Chapter 13
They arrived at their destination late the next afternoon.
It was shortly before sunset and a most flattering time of day, but not even favorable light could make Beloyn Castle look promising. Upon seeing its stout walls for the first time, Meleri said to Agnes, “The Scots must have a deep reverence for stone. It’s everywhere.”
That much was true. Poised high on a hill capped by a huge rock, it rose out of the ground, looking part kirk, part fortress and part God knows what. At some point in history, it must have been quite an impressive sight—a stalwart fortress with its crow-stepped gable, baronial turrets and its odd combination of aloofness and warmth. Now it was horribly neglected and partially roofless, one wing nothing more than a pile of tumbled-down stones where crenellated parapets and pavilions once existed.
The rest of it did not fare much better, for it was a heap of crumbling griffins and grotesque carvings that rose majestically from its base of sharp, jutting stone. Yet, there was something almost noble in its desolation. Meleri could almost feel the past calling out to her. There it stood, a crumbling castle built upon a rocky outcrop in the midst of a fair meadow. In spite of that, she could almost smell the rushes, scented with meadowsweet and flowers that must have graced its floors, in the years gone by.
She closed her eyes long enough to see it as it must have been, with its walls covered with fine tapestries and silken arras, set with fine glass windows. She found it strange that she felt so drawn to it, more from feeling a tangible link to its romantic and tragic past, than any curiosity as to why parts of it lay in ruins. Even in its roofless grandeur, it seemed deserving of such a past.
“I think this place must look a fright in the dark,” Agnes said.
“It looks a fright now,” Meleri replied, and rightly so. Even the gardens look tattered.
“We are almost there,” Hugh said.
At the sound of his voice, Meleri could not help feeling a dull sense of disappointment that Robert was not with them. Last night, when she had gone to sleep, she had lain on his plaid that still carried his scent and watched him staring moodily into the fire, until her eyes would no longer stay open and she drifted off to sleep. This morning, when she awakened, the fire was gone, and so was Robert.
“He had business to attend to” was Hugh’s only explanation. “Did you need something?”
“No.” Meleri had tried to smile, but her heart was not in it. “When will he return?”
“When he is finished.”
She wondered if she would ever become accustomed to the Scots’ way of abruptness, like Robert’s unannounced departure. She tried to put herself in his place, to see things through his eyes, but it was no use. Try as she might, she could never catch sight of the devils that drove him. Her only compensation was in knowing they would soon marry, and then perhaps one day, she would understand this complicated man.
With Hugh now leading the way, they drew closer to the castle. She saw signs of a rich and noble past as they rode by terraces and mounds, where orchards and beds of flowers once grew. The gardens were divided by towering yew hedges, each garden having been distinctively different at some point in time, but now horribly neglected and overgrown. However, she did catch sight of some lovely statuary, both upright and knocked down, and a fountain that held no water. From the looks of it, it had not held water for quite some time. The most breathtaking sight of all, however, was a tranquil swan pond, surrounded by a field of lavender.
As they approached, she was aware of the haunting sound of a bagpipe, so faint and melancholy that she wondered where it was coming from. “I wonder who is playing.”
“Playing what?”
“The pipes. Don’t you hear them?”
Agnes turned her head slightly, as if to listen. “No, I don’t hear anything, milady.”
“You can’t hear the bagpipes?”
“No, milady. I hear nothing—not even the sound of wind. It is frightfully still and quiet here, like a graveyard.” Agnes shuddered and rubbed her arms, then mumbled something about it being colder in Scotland.
Meleri was about to ask Hugh if he could hear the pipes, but before she could ask, the melody grew fainter and eventually died away. Perhaps it was her imagination, she thought. It had been a long trip and she was apprehensive, apt to hear anything.
Once they arrived, she dismounted with Hugh’s assistance. “Careful of your legs,” he said. “They have a way of giving out beneath you when you first use them after so long a ride. Do you think you can walk alone, or would you like to lean on me?”
She lifted her chin and said, “If you can walk, I can walk.”
Listening to his rocking laughter, she prayed that was true. Thankfully, she did manage—with stiff legs and knees that tended to buckle as she climbed the steep steps, trying to make it look as if she did so without any great difficulty. When she reached the top of the steps, she paused, watching Agnes accept Hugh’s offer of help.
Agnes glanced in her direction once, blushed and looked down.
Shameless, Meleri thought with amusement. Agnes was as strong as an ox, and if the truth were known, she probably could carry Hugh up the steps with no help. However, Hugh was young, robust and pleasing to gaze upon. She could not blame Agnes.
There were only so many pleasures in life.
“This way,” Hugh said, and led them to a large door, heavily carved and studded with brass, with a lion’s-head knocker large enough to wake the dead. He opened the door and stood aside, bidding them to enter.
Inside, the entry was dark. Not one single candle burned. Meleri hesitated, but when she heard Hugh’s chuckle, she stepped through the door to greet her future.
And stepped into complete darkness.
Everywhere it was pitch-black. She could not see the hand she lifted in front of her. Maybe she would wait and greet her future tomorrow.
Hugh went on, as if bumbling around in a dark entry was commonplace. “I know you must be hungry.”
“I am afraid to respond to that. The last time I did, I went to bed with nothing to eat. However, I wouldn’t be against a bit of light.”
Hugh said nothing as he drew back the heavy draperies on two windows and sunlight washed across the stone floors, illuminating the cavernous hall. “Your wish is my command. Come along, lass,” he said, and led them into a rather forbidding medieval banquet hall.
The room was huge—drafty, cold, with thick walls and deep-set windows. It was quite gloomy and lacking cheer. Meleri shivered, not knowing if it was more from the chill in the room or the oppressive gloom.
The fireplace looked as if it had not been lit for years. The stone floors were bare and quite dirty. The walls were grimy and dark from an accumulation of centuries of wood smoke. Gone were the rushes and scent of meadowsweet, the tapestries and the silken arras she had imagined earlier. She surmised the place to be a pathetic heap. Certainly nothing like they had in England, and definitely nothing like she imagined living in for the rest of her life.
She looked around her forlornly and discovered, much to her delight, the far wall of the banquet hall possessed a lovely rood screen. She also discovered an old tapestry, which miraculously seemed to have escaped the ravages of fireplace smoke that covered everything else.
On the verge of wondering if anyone even lived here, she jumped when Hugh’s voice suddenly boomed out, “Where is everyone?”
He gave Meleri a sheepish grin. “Robbie would have told them we were coming. I expected them to have a meal ready.”
“I am not so confident as you. Eating does not seem to be as necessary to Scot survival as it is to the English. Don’t you ever get hungry?”
“Sometimes.” He walked up to a long trestle table. “Hello? Is anyone here?” He banged his fist.
A cloud of dust arose.
Meleri turned her head aside and covered her nose, but still she coughed.
Hugh joined in with a bit of his own coughing.
Meleri was incredulous. A castle this size, and no one to greet them? Surely, this was some sort of jest. She looked around at the abysmal surroundings. She had heard Scotland was a backward country, but this went beyond that. In England, the horses had finer stables. This shabby, soot-filled place could not be the home of the Earl of Douglas.
Agnes wrinkled up her nose. “Faith! It reeks of a barnyard, yet looks like bedlam. What kind of place is this, milady?”
“I know not, Agnes. I am too shocked to speak.” Meleri searched the room for Hugh and received a jolt, for she spied Robert standing next to Hugh near the fireplace. They were talking to a tall man, rather distinguished with graying hair. Robert acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. In fact, he was looking relaxed and quite jovial.
“Perhaps we should join them,” she said to Agnes.
“Oh, milady, let us wait right here.”
Meleri looked around her. “I am not certain how long I can respect anyone who lives like this. Why, our pigs had it better than this at Humberly Hall.”
Agnes looked around as well. “It is a sight. Now I believe everything I ever heard about the Scots. Alas, but your poor earl appears to be very poor indeed. Poor as a parson, it seems.”
“I hear all Scots are too frugal to part with any of their coins.” Like Agnes, Meleri was truly shocked at her future husband’s lack of wealth. It would appear he did not have two sixpence to rub together. She reminded herself that she should always try to find something positive about every situation, so she surveyed the great hall once more, seeing many signs that said the near-destitute state that surrounded the Douglases had not always been with them.
The castle had, without doubt, been a remarkable fortress at one time, with gardens that were equally magnificent—enough to rival any in France or England. Even the rood screen and the fine Flemish tapestry on the far wall bespoke of a wealthier time. Were they frugal, or had something drastic happened to change their fortune?
“Whatever the state of his finances, I am confident it will not matter. He is of strong character and that is more important than high birth or wealth,” Agnes said.
“I suppose that is true. Yet, when I look around me, I find myself agreeing with you, or worse. Judging from the looks of this place, they should be dressed in wolf pelts.” She rubbed her neck. “Zounds! I am weary to the bone…more tired than hungry, I think.”
“Would you like to sit down, milady?” Agnes asked, indicating a nearby chair.
Meleri eyed the rickety chair, covered with dust.
Agnes looked apologetic. “I know living here seems a poor choice, but it’s the only one we have at the moment.”
Meleri reflected on that for a time. “There is only one other choice that I can think of.”
“What is that?”
“Change.”
“Change what, milady?”
She drew her shoulders up as she looked at the disorder that lay all about. “Whatever we find that is in disarray or unpleasant.”
Agnes looked as if Meleri had asked her to drink poison. “Why would we want to do that?”
“Because it is impossible to live like this, and what we cannot tolerate, we must change. Everything changes, Agnes. What doesn’t, will die. Do you not agree?”
“I don’t know, milady. It seems to me it would be easier to change the way we feel than to change what we find disagreeable.”
“Agnes Milbank! Complacency is not an admirable trait! I could never submit to follow the course of destiny meekly. I would rather make an energetic effort to set things right. You are like a wheel rolling always in the same rut.”
“Aye, but at least I know where the road leads and that I will get there.”
“What boredom!”
“As for this place,” Agnes said, looking around her, “it is too far gone, milady.”
“I have always believed in the impossible. I am not happy unless I have done at least one impossible thing each day, before I go to bed. It has been neglected, that is all. It only needs someone interested in putting it to order.”
“I don’t know. I have not seen much of this place, milady, but judging what little I have seen, it would appear there is more ailing it than simply neglect. What do you know of his finances? You will need a great deal of money to make enough changes to be of much benefit.”
As if someone opened the spigot and drained out all the ale, Meleri felt the thrill of excitement flow out of her. No, she was not going to be glum. Think cheerful, Meleri, she reminded herself. “I know nothing, but even if I did, it would not matter. My dowry is large enough to set this place to order and have plenty left over.” Meleri looked around. “Hmm…What shall we do first?”
“Tear it down.”
“Oh, Agnes, this is no time to jest.”
“’Twas no jest, milady.” Agnes looked as lost as a lamb. “I am without any other suggestion. You are the one with all the energy.”
“I fear I haven’t much inspiration, either, at the moment. Night will be upon us soon. We need a place to sleep.”
“We are only two women…and English to boot. Judging from the looks of them, they will not be taking too kindly to any interference from us. Heaven help me, but I fear if we merely mention the word bath, we may find ourselves dumped in a vat by our heels.”
Meleri did not have an opportunity to respond, for Robert suddenly was beside her, thumbs hooked in a brown leather belt, feet planted wide apart, looking at her as if he was trying to decide what was going on in her head. “Forgive my rudeness for leaving you to wait so long after such a journey. I know you must be tired. I should have seen that you were shown to your rooms before I stopped to speak with my uncle.”
“Your uncle?”
“Iain. You will like him, I know.”
She was caught completely by surprise. A man who apologized was unheard of. She did not know what to say. She felt her cheeks go as red as her hair.
“Your face is turning red.”
“Better a red face than a black heart,” she said, feeling she had one of the blackest hearts about for thinking such terrible thoughts about his home. “When are you leaving?”
“Cheer up, lass. I changed my mind about leaving a certain lass behind. I am here now. Things will look better on the morrow.”
Her face grew warmer. Her blush, caused by the way he looked at her, as well as the words he had spoken, suddenly embarrassed her. It was as if the redness of her skin indicated the depth of her vulnerability. Something she did not like. “I can’t say I am as optimistic as you, nor am I overly impressed with anything I’ve seen thus far. Truthfully, this place is in shambles.”
He was smiling, as if shambles were not an issue with him. “Aye, ’tis that.”
“We are, as you said, tired. We are also hungry and desire a bath. So far, no one has been inclined to offer us as much as a sip of water. My first instinct was to think perhaps you brought me here to settle some centuries-old grudge against the English.”
The grin disappeared, replaced by a cautious look. “Why would you think that?”
“I have spent my life in Northumberland. I know all about the Border wars and the Scots deeply rooted hatred of the English.”
“If you were so well versed, why did you agree to marry me?”
“Because I felt I was supposed to,” she said, surprised she did not refer to Lord Waverly.
He raised his brows and gave her an odd look. “You think it was your fate?”
She shrugged. “Something close to that, I suppose. I cannot explain it, really. It was simply that everything seemed to come together. I broke my engagement and left home with no place to go. Then like magic, you and your brother appeared….”
“Ordered by an English king to find an English wife…and there you were.”
“Yes, and I cannot shake the feeling that all of this has been something that was meant to happen.”
He was looking at her in the oddest manner, as if she had suddenly given him something and he didn’t know what to do with it. “You are quite unusual, you know—interesting and nothing like what I imagined an English lass to be.” He stopped. “All this talk doesn’t do anything for your hunger. Come along. I will see my lass well fed…and her nanny as well.”
They followed him to the end of the table, Robert barking orders as they went, which sent a motley crew of servants scampering into the hall and running in a dozen different directions. Soon the table was cleaned.
“This looks like a good place,” Robert said. He stopped at the end of the table and pulled out a chair. By the time Meleri and Agnes sat down, several servants returned with bowls of food, which they placed before them.
“Humble fare, but hot and filling,” Robert said. “Eat your fill. I will return in a moment.”
Meleri and Agnes went after the roast capon, following it with rosemary potatoes and warm bread, which they generously topped with honey, since there was no butter about. As she ate, Meleri kept up with Robert’s whereabouts, pausing in wonder when she heard his thunderous voice explode at the opposite end of the hall.
“What in the devil is going on here?” he asked.
He grabbed a young boy by the ears as he passed. “By the robes of St. Columba! What is happening here? I bring my intended home for a feast and you have nothing ready? Where is Fiona? Why isn’t this place cleaned up and a fire going? Has no one done anything while we have been gone?”
“I don’t know,” the lad replied.
He gave the lad a push. “Get someone to help you and have this hall cleaned.”
“Fiona!” Robert shouted.
A slim, gray-haired woman came rushing into the room, drying her hands in her apron and looking as guilty as Judas with his hands full of silver. “You called me?”
“You bet your claymore, I called you. What is the meaning of all this? You dare to serve our guests in such an unkempt place?”
The woman glanced toward the place where Agnes and Meleri were quietly eating. “You arrived earlier than we expected. We didn’t have time to prepare…”
He cut her off. “I want this hall cleaned. Understand?”
“Aye, my lord,” Fiona said quickly, and dashed from the room.
Meleri took advantage of the opportunity to watch Robert as he spoke to the woman. She did not pay so much attention to what he said, preferring to simply observe him in detail. He was a complicated man, and more interesting because of it—in the way a three-dimensional figure is interesting when compared to a flat plane. She found his many dimensions, characteristics and contrasts most attractive.
He was compelling and fascinating, appealing and disturbing. Serious, unsmiling, mysterious one moment, he could change without notice into a man who was warm, teasing and straightforward. She took in the manner in which his breeches and doublet hugged a body that was deceptively muscled for such a slender build. In him lay the pride of the past, the hope of the future. Whenever she looked at him, she thought of the heroes of Arthurian legend, of Sir Lancelot, or Sir Tristram, or perhaps the Green Knight. One glance brought to life the lure of stories of old. Stories of highwaymen and knights in shining armor, of Norman conquerors and legions of Romans, of seafaring Vikings and warring Celts, of naked Highlanders and ancient Britons painted blue.
By the time Robert returned to them, Meleri and Agnes had finished their meal.
“Where is your grandmother?” Meleri asked.
“She isn’t here.”
“Yes, I can see that. Does she always have such a strange way of welcoming guests?”
“My grandmother is not fond of anything English, except Shakespeare.”
“You mean I must prove myself worthy…slay dragons, and all of that?”
“Gram has her own way of determining a man’s value.”
“And what way is that?”
“Scots are slow to judge or form an opinion, and do so only after careful consideration. Gram holds we can judge a man’s merit by testing his resiliency and character; that and the way we handle trials and tribulations demonstrate who and what we are.”
“And you think she is right?”
“In principle, if not method.”
“It’s also a good way to see that you aren’t very well liked. No one enjoys being ignored.”
“No,” he said slowly, never taking his gaze from her face, “no one does.”
Meleri felt as if something passed between them, some slender thread of connection that held them one to the other. She could not deny her attraction to him and counted herself most fortunate in that regard.
She thought about what he told her about his grandmother and her peculiar way of forming an opinion, and how quick she had been to discount it. But now that she thought about Robert and the things she discovered about him that helped her to form an opinion, she realized they came to her through careful observation of the way he handled himself in the face of difficulty. Sometimes we criticize in others what we are quick to overlook in ourselves, she thought.
He was a man with a proud history; a man of deep and dark mystery, the inheritor of a legacy of desperation and mistreatment, of treason and treachery. Little could she blame him if he did not trust her or the English. Centuries of betrayal had taught him that to trust was to be betrayed. She found she was intrigued with his past and filled with the desire to know more about the history of his people. Perhaps then, in knowing the past, she would understand the present and the man she was to marry.
“If you are ready to put this day behind you, I will show you to your rooms.”
He walked beside her, Agnes having fallen a discreet distance behind. This afforded her the opportunity to speak with him alone—something she had little opportunity to do before now. She asked a few questions about Beloyn and learned there were thirteen bedchambers on the second floor, five of them located in the wing that lay in ruins.
They reached the second floor and walked down a long, dark corridor and stopped at the last room. Robert opened the door and they followed him inside. Meleri felt that when she passed across the threshold, she was stepping not only into her bedchamber, but into her future, as well.
It was a large room, with an adjoining dressing room, which they decided would be the perfect place for Agnes to sleep that night. Upon entering the room, Agnes approached the bed, where the belongings she brought with her had been placed. “I shall stay in here and unpack, milady.”
Meleri saw that the bedchamber had been handsome in its day, but it, like the rest of the castle she had seen, had fallen into disrepair. Now all she noticed were the large dimensions, the many windows and the dark wainscot that covered the walls.
It was cold, inhospitable and meagerly furnished. In front of a trio of smaller windows stood a magnificently carved table, its leg broken, and a tattered chair, its seat covered with worn, gilded leather. Another chair, smaller than the first, stood beneath the largest window, its cushion of brocade faded and horribly worn. The fireplace was as bare as the rest of the room. Meleri almost dreaded to look at the bed. It was lumpy in the places it did not sag and covered with green silk, also faded.
She thought of her beautiful room at home. For one feel-sorry-for-herself moment, she felt as if she might cry, but she detested women with no more resource than the ability to shed tears. Besides, why should she cry?
The room, like Robert, had possibilities.
This was her home now, and she would make it into something beautiful. She would be happy here, simply because she was determined to be. Think happy thoughts before you go to bed, she reminded herself.
She was suddenly aware that Robert was standing next to her, observing her reaction. “I did not thank you for showing us to our rooms,” she said. “I am aware you could have sent someone else to do it.”
“Why do you suppose I chose not to do so?”
She searched his face. “Perhaps for the same reason you did not leave for Edinburgh as you had planned.”
“Aye, ’tis possible they were the same.” He took one of her curls in his hand and rubbed it between his fingers. “Perhaps I found I had a fondness for red hair.”
“Is that all?”
A hint of a smile gave slight lift to the corners of his mouth. “No, it isn’t all, but it is all I am going to tell you for the moment.”
“It is dreadfully mean of you to leave me in wonder.” She looked into the intense blue eyes almost hidden beneath craggy brows. She wished her heart would stay calm. “Can you not tell me?”
“Nay, lass, ’tis certain to fill your head with ideas.”
“What kind of ideas?”
“This kind.” He leaned toward her and brought his face to the side of her cheek, before he touched her lips softly with his own. The kiss was light and lingering, making her yearn for even more. “Some things are much simpler than words.”
“Is…is that all you are going to say?”
His chuckle rumbled up from deep within him. He placed another kiss upon her lips. One that was softer and shorter than the first. “Aye, lass, it is for now.”
She felt suddenly awkward, and for diversion, she glanced around the room.
He looked around as well. “I know it isn’t much…”
“No, it isn’t.”
“In time, I trust you will find it comfortable.”
“I am sure I will…in time.”
“I realize you must make some changes.”
“Yes, if I live long enough to see them done.”
He chuckled. “You are young and I am full of optimism.” He looked as if he might kiss her again, but the look passed, and he said, “I shall leave you to ready yourself for bed. If you have any further need of me, send Agnes. Later, I will send someone up to see how you are faring.”
As she watched him go, she vowed she would make an effort to be more tolerant and accepting, less critical and quick to condemn. She would do better. She would! She would because something about him touched her, and touched her in a way no one ever had.
“Has he gone, milady?” Agnes came fully into the room, then stopped. “Are you unwell, milady?”
“No, only disappointed. Oh, Agnes, why is everything in my life turning upside down? I was so optimistic about my future here, about a husband who would come to love me. What if that is not to be?”
“You must be patient, milady. There will come a time when you will realize it is possible for you to have both. Give yourself time. Be patient. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“No, but a day is all it took for it to burn.”
“You will have a wonderful future here. You have no way of knowing what will happen. I do not think you should worry. I feel very confident that things will work out well for you.”
Meleri sat down on the bed. “Keep talking. I am on the verge of feeling better.”
Agnes sat down beside her and patted her hand. “You are too hard on yourself.”
“Think of something else. That isn’t very reassuring.”
“Well, you know life comes with a certain number of mistakes we all have to make. It’s not the mistakes that are important, but how we handle them.” Agnes shifted her position and the bed creaked like a warning. She sprang to her feet. “Faith and superstition! This bed must go back to Moses.”
Meleri smiled. “Farther than that, I think.” She bounced a time or two. “I swear it feels like it’s stuffed with old bones.”
Agnes shuddered. “Don’t say such things. I am having a hard enough time thinking I must close my eyes in this place, and now you are talking like that. It’s enough to give a body the shudders.”
“Surely you aren’t worried that some harm will come to you?”
“No. I don’t think even a ghost would want to stay in this place long enough to do that.”
“Agnes Milbank! I had no idea you were such a milquetoast.”
“It is not so much that, as it is the place. It is touched with melancholy. I don’t yet feel a part of it.”
“I, of all people, understand that,” Meleri said glumly. “I don’t exactly feel part of anything here, either—especially the man I am supposed to marry.” She let out a long, mournful sigh. “Oh, Agnes, I have never felt more undecided. I do not know if I am more miserable, or expectant. This place is shoddy and creepy, and yet, I have such high hopes. I do not want to go home, but like you, I do not yet feel comfortable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so…up and down…so out of place. I’m like a crumpet on a plate of raisin scones.”
“I am certain we will feel differently after a good night’s sleep,” Agnes said, sounding semicheerful. “Good night, milady.”
Meleri nodded and patted Agnes on the arm before she turned away. “I am glad you’re here, Agnes.”
“So am I. Will you be needing my help to undress?”
“No, go to bed. I can manage…although…”
“Although what?”
She looked down at her riding habit. “I haven’t anything to sleep in. In fact, I have nothing to wear, save this pathetic rag I’ve worn so long it’s beginning to feel like my skin.”
“I saw a gown lying on the end of the bed. Perhaps someone put it there for you. Once my trunk comes, I can make your dresses. I packed several lengths of fabric.”
“I can’t take your fabric.”
“Of course you can. You need dresses.”
Meleri walked back to the bed and picked up the white cotton gown. The fabric was worn and thin, but someone had lovingly embroidered it and the workmanship was quite fine. “I wonder who put this here?”
“Perhaps it was someone who wanted to feel better before they went to sleep.”
Meleri smiled. “Good night, Agnes.”
“Good night, milady.”
Meleri undressed quickly and climbed into bed. She found a comfortable position and settled down, thankful for the opportunity to sleep in a bed again.
Not long after she had closed her eyes, she heard a strange sound.
Her eyes flew open. She held her breath and listened.
From somewhere deep within in the castle, she could hear music. As she lay there, listening, she recognized the ghostly music of a bagpipe, the same melody that she heard earlier. She lay as if frozen, afraid to take even a deep breath for quite some time.
The sound of the bagpipe grew louder, as if the piper was coming closer. Strangely, the louder it became, the more relaxed she felt. She pulled the covers up over her nose and whispered, “I’m not afraid of you. No one who plays anything so lovely could be bad.”
A sweet fragrance drifted over the room. She sighed, feeling suddenly relaxed and so terribly sleepy. She closed her eyes, listening to the melodious sound that struck her as both heartfelt and melancholy. Tomorrow she would try to find out where it was coming from and who could play with such bewitching sentiment.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered, then drifted off, to dream of a silent heath where bloody battles had been fought and druids old were said to walk.