The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) Read Online Free PDF Page B

reason you need a bard. I could compose a song paying tribute to your family. With my words I would keep their memory alive and make certain your people never forget what they’ve endured. I could tell the tale of how you survived.” He gazed at her intently. “How you have boldly rebuilt your home and reestablished the rule of your line. There’s great power in words. I can give you and your family a kind of immortality. Having heard the tale I will tell of your despair, your defeat and your kingdom’s rebirth, no one will ever forget it.”
    Already the story was taking shape in his thoughts, his mind working away at how he would use the pain of Queen Dessia’s past to create to song that would touch all who heard it. Perhaps this was why he had been sent here, borne upon the fierce wind of the storm to this isolated realm. Here he had found a subject worthy of his talents. A beauteous queen, the victim of cruelty and slaughter. But one who rose triumphant from the ruins, like the magical bird called the Phoenix in the tale told by the Greek bard in Narbonne.
    Caught up as he was in the glorious potential of the story, he was unprepared for Queen Dessia’s response. She rose to her feet, her expression so full of fury, he was startled. “I don’t need to be told what I’ve lost, bard,” she said in a low, throaty voice. “Or praised for how hard I’ve worked and struggled to overcome the blow my enemies dealt me. What I need is strong hands to carry stones to rebuild the walls of Cahermara. It’s protection from my enemies I require, not cruel reminders of what they’ve taken from me!”
    She climbed down from the platform where her chair was situated and swept past him. The swiftness of her movements stirred the air of the hall, leaving behind the faint scent of herbs and the provocative odor of her body. He breathed it in, recognizing the sweetness of female skin overlaid with a hint of perspiration. Not the sweat of labor, but emotion. Anger, pain and fear made up the heady brew filling his senses.
    He felt stunned, and more intrigued than ever. This woman possessed many mysteries. Mysteries that aroused his mind and loins with equal intensity. He had no intention of leaving now, not until he’d fully explored Queen Dessia's enigmatic thoughts . . . and the provocative curves of her lush body.
    * * *
     
    Dessia lay on her bed and tried to relax. Her heart still pounded, forcing the blood through her veins as fiercely a spring flood surging down a mountain glen to the sea. What was wrong with her? What had this man done to her? It was madness to allow him to remain at Cahermara. By the gods, the effect he had on her was terrifying. She sat up, her muscles taut as iron, her breathing shallow and rapid.
    “My lady, are you ill? Can I bring something to soothe you?”
    Dessia turned to see Aife watching her with a worried expression in her blue eyes.
    “I’m . . . well enough.” Dessia lay down again, thinking of the great crest of emotion that had washed over her when the man offered to compose a tale about her family. His words had brought all the horror of it rushing back, as fresh and bitter as if it had happened yesterday. For a moment, she’d feared she would break down and weep in front of him. Curse him! How had he guessed at the raw wound inside her?
    She let out her breath in a sigh. He was a clever man. A bard who used words as a skilled warrior uses his sword. And you have just offered him a place here.
    The thought made her get up from the bed and go to the window. How could she have been so foolish? Even if Bridei ap Maelgwn remained on the other side of the rath breaking rocks, that was still far too close. She should send someone after him right now and tell him she’d changed her mind. Have her men escort the visitor off her lands and warn him not to return.
    But how could she justify banishing him? What tale could she tell her people that would make such a response appear