Page 54 of Desire's Ransom
The fresh scent of water on her hair.
The welcome pressure of her body against his.
He hadn’t realized he was staring at her until Ronan cleared his throat. “How about a bit of entertainment? Lady Mor can bring out her harp.” He winked at Ryland. “Gray tells us ye’re quite the minstrel.”
“Nay, you don’t want to hear me sing,” he scoffed.
“We do,” Ronan argued, waving his arms to get all the others to egg him on.
“Sing! Sing! Sing!” they chanted, ignoring his protests, until his resistance was worn down.
“All right, fine. But I’ll warn you, I don’t know many songs.”
“What do ye know?” Lady Mor asked.
“Le Lai du Chaitivel?”
“One o’ my favorites,” she said, leaving to fetch her harp from the cave.
The song was a tragic one, about a vain lady who couldn’t choose between four suitors and so encouraged them to compete for her affections. Three of the knights died, and the fourth was left impotent from his wounds. In the end, even though he won the lady, the surviving knight considered himself the unluckiest of all, for the other three had met quick deaths, while he endured prolonged suffering the rest of his life.
Ryland had forgotten how long the piece was. Halfway through, he thought perhaps he should cut it short. He didn’t want to bore his audience.
But then he glanced over at Gray.
She seemed captivated by the music. Her eyes were closed, and she was swaying gently back and forth.
So he continued through the rest of the lines, finally finishing to the cheers of the camp.
“By Tuan’s beard,” Maelan declared, “I reckon ’tis the finest singin’ I’ve e’er heard.”
“Aye, me as well,” Fergus gushed.
“Well done,” Sorcha said.
The rest of the woodkerns agreed.
All but mischievous Ronan.
“Hold on now! Wait a moment,” Ronan protested, holding up his hands to halt the praise. “I beg to differ.” When the other woodkerns protested, he shook his head. “Nay, nay. ’Twas a pretty enough tune, and ye served it up fairly, Sir Ryland, to be sure. But I’ve heard better…indeed, among our own members.” At the perplexed pause from the outlaws, Ronan gave a nod. “Gray?”
Gray stared back at Ronan, puzzled. Then her face blossomed into a smile, and her eyes danced merrily in the firelight.
“Is this true?” Ryland asked her. “Do you sing?”
“Well…”
Ronan answered for her. “Oh, sir, ye’ve never heard anythin’ quite like it.”
“I’d love to hear,” Ryland said.
She gave him a sly look. “Are ye sure?”
“I insist.”
“He insists,” Ronan echoed.
Gray grinned and shook her head. Then she got up and trotted her hounds out with her to the middle of the clearing. The rest of the woodkerns started snickering.
