her, and only the hot rush of pride and gladness she felt every time she saw the dragoneye ring on the middle finger of her left hand persuaded her that it had all been worthwhile.
Brun the cluricaun, sensing her vulnerability, had kept close to her side, bringing her little clusters of flowers or a handful of eggs, polishing her boots and playing strange little tunes on his flute for her. His concern touched her greatly, and she accepted his little gifts and services with real gratitude. He stood beside her now, his furry ears pricked forward with eager curiosity, his necklace of found objects chiming gently.
Suddenly he whimpered, laying his ears right back, his long tail twisting about anxiously. Isabeau looked up at once. A swarm of Mesmerdean nymphs had risen silently out of the marsh and now hovered all round the clearing, their bulging multifaceted eyes fixed upon Meghan. She did not seem to notice, but Gitâ was wrapped tightly around her throat, his paw on her ear.Gwilym indicated the silver-winged faeries with a subtle gesture of the hand.
‘They are like ravens hovering about a corpse, but their prey is no’ yet dead,’ he said with a shudder. ‘Havers, I hate Mesmerdean!’
‘When I saw they no longer followed Meghan everywhere she went, I had hoped they had forgotten,’ Isabeau said.
‘Mesmerdean never forget,’ Gwilym said sombrely.
Isabeau’s throat muscles tightened and she had to breathe in deeply and calmly through her nose before the constriction passed. ‘So there is no chance?’
He looked at her sardonically. ‘No’ while a Mesmerd lives.’
‘Will they wait?’ Isabeau laid her hand on his arm and felt his muscles clench.
‘To the very hour o’ the agreement and no’ a second longer,’ he answered, his dark ugly face very grim. ‘Strange as it may seem, the Mesmerdean are an honourable race, more honourable than most men. They are immovable, however. Nothing that could cause a man to change his mind, love or gold or power, would change a Mesmerd’s.’
Isabeau stared at the swarm of nymphs, fascinated. Unlike the dry, shrivelled-up faces of the elders, the nymphs possessed an unearthly beauty that somehow made them seem even more sinister. For long moments they hovered, motionless, wings whirring, then suddenly darted sideways, causing her heart to jolt and her breath to quicken. All round them a miasma seemed to hang like the effluvium of a freshly dug grave.It brought back many terrifying memories and she shuddered and stepped a little closer to Gwilym.
‘Will they remember that I have killed Mesmerdean?’
‘Mesmerdean never forget,’ he repeated, looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his face.
‘Never forget,’ Brun echoed. ‘Never forget, never forgive, forever and for-never, never ever forgive.’
She bit her lip, frowning, unable to take her eyes off the hovering marsh-faeries with their strange, beautiful faces, their huge glittering eyes and gauzy wings.
Gwilym gave a harsh laugh. ‘Never fear, Beau,’ he said. ‘I have killed many more than ye. Meghan has taken all o’ our sins upon herself. Mesmerdean do no’ forget and do no’ forgive, but they shall no’ exact vengeance upon us all as long as Meghan fulfils her pledge and gives herself to them. As long as Meghan dies in their arms we shall be safe.’
Isabeau said a little huskily, ‘I hate to think that she must go to them, they are such horrible ghoulish creatures. I wish—’
‘If wishes were pots and pans, we’d have no need for tinkers,’ Meghan said gruffly, so that Isabeau jumped and gave a little cry of surprise. She could think of nothing to say, but Meghan required no words, just patted her on the arm and said, ‘Come, it is our turn to cross the loch. Ugly, will ye ride with us?’
‘It would be my honour,’ Gwilym replied and handed Meghan down into the long pinnace, which had been carved into the shape of a swan with proudly raised head and folded wings.
Brun the cluricaun, sensing her vulnerability, had kept close to her side, bringing her little clusters of flowers or a handful of eggs, polishing her boots and playing strange little tunes on his flute for her. His concern touched her greatly, and she accepted his little gifts and services with real gratitude. He stood beside her now, his furry ears pricked forward with eager curiosity, his necklace of found objects chiming gently.
Suddenly he whimpered, laying his ears right back, his long tail twisting about anxiously. Isabeau looked up at once. A swarm of Mesmerdean nymphs had risen silently out of the marsh and now hovered all round the clearing, their bulging multifaceted eyes fixed upon Meghan. She did not seem to notice, but Gitâ was wrapped tightly around her throat, his paw on her ear.Gwilym indicated the silver-winged faeries with a subtle gesture of the hand.
‘They are like ravens hovering about a corpse, but their prey is no’ yet dead,’ he said with a shudder. ‘Havers, I hate Mesmerdean!’
‘When I saw they no longer followed Meghan everywhere she went, I had hoped they had forgotten,’ Isabeau said.
‘Mesmerdean never forget,’ Gwilym said sombrely.
Isabeau’s throat muscles tightened and she had to breathe in deeply and calmly through her nose before the constriction passed. ‘So there is no chance?’
He looked at her sardonically. ‘No’ while a Mesmerd lives.’
‘Will they wait?’ Isabeau laid her hand on his arm and felt his muscles clench.
‘To the very hour o’ the agreement and no’ a second longer,’ he answered, his dark ugly face very grim. ‘Strange as it may seem, the Mesmerdean are an honourable race, more honourable than most men. They are immovable, however. Nothing that could cause a man to change his mind, love or gold or power, would change a Mesmerd’s.’
Isabeau stared at the swarm of nymphs, fascinated. Unlike the dry, shrivelled-up faces of the elders, the nymphs possessed an unearthly beauty that somehow made them seem even more sinister. For long moments they hovered, motionless, wings whirring, then suddenly darted sideways, causing her heart to jolt and her breath to quicken. All round them a miasma seemed to hang like the effluvium of a freshly dug grave.It brought back many terrifying memories and she shuddered and stepped a little closer to Gwilym.
‘Will they remember that I have killed Mesmerdean?’
‘Mesmerdean never forget,’ he repeated, looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his face.
‘Never forget,’ Brun echoed. ‘Never forget, never forgive, forever and for-never, never ever forgive.’
She bit her lip, frowning, unable to take her eyes off the hovering marsh-faeries with their strange, beautiful faces, their huge glittering eyes and gauzy wings.
Gwilym gave a harsh laugh. ‘Never fear, Beau,’ he said. ‘I have killed many more than ye. Meghan has taken all o’ our sins upon herself. Mesmerdean do no’ forget and do no’ forgive, but they shall no’ exact vengeance upon us all as long as Meghan fulfils her pledge and gives herself to them. As long as Meghan dies in their arms we shall be safe.’
Isabeau said a little huskily, ‘I hate to think that she must go to them, they are such horrible ghoulish creatures. I wish—’
‘If wishes were pots and pans, we’d have no need for tinkers,’ Meghan said gruffly, so that Isabeau jumped and gave a little cry of surprise. She could think of nothing to say, but Meghan required no words, just patted her on the arm and said, ‘Come, it is our turn to cross the loch. Ugly, will ye ride with us?’
‘It would be my honour,’ Gwilym replied and handed Meghan down into the long pinnace, which had been carved into the shape of a swan with proudly raised head and folded wings.
Similar Books
