed to wait to hear where he’s been and what he’s been doing for all that time?”

Elen giggled, while the twins appeared bewildered.

Bridei leaned near to his mother. “Perhaps you want to hear the tale of my life, but I doubt my father does.” Bridei shot at bitter glance at the man who’d sired him. He’d hoped after all these years his father had changed. It appeared he hadn’t.

Rhiannon looked at her husband, still seated at the high table, then back at Bridei. “He doesn’t like to be surprised. The way you came here . . . pretending to be a bard . . . giving a false name. It’s upset him and made him suspicious of your motives. But he’ll get over it. He loves you. Once the shock wears off, he’ll welcome you home as I have. Come.” She took his hand. “You and your lady . . . Come and dine with us.” His mother reached out and grasped Dessia’s hand in her other one and led them toward the high table.

Bridei shot an uneasy glance at Dessia. She smiled back at him.

In moments, they were seated, Bridei between his mother and Dessia, and Dessia beside his father. Elen, Gwydion and Mabon had gone back to their seats somewhere among the crowd, where presumably they were sitting with youths of their own age.

Bridei could feel his father’s gaze on him. He wanted to say something, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. Then a servant placed a hunk of bread and a bowl of pottage in front of him, and he concentrated on eating.

As he ate, he heard Dessia and his father conversing. He’d forgotten, but his father did know some Irish, probably from dealing with traders all these years. But they soon felt silent, and Bridei began to worry that Dessia would be too uncomfortable to eat. His father could be very intimidating. But when he glanced at her, she shot him a quick smile.

“So,” his mother said. “Tell me when the babe is due.”

“I suppose next summer. It was about a month after the Blood Moon when Dessia conceived.”

“You know exactly when?”

“Aye. We were together one time, then separated for almost a month.”

His mother stopped eating and gazed at him. “Why were you separated?”

Bridei let out his breath in a sigh. It still pained him to think of Dessia as O’Bannon’s prisoner. “A neighboring chieftain kidnapped her. His intent was to imprison her until she agreed to wed him. Then he could claim her lands.”

“How did she escape?”

With more than a hint of pride, he answered, “I rescued her . . . by trickery.”

His mother nodded. “And because you tricked this chieftain, you had to flee Ireland?”

“Aye.”

“What about her people? Did no one try to help her besides you?”

“It makes me angry to think that they abandoned her, but I suppose I can understand it in some ways. You see, everyone believed Dessia was a sorceress and that she and her lands were protected by magic. When she was kidnapped, their faith in the magic was shattered, and they were too afraid to do anything.”

“But your faith remained strong.”

Bridei found himself smiling. “It helped that I never believed she was a sorceress in the first place. Oh, there is magic surrounding her, great magic, but it’s much more complex than a simple spell. There’s a forest near her stronghold that is surely enchanted. The place remains lush and green even in mid-winter. And in the lake there, both of us have seen visions. When I’m in that place, I feel the ancient powers very strongly. For whatever reason, I think those powers want Dessia to survive and prosper, and to rule the surrounding lands.”

“And so, you’re going back there . . . someday.” His mother’s voice was tinged with sadness.

“Aye. After the babe is born. We have to. Dessia belongs to that place and I . . .” He smiled at his mother. “I belong to her.”

His mother sighed. “Ah, my darling, I’d always hoped you’d fall in love. But it’s hard to accept I must lose you again, so soon after you’ve come back.”

“We’ll stay here until summer at least. Perhaps by then, my father will have thawed enough that he’ll speak to me.”

His mother shot a look at his father, her expression both loving and sorrowful. “Give him time. As I said, this is rather a shock.” She reached out and touched Bridei’s arm. “Now, you must tell me everything that’s happened since you’ve left. How you came to be a famed bard, renowned throughout Britain. Rhun told us some, of course. But mostly about what happened in recent years, since you both served King Arthur. I want to know the rest of it.”

The ease with which she spoke of Rhun startled him. Had she adjusted to his older brother’s death so easily? True, he wasn’t her natural son, but she’d always seemed to love him deeply. “Rhun . . . aye . . . ’tis sad to think he isn’t here to see me finally succumb to love.”

“He should be back before the babe is born, at least. He and Eastra visit several times a year, even though they make their home in Londinium now.”

Bridei struggled to make sense of what he was hearing. “What do you mean? I thought . . . the battle of Camboglanna . . . they said it was a rout. I presumed . . . I presumed Rhun had been killed along with Arthur.”

His mother shook her head. “Nay. Rhun is fine. In fact, he’s prospered since the Saxons took control. He's largely responsible for the fact that everything hasn’t fallen into complete disorder and confusion in the East. Rhun is able to see both sides and negotiate between the British chieftains and the Saxons.”

“Aye, he would be good at that,” Bridei said, feeling a sense of wonder . . . and relief. He’d always cared a great deal for his much older half-brother, although he’d been loathe to admit it, even to himself. Now that he’d found Dessia, it was also easier for him to understand Rhun and why he cared so passionately about things.

“So . . . you still haven’t told me about yourself. Ten years is a long time, my son. You were only a boy when you left here. I still grieve over that, as does your father. He should never have sent you away. Rhun said you always pretend to be carefree and easy-going, but that underneath he sensed you were very bitter and angry, especially at your father. He feared you endured some awful things after you left here, and that’s what had made you act like that.”

His mother’s words struck too close to the truth. He wouldn’t distress her by telling her what had happened to him. It was all in the past, anyway. “I suppose there have been times I felt bitter, especially towards my father, but I’m a new man now. Since I met Dessia, I’ve come to look at things altogether differently.” He glanced at Dessia fondly. “She’s suffered much more than I have, yet she never lost her courage nor her commitment to her cause. She’s a queen, Mother, in every way. Proud, strong and as capable as any man.”

“She also appears to love you deeply, which is all that matters to me,” said his mother.

“I hope so. For I love
her
with all my being. And I feel certain we are meant to be together. I’ve felt that way since soon after I met her. Indeed, I’ve had visions of her and me.  I think I must have inherited some of your gifts. I’ve had several visions in the past few months, all of them involving Dessia. Even more amazing, I was actually able to call down a storm and save myself from being drowned by slavers.”

“Slavers?” His mother’s eyes widened. “However did you end up in the hands of slavers?”

“As Rhun probably told you, before the battle of Camboglanna, I headed north to the land of your people, the Brigantes. While I was there ...”

He had no trouble telling his mother this part of the tale. It was the earlier part of his life he didn’t want to reveal to her. He knew it would grieve her to think he’d suffered such degradation. But the story of his life in Ireland was full of joy and magic. He told her how stunned he’d been when he’d first met Dessia, how impressed he was with her beauty and cool authority.

Then he told his mother about Dessia’s life. How she’d survived the attack that killed the rest of her family. How she’d learned to fight and gathered together men still loyal to her father and with their help, reclaimed her family’s lands. How she’d rebuilt Cahermara, this time in stone, so it would be easier to defend. He also told about the enchanted forest where she’d taken refuge as a girl and how he’d followed her there soon after arriving at Cahermara. And how when he held her in his arms in that ancient, sacred place, he’d known it was his destiny to fall in love with her.

As he spoke, his mother smiled, and watched him in that tender, knowing way of hers. Just being near her had made him feel better about things, and it shocked him to think he’d let his pride stop him from coming home for all these years. Only someone very foolish would do such a thing. But he’d behaved foolishly for a good share of his life. He could see that now. Being in love had changed him and made him understand what was really important.

He was telling his mother in more detail about how he’d rescued Dessia, when his father interrupted. “Bridei, your lady friend appears tired. I think you should take her to the guest chamber now. You’ll have time to talk with your mother tomorrow.”

“Aye. Of course.” Bridei got to his feet, but before he could reach Dessia, his father had helped her from her chair. Maelgwn bowed to Dessia. “Goodnight, my lady. Sleep well.”

She bowed back. Bridei took her arm and started to lead her off the dais. “Goodnight . . . my son,” Maelgwn called out.

An older woman servant led them out of the hall. Bridei struggled to remember the woman’s name. Hywel . . . Hefina . . . something like that. She was married to one of his father’s men. He couldn’t remember the man’s name either . . . He was still puzzling on the matter when they reached the guest bedchamber.

As they entered and he glanced around, Dessia said, “Bridei? Bridei, have you been listening to me?”

“Of course.” He focused his attention on her.

“Then what did I say just now?”

“Ummm . . . I don’t know.”

“Ah, so you weren’t listening.” She raised her brows. “I suppose I should get used to it. I remember my mother saying that men never listen to women.”

“I’m sorry. What
did
you say?”

“I said, I think there’s hope your father will warm to you after all.”

“Why? What makes you think that?”

“The way he said goodnight to you. The way he looked at you. For a moment, the mask he wears . . . the fearless visage of the powerful, formidable king . . .” She raised her eyebrows again in a look of exasperation. “For a moment it slipped away and I swear I saw yearning in his eyes. And perhaps even regret.”

Bridei snorted. “I think you’ve had too much wine and you’re imagining things. The only time my father’s expression warms is when he looks at my mother. And . . . my sisters. Although that was years ago. They might have done something to earn his animosity by now.”

“Nay. I saw the way he looked at you as we left the hall. He’s just too proud to reveal to you what he feels. At least for now. But give him time.”

“That’s what my mother says.”