The Shining City (36 page)

against him.

“Olwynne, ye smell . . . ye feel so good,” he murmured. “Oh, but I canna . . . I must no‟ . . .”

“Ye can,” she whispered. “Ye must. Please. Ye ken she‟s no good for ye. She canna love ye the way I love ye. Please, please. I‟ll make ye happy, I promise.”

She lifted her skirts and mounted him, and he slid his hands up her legs to grasp her bottom. She was naked beneath her skirt, and his breath caught. “Oh Eà!” he breathed. His fingers digging into her bare flesh, he lifted her and brought her down sharply upon him. They both cried out.

Tears burst from Olwynne‟s eyes. She bent and hid her face in his shoulder, and he grasped her tighter, pounding up into her, his breath gasping. Olwynne was laughing and crying together, shaken and torn and slippery with need. He groaned, and she seized his hair and rode him harder.

Suddenly she felt a rush of blood to her head so fierce her ears roared. She cried out and froze in surprise, but he was bucking and twisting beneath her, bruising her hips and buttocks with his hands. Her pelvic bone was sore, the muscles of her legs screaming. Then Lewen arched his back and cried out in joy and surprise.

They crouched together in silence, breathing hard. Slowly Lewen let go of Olwynne‟s buttocks and drew away from her with a soft sucking sound that made Olwynne catch her breath in a little embarrassed laugh. He did not laugh. He was so grave and silent she grew worried and drew closer so she could see his face in the soft erratic glow of the swinging candles. His dark eyes were somber, but there was a glow in them that made a dark flower of triumph and malice bloom deep in Olwynne‟s heart.

“What have we done?” he whispered. “I must be mad . . . or drunk. Rhiannon . . . your father . . .

Oh Eà!”

“We‟ve made love,” Olwynne said fiercely. “I wanted ye, ye wanted me. What‟s wrong with that?”

“Rhiannon . . .”

“Eà curse her!” Olwynne said. “She was never meant for ye. Ye‟re mine and have always been mine. Ye just needed to see that.”

“I must‟ve been blind,” he cried. Then he drew his breath in on a long hiss. “Or ensorcelled!”

Olwynne felt a bitter jab of shame but thrust it away. Lewen had bent his head to kiss her hands.

Burning tears fell on her skin. She drew him close to her again, and wiped his eyes with her fingers, and kissed his mouth. “Come back with me to my room,” she whispered.

He nodded, and when she drew down to kiss him again, he kissed her back with sore and

desperate need.

B
ronwen laughed and tossed back her hair, spinning away from Neil and then swiftly back. He caught her in his arm and almost stumbled, so sudden was her weight, but recovered himself quickly. The music came to an end and she smiled and curtsied, and he bowed.

“Another?” he begged.

She gave her quick flashing smile. “I wish I could, Cuckoo, but I‟m already promised to another.

I‟m sorry. Happen again later?”

“But I have no‟ seen ye in months. Surely that counts for something?”

“Aye, o‟ course, but the thing is, I didna ken ye were coming back in time for the feast, and my dance card has been full for weeks. I‟m sorry!” She smiled brilliantly over her shoulder as she took the proffered arm of the Earl of Kintallian, a brilliantly polished young man with a small pointed beard and so many slashes on his sleeve he looked as if he had barely escaped with his life from some frantic duel.

The music began again, and she swirled away on his arm. Neil scowled, well aware the earl was a far more graceful dancer than he could ever be. Moodily he made his way back to his table, jerking his head to the page for some more Merry May punch and watching Bronwen as she spun down the center of the dance floor. His scowl only deepened when the Earl of Kintallian was replaced with Alta, the Fairgean ambassador, and then with Aindrew MacRuraich.

His mother, Elfrida NicHilde, the Banprionnsa of Tìrsoilleir, bent closer to ask him a question, laying her hand caressingly on his arm. He hardly noticed.

Neil had just decided he would demand the very next dance when he saw a young man with brilliantly blue eyes under heavy, scowling eyebrows cut in, interrupting the lavolta. Bronwen seemed at first to protest, but when the young man, dressed all in green from head to toe, insisted, Aindrew relinquished her with a graceful bow and away she whirled again. Neil sank back into his chair and signaled for his glass to be refilled. His mother uttered a gentle admonishment, which he ignored. Elfrida pursed her lips and began to lecture him, in the mildest way possible, on the evils of alcohol and fast women.

To Neil‟s chagrin, the green-clad man was the most accomplished dancer he had ever seen. He leaped like a deer, spun on his toes and then on his knees and, worst of all, sent Bronwen twirling about with the merest touch and gesture. Together, they danced so beautifully the floor cleared for them, and an audience gathered, cheering and clapping.

Neil, tossing back another cup of honeyed wine, saw Donncan was standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching with much the same black, sullen, brooding look that Neil imagined was on his own face. Their eyes met. Donncan‟s expression darkened even further, and Neil felt his throat close over.

“Neil . . .” Elfrida said.

“Just leave me alone!” Neil said and lurched to his feet.

Mathias drew Bronwen close and bent her backwards over his arm as the music came to an end.

He said, pleadingly, “Ye canna pretend ye do no‟ enjoy dancing with me, my lady.”

She straightened up and took a step away, raising her brows. “Why would I pretend any such thing? I have always said ye were a very pretty dancer.”

“Is that all I am to ye?” he demanded.

“But o‟ course,” she answered, drawing up the fragile folds of her silvery-green skirt. “What else?”

He flushed dark red, and she gave him a little ironic curtsy and moved away. Mathias caught her arm.

“Unhand me at once!” she hissed through her teeth. “Do ye seek to make a scene?”

“I must speak with ye,” he said unsteadily. “Please, my lady . . . Your Highness. I wish . . . I wish to apologize . . . to explain . . .”

“Surely no‟ here and now, in the middle o‟ the dance floor, with every eye upon us?” the Banprionnsa answered haughtily.

“Then when?”

She disengaged her arm and yawned behind her fan of bhanias feathers. “I am sure I shall tire o‟

dancing soon and shall seek to cool myself with an iced bellfruit juice in the garden, away from the heat o‟ the fire. Happen I shall see ye there. Though, really, there is no need for ye to explain.

Ye are no‟ the first man to drink too much seasquill wine and make a fool o‟ himself.”

He colored angrily and bowed with a click of his heels that made her roll her eyes impatiently as she moved away. The crowd parted to let her through, the men bowing their heads, the women curtsying gracefully. More than one set of eyes followed her, both men and women. Bronwen knew the women were eyeing her dress, and the men the long-limbed, supple body underneath.

She had designed her dress herself for maximum effect. Made of pale green gauze, the gown tied over her shoulders with nothing more than a narrow satin ribbon, leaving her arms and shoulders bare. Beneath the gauze, Bronwen wore a tight satin sheath that had been carefully matched to the hue of her skin so that it looked as if she was naked beneath. A few sprays of appliquéd beading helped preserve her modesty. She wore her hair loose, like a young girl, under the crown of flowers that declared her May Queen, the most beautiful girl at the court.

Bronwen had moved only three steps when she was accosted by one of her uncle‟s squires, young Fymbar MacThanach of Blèssem, a plump boy with a shock of tow-colored hair and an unfortunate tendency to blush. Bronwen smiled, waved her fan languidly, and begged him to find her something to drink. Fymbar turned scarlet, stammered his willingness to serve her, and went plunging off to find a waiter. Another few steps, and Aindrew MacRuraich was bowing over her hand and begging her for the next dance.

“But I have already danced with ye three times tonight, my laird,” she said, smiling demurely at him from behind her fan. “Any more and we‟ll cause a scandal.”

“I thought ye delighted in scandalizing the court,” he said with a grin. “And ye ken I am always willing to assist ye in putting firecrackers under those auld biddies‟ tails.”

“Indeed, ye are a fine companion in any game, but I feel I should, perhaps, play a more sober and respectable charade tonight,” she said. “Given that my beloved betrothed has seen fit to return to my side, after these long months o‟ absence.”

“And looking very sour too, I should add,” Aindrew said. “Surely ye do no‟ really want to marry that sobersides?”

Bronwen looked thoughtfully across the floor at Donncan, who was watching her with a very unhappy expression on his face. “Donncan does no‟ dance,” she said regretfully. “He finds his wings can be rather a nuisance on a crowded dance floor.”

“But surely he does no‟ forbid ye from dancing?” Aindrew cried. “When ye are the bonniest dancer in the whole court?”

“Nay,” Bronwen answered. “He does no‟ forbid me.”

“But he doesna like it, does he?”

Bronwen returned her gaze to Aindrew‟s handsome, laughing countenance. “Would ye?” she answered.

He sobered. “Nay, I would no‟,” he answered.

“So we can hardly blame him, can we?” she said and, smiling, left him.

Donncan watched her approach with no lightening of his expression.

“Ye are failing in your duties as Green Man,” she chided him. “The Green Man is meant to lead the festivities, drinking and dancing till dawn.”

“Happen your cavalier would have been a better choice then,” he said stiffly.

“Ye mean Mathias Bright-Eyed? Well, he certainly is a keen dancer and an even keener drinker.

I‟ll warrant he is still here, drinking and dancing at dawn, long after ye‟ve sought your bed.”

He flushed. “I‟ll warrant ye‟re right. The question is, where will ye be?”

She drew away from him. “What kind o‟ question is that?”

“A fair enough one, by all accounts.”

“So ye listen to the gossipmongers now, do ye?”

“It‟s rather hard no‟ to, when there is so much to listen to.”

“It‟s all malicious and untrue,” Bronwen cried, then recollected herself, remembering the many curious eyes upon them. For a moment she stood still, trying to regain her composure, and then she said lightly, “Come, Donncan, I have no‟ seen ye in months. Is this the way ye greet me? It is no‟ like ye to believe the false tales o‟ those who delight in spite and mischief. Ye ken what the court is like after the long winter. Everyone is restless and out o‟ sorts, me among them. I ken ye willna dance with me, with the floor so crowded, but can we no‟ walk in the gardens together? I have no‟ had a chance to hear a single thing about your stay in Arran these past months. How was the Tower o‟ Mists?”

Donncan frowned. “Strange,” he answered after a while. “It is very isolated, ye ken, hidden at the heart o‟ the fens as it is, and so often covered in mist. There was no‟ much to do there, really.

We boated on the lake, and when the marsh was iced over we had some good hunting. But once the thaw came, it all grew rather flat. I didna sleep so well while I was there. . . . They say the air is bad, ye ken, and certainly I had some strange dreams.”

“Really?” Bronwen asked. “What kind o‟ dreams?”

Donncan shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Just run-o‟-the-mill nightmares, I guess. Darkness, and no‟ being able to breathe. A heavy stone on my chest. Wings beating around my head. Birds, or bats, or something. Naught I could really remember the next day.”

“So did ye no‟ dream about me?” Bronwen asked provocatively as they stepped away from the glare of the torches and into the soft breathing dark of the gardens.

At once he turned and seized her wrist, drawing her close to him. “Ye ken I did,” he said angrily.

“I was tormented with dreams o‟ ye, as is every man who crosses your path.”

She was surprised to find it hard to catch her breath. “Och, I think ye exaggerate.”

“I wish I did,” he answered and let go of her wrist.

She rubbed it, torn between feeling flattered and angered. He stood, staring moodily into the candlelit trees, sipping at his wine. She decided to be flattered.

“I‟m glad ye thought o‟ me,” she said softly. “Ye were gone a long time.”

He glanced at her, surprised into a smile. “Did ye miss me?”

“Maybe just a little,” she said.

“Well, I‟m glad to hear it. By all accounts, ye were having too much fun to even notice I was gone.”

“Did ye expect me to just sit in my rooms and mope?” Bronwen‟s voice sharpened.

“Some moping would have been nice.”

“Moping is just no‟ my style,” Bronwen said with a sweet smile and drank down her punch recklessly.

“So I heard.”

“Ye seem to have heard a great deal o‟ me while ye were gone. Am I to infer ye had spies watching my every movement and reporting back to ye?”

“I had no need o‟ spies,” Donncan said. “Every traveling tinker had a new tale to tell o‟ Bronwen the Bonny. There‟s no‟ a village inn in the land where ye are no‟ the favored topic o‟

conversation.”

“Wonderful!” Bronwen retorted. “I‟m glad I‟ve given so many people something new to talk about. Their lives are so very drab and boring, it is my pleasure to bring them some poor form o‟

excitement.”

“Well, I canna say I‟m glad,” Donncan said, his voice under tight control. “It gave me no pleasure at all to hear my wife-to-be has been entertaining other men in her boudoir by swimming naked in the pool.”

Bronwen bit her lip. She was rather sorry for that particular escapade, which had been prompted by Iseult quietly advising her that perhaps she should not make such an exhibition of her Fairgean ancestry. Bronwen was not fond of her betrothed‟s mother, who always seemed to view her with disfavor. She grew weary of everyone expecting her to be the model of prudence and discretion, just because she was a banprionnsa and betrothed to the heir to the throne. A throne that she should have inherited, she reminded herself. Her uncle might think that he had sidestepped the issue by promising Bronwen to his own son when they were mere bairns, but Bronwen had not forgotten she had been named heir by her own father, and certainly others had not forgotten either. The Rìgh and Banrìgh liked to think they had her trapped in a silken net, bound to a future not of her own devising, but Bronwen enjoyed reminding them that she was not entirely without power, even if the only way she could express her defiance was in wearing unsuitable gowns and spending her time in expensive frivolities.