Esmeraude considered the length of the shoreline. “There must be a villager with a boat, or a fisherman who would see us away from here.”
“Again, I ask you, for what price will such a man grant your favor?”
Esmeraude waved off this concern. “A fisherman can demand little of me indeed.”
The maid snorted, but Esmeraude was looking up and down the coast. There was neither a hint of a dwelling within eyesight, nor a glimmer of lantern light. She recalled Duncan’s assertion that the fishermen lived on the ocean side of the island. She cast a longing glance toward their errant curran, which had now disappeared from view.
But not everyone had tallow for a candle or oil for a lamp. There could easily be a dwelling not far away, appearing as one with the rocks for lack of a light. The mist was gathering over the ocean and creeping to the shore, reflecting the moonlight like spun silver. She thought of the elves and fairies of Duncan’s tales, the stories that she so loved to hear, and wondered whether wandering into that mist would take them to another land.
“Come, Célie, let us walk up the shoreline away from the king’s hall. If we are fortunate, then we shall find some hut or person to aid us.”
“Or at least ’twill take the king’s men longer to retrieve us,” the maid commented darkly.
“Célie, ’twill aid naught to sit and wait for disaster to find us. Let us use our wits to make the most of whatever small advantage we have!”
They walked along the shore then, the maid shooting her charge a bright glance. “You are enjoying this,” she accused.
Esmeraude smiled. ’Twould have been futile to deny it when she knew the truth shone in her features. Instead she told Célie one of Duncan’s tales, her favorite, that of the knight Tam Lin snatched away from his lady love by the Faerie Queen to serve in her ethereal court. She loved the determination of the mortal lady to win back her beloved and found it a most inspiring tale. She sang it, as Duncan was wont to do, and the tune lent a lightness to their step.
The mist swirled around their ankles, the ocean beat against the rocks, and the moon rolled across the sky as they steadily put the king’s hall farther behind them. ’Twas a night not unlike the enchanted night when Tam Lin’s lady won his release from the Faerie host.
Esmeraude realized that she was ridiculously happy. She felt as though she alone could shape her own destiny, that she could contrive her own happiness. She had shaken the burden of expectations, however fleeting that might be, and it only increased her desire to live an unconventional life. She knew as she had only guessed before that she would have a great love in her life, though she might have to sacrifice much to hold it.
Esmeraude was well prepared to do so.
She followed her song with two more, then her maid had one, then Esmeraude told another. They sang of elves and sprites and Faerie forges, of houses wrought of moonlight and cobwebs, of enchanted blades and wishing stones and cloaks that might make a person invisible to all. On this night, each tale might have been the blessed truth.
When the lilt of Esmeraude’s last song had been carried off by the wind, Célie suddenly clutched the maiden’s arm. “Look!” She pointed to a craft somewhat larger than their own had been, riding the evening tide to shore ahead of them.
Esmeraude halted and stared. The boat was silhouetted against the mist as if it were darker than the night itself, and it seemed touched by starlight in a manner not wholly of this world. A man stood alone in its prow, his cloak flaring behind him in the wind. He appeared master of all he surveyed, in Esmeraude’s fey mood, a returning champion come to claim his due.
What treasure did this one bring? What lands had he seen? What dragons had he conquered? She had no doubt that they were legion. The moonlight gleamed on what could only be a mail surcoat, revealing his status as a
“Again, I ask you, for what price will such a man grant your favor?”
Esmeraude waved off this concern. “A fisherman can demand little of me indeed.”
The maid snorted, but Esmeraude was looking up and down the coast. There was neither a hint of a dwelling within eyesight, nor a glimmer of lantern light. She recalled Duncan’s assertion that the fishermen lived on the ocean side of the island. She cast a longing glance toward their errant curran, which had now disappeared from view.
But not everyone had tallow for a candle or oil for a lamp. There could easily be a dwelling not far away, appearing as one with the rocks for lack of a light. The mist was gathering over the ocean and creeping to the shore, reflecting the moonlight like spun silver. She thought of the elves and fairies of Duncan’s tales, the stories that she so loved to hear, and wondered whether wandering into that mist would take them to another land.
“Come, Célie, let us walk up the shoreline away from the king’s hall. If we are fortunate, then we shall find some hut or person to aid us.”
“Or at least ’twill take the king’s men longer to retrieve us,” the maid commented darkly.
“Célie, ’twill aid naught to sit and wait for disaster to find us. Let us use our wits to make the most of whatever small advantage we have!”
They walked along the shore then, the maid shooting her charge a bright glance. “You are enjoying this,” she accused.
Esmeraude smiled. ’Twould have been futile to deny it when she knew the truth shone in her features. Instead she told Célie one of Duncan’s tales, her favorite, that of the knight Tam Lin snatched away from his lady love by the Faerie Queen to serve in her ethereal court. She loved the determination of the mortal lady to win back her beloved and found it a most inspiring tale. She sang it, as Duncan was wont to do, and the tune lent a lightness to their step.
The mist swirled around their ankles, the ocean beat against the rocks, and the moon rolled across the sky as they steadily put the king’s hall farther behind them. ’Twas a night not unlike the enchanted night when Tam Lin’s lady won his release from the Faerie host.
Esmeraude realized that she was ridiculously happy. She felt as though she alone could shape her own destiny, that she could contrive her own happiness. She had shaken the burden of expectations, however fleeting that might be, and it only increased her desire to live an unconventional life. She knew as she had only guessed before that she would have a great love in her life, though she might have to sacrifice much to hold it.
Esmeraude was well prepared to do so.
She followed her song with two more, then her maid had one, then Esmeraude told another. They sang of elves and sprites and Faerie forges, of houses wrought of moonlight and cobwebs, of enchanted blades and wishing stones and cloaks that might make a person invisible to all. On this night, each tale might have been the blessed truth.
When the lilt of Esmeraude’s last song had been carried off by the wind, Célie suddenly clutched the maiden’s arm. “Look!” She pointed to a craft somewhat larger than their own had been, riding the evening tide to shore ahead of them.
Esmeraude halted and stared. The boat was silhouetted against the mist as if it were darker than the night itself, and it seemed touched by starlight in a manner not wholly of this world. A man stood alone in its prow, his cloak flaring behind him in the wind. He appeared master of all he surveyed, in Esmeraude’s fey mood, a returning champion come to claim his due.
What treasure did this one bring? What lands had he seen? What dragons had he conquered? She had no doubt that they were legion. The moonlight gleamed on what could only be a mail surcoat, revealing his status as a
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