Page 43 of The Daughters of Avalon
Aside from the trencher, they also shared a goblet, and on one particular occasion they both reached for the glass at the same time. Elspeth gasped softly as his hand covered hers, and she held her breath as his fingers lingered, entwining with hers, caressing her…
She swallowed as gooseflesh erupted on her arms—and her breasts—then he withdrew with a knowing smile, allowing Elspeth to drink from the cup whilst he watched. She did so quickly, her lips and throat suddenly parched, then set the cup aside, and once again held her breath as Malcom lifted up thegoblet in turn and spun the glass so that his lips fell upon the very spot where Elspeth’s lips had touched… He smiled at her.
Her heart leapt inside her breast, hurling itself against her ribs like a child with a tantrum, and only belatedly did she realize the folly of her actions. Sweet, sweet fates, but what seduction was she playing at? Would he later anticipate…more?
Swallowing convulsively, Elspeth turned away, overhearing Lady Dominique say to her brother that she wasn’t in the mood to play. And it was only then that Elspeth realized the music in the hall had stopped. She had been so attuned to Malcom that she hadn’t realized the entire room was staring expectantly at the lord’s table.
“Lady Aldergh, do you play?” William Beauchamp asked, again.
Elspeth blinked. “Play?”
“The harp, My Lady. The harpist has requested a song from my sister, but Lady Dominique claims the mood does not strike her and she bids you to play in her stead.”
Elspeth’s hand fluttered to her breast. “Me?” she asked. And, well, she did know how to play the harp, but it had been ages since she’d had the means to—not since her days at court. She couldn’t even be sure that her fingers knew how to span the chords.
“I would so dearly love to hear you play,” Dominque begged. “You are so lovely tonight and you deserve all the attention.”
Elspeth cast a beleaguered glance at Malcom, but Malcom only smiled. And thinking, perhaps, that she was begging his permission, he waved a hand toward the harp that lay waiting at the center of the hall. “Well,” she said. “I do know a song or two.”
Beauchamp also waved her toward the harp, urging her to play for them. “By all means,” he said, and still Elspeth hesitated, never having played for so many people all at once.
Finally, she stood, acutely aware of the hush that had fallen over the room as she moved across the dais and down the stairs. She heard whispers and murmurs as she passed.
One man said with a chuckle to his mate, “If she plays as beautifully as she looks, I myself will swoon like a lady at her feet.”
Forsooth!Her music skills were not so fine as her sister Seren’s. But then, everything Seren did was better than Elspeth—a fact that had never aggrieved her for a single day… until now.
As she moved across the room, she was very painfully aware of so many pairs of eyes upon her—and one more than all the rest. Malcom watched her intently as she took her seat behind the harp, and Elspeth lifted her gaze to him only once.
Goddess, help me… please.
After so, so long, she was afraid of what would come from her efforts. Very tentatively, she pressed her fingers to the strings, testing the sound. And, then, she closed her eyes, remembering the lessons of her youth, and simply let the music come forth…
She didn’t know many songs—only a few. Most were not suitable for good Christian ears. But everybody loved a faerie’s tale with adventure, so she sang a song about Cerridwen, the great priestess of Avalon, who some would claim was herself the Mother Goddess. She was not, of course, but she was still the greatestdewinethe world had ever known.
To begin with, the story was clever and sweet… inspired by love. For want of a lover Cerridwen lured Tegid Foel onto her Isle of Avalon, and for a short time, they lived together in love and harmony and had a precious daughter they called Creirwy. Creirwy soon came to be known as the loveliest maiden in all the world. Alas, as the newness of their love passed, Cerridwen began to resent that Tegid longed for a life away from her precious Avalon. She soon became embittered, and her bitterness manifested itself in her son. They called this new childMorfran, for his countenance was hideous. And realizing she was the cause of her son’s misery, Cerridwen longed to gift her boy with something more precious than could be born of flesh and blood. She meant toinspirehim with such artistry that it would make him even more beloved than his sister Creirwy. So… she prepared an Arwen potion for a year and a day, until, one sad, sad day, a boy called Gwion was busy stirring her pot, and out leapt a drop of the Arwen potion. Consequently, the wrong boy became enlightened, and foreseeing that the witch Goddess would attempt to destroy him for taking what should rightfully be due her son, he transformed himself into a hare. Cerridwen then became a greyhound to pursue him. Gwion became a fish. Elspeth’s fingers moved over the strings more urgently, to symbolize his flight. Cerridwen became an otter, and the boy became a bird. Cerridwen pursued him as a hawk, and finally, at last… She slowed her fingers, to a sad, sad melody, because Gwion, thinking himself too wise to be bested by an old Crone, turned himself into a grain of corn in a field and was thence devoured by Cerridwen in the form of a hen.
But the story was far from done, and in looking about the room, Elspeth saw that the hall was enraptured, so she continued… her eyes filling with tears—less for the story and more for the memories it brought… of herself seated by her grandmother’s skirts, watching her grandmamau play the harp. Flames ignited behind her lids, and she heard her grandmother’s screams, but she pushed away those memories and continued to sing…
In swallowing Gwion, Cerridwen came to be with child. She bore the boy nine months in her womb, all the while swearing she would kill him after he was born. But, then, once that day came, she realized she could not kill her lovely child, so she wrapped the boy in swaddling and cast him out to sea, where he was found by good king Elfin. Under Elfin’s tutelage, Gwionbecame a great, great bard known as Taliesin, whose radiant beauty was his curse, and whose progeny would forever share his burden. Some people knew him as Merlin.
But, of course, a beautiful man should be offered a beautiful lady to wife, and he was given to wed the loveliest lady in all the land, which happened to be Creirwy—Cerridwen’s own daughter. Alas, for the Witch Goddess, she and the Island of Avalon were swallowed by the sea, gone with the sweep of the Goddess Mother’s hand.
No one in the hall could have any notion that the tale Elspeth sang about was true, and thus she dared to sing all the rest, about how Taliesin built himself a fortress high in the Black Mountains, where he’d cherished his lovely bride.
But this is what Elspeth could never say: That fortress she sang about was Blackwood, and it was supposed to have been her legacy.
Alas, in surrendering to her hate and her need for retribution, Cerridwen forsook her Mother’s love and mercy, and became an outcast of both worlds.Poofwent the Isle of Avalon, just the same as would happen to Blackwood… just the same as could happen to England…
To the Welsh, her grandmamau had borne another name. She was the White Witch ofBannau Brycheiniog,whose castel was raised so high that she was given vigil over the Endless Sea, and her signal fires were meant to warn Wales of approaching invaders. She was the guardian of all their land. When Elspeth had finished her story, there were tears streaming from her own eyes and down her cheeks. But her fingers remained on the strings, playing of their own accord.
Gentle, blurring, drifting, rushing, clear and brilliant, glittery and flowy, dull, and then mellow and sharp, splashing, cascading, reverberating…
After a while, she opened her eyes to find that the fiber of the room began to vibrate along with the strings of the harp. Startled, Elspeth plucked them again, but with trepidation, blinking as the fabric of the aether gave way to reveal her first true vision… a darkened room…pluck… a blood-stained bath…pluck… a body discarded on the floor…pluck… Morwen… in a blood-soaked tub.Pluck. And one final image appeared to her now—one of Rhiannon locked in an iron-barred tumbril…
“Morwen,” she whispered, and her fingers ceased to play all at once. The sound they made as they fell across the harp strings was as hideous as Morfran’s face.
Elspeth stood, feeling heady, and then suddenly she was afraid as the room began to spin away…
