Forest of Strathclyde, two weeks later.
King Elinas usually enjoyed hunting with his retinue, but this morning, the barking dogs and trampling hooves did naught to lighten his heart. Spring blossoms and aromatic ferns sweetened the breeze in vain. Even the blare of a faraway horn failed to improve his mood. The recent Viking raids on the coast of Galloway weighed upon his mind.
The gray steed snorted and shook its mane, digging its hooves into the muddy ground. Over the squeak of saddles and the chatter of voices, Elinas heard a different sound, soft and melodious, yet powerful. A woman's song?
He halted the horse and raised his hunting spear to command attention.
The conversations stopped. Barons and chieftains in leather gear, as well as ladies in colorful dresses, steadied their mounts. The kennel master restrained a brace of deerhounds straining on the leash.
All Elinas could hear now in the soft breeze, besides the panting dogs and chomping horses, was the rustle of leaves and the shrieks of a raven circling overhead. With a sigh, he dismissed the heavenly voice to the vagaries of his imagination.
He signaled the kennel master. "Let them run!"
Free of the leash, the hounds bounded ahead, noses to the ground, sniffing every tree, and occasionally lifting a leg. Scouts galloped to the front on sturdy ponies. Unhooking his cloak, Elinas called his squire and let the garment fall into the boy’s arms.
The first rays of sun warmed his leather jerkin and trews. When a pretty woman gave him a suggestive look, Elinas dismissed her with a wave of the hand. Many ladies fancied themselves as his future queen. Little did they know...
Elinas held up his mount to fall behind the chatty barons and ladies.
"Dewain!" He motioned to his kinsman and counselor to slow his mount and fall into step with the royal steed. "Entertain me with your clever conversation, old friend."
The baron grimaced under his woolen hat, rubbing a leather-clad thigh with wiry fingers as he rode alongside the king. "What a glorious morning for a deer hunt, sire." Dewain begrudged a toothless smile, sending the ends of the red and black ribbons braided into his beard fluttering in the breeze. "Twenty years ago, I might have enjoyed it."
"Come, now, Dewain." Elinas smiled at his friend’s antics. "You are still a keen hunter. Will my late father's champion go soft on me?"
Dewain's beady eyes brimmed with intelligence. "No, sire. I still love rounding up game on the royal estates. It reminds me of my youth with your father."
Elinas rubbed an itch that plagued his short-clipped beard. "One of my farmers sighted a white stag in these parts a few days past. 'Tis mating season. The hounds should catch the scent."
"Mating season? Indeed!" Dewain drummed the pommel of his saddle as he rode. "My mating days have long passed, sire, but it is high time to find you a new queen."
Elinas balked at the thought. The old goat had waded into forbidden territory. "I had a queen once, Dewain, and I do have an heir. And if Mattacks should die, I have two more sons to replace him. I do not need a wife!" Elinas spurred his steed and bounded ahead.
Dewain caught up with him. "But sire, you are still in your prime." He glanced sideways at Elinas, as if pondering whether or not to speak his mind. "Your subjects of the old faith believe that a kingdom cannot prosper without a queen. Besides, you need to make alliances."
Elinas cringed but remained silent.
Dewain scowled. "King Alpin MacEochaid, in Dalriada, has many wives, all of them daughters or sisters of defeated kings or potential enemies. Blood alliances last longer than a truce on parchment."
"I know." Elinas had heard the argument many times. Imitating Dewain's voice, he said, "And Loth of Lothian, in Dunbar, has many Saxon wives, and even more concubines."
Elinas shrugged then went on seriously. "How they can manage such households, wage war, and still rule a kingdom puzzles the mind."
"Nonetheless, sire, a king needs wives for making dynasties, and concubines for his manly pleasures." Dewain flashed a toothless smile.
Elinas remembered the old man's reputation with the ladies but bit back a sour remark.
"Love and marriage should never mix, sire." Dewain winked. "It has brought down the greatest kings. Remember the stories the bards sing in the halls at Shrovetide? About Arthur, the Bear of Britannia, who made the mistake of marrying for love? It destroyed him in the end."
"Stories, Dewain, only stories." Elinas stiffened in the saddle and surveyed the surrounding woods. "Believe me, one woman was quite enough for me, and with her death, the will to love another has gone forever. I shall not remarry."
Dewain looked suddenly aged. "Sire, for the sake of your kingdom, I beg you to reconsider."
"Nonsense! My kingdom needs a fair ruler, a warrior king to protect it from the Vikings, not a lover of women." Immediately regretting his outburst, Elinas lowered his gaze. In a subdued voice, he said, "The truth be told, I could not bear to see a stranger in my dear queen's chambers."
Dewain glanced sharply at the king but remained quiet.
"I left her rooms intact since the day of her balefire." Elinas looked up ahead to make sure no one rode close enough to hear. "I like to think that she still resides there, just out of sight, singing as she spins her yarn. Sometimes, I can almost hear her sweet voice..." As I thought I did, just a while ago.
Dewain sighed. "I understand, sire, but it has been almost a year."
"Do not concern yourself, dear friend." Elinas forced a smile. "Mattacks, my Edling, might make blood alliances in his own time as you suggest, but 'tis too late for me."
Dewain rolled dark eyes. "I doubt young Mattacks would approve of such practices, sire. Although his hot blood might welcome the idea, he pays too much heed to the new religion."
Surprised, Elinas turned in the saddle to face his friend. "How so?"
"I hearsay that since fostered at Lord Emrys' castle in Whithorn, the Edling has become a staunch Christian of the most righteous sort." The old jaw tightened under the beribboned beard. "I fear his allegiance to the bishop of St. Ninian and to Charlemagne's Roman pope runs deeper than his Celtic roots."
"Perhaps." Elinas took a deep breath. "Like you, I always favored the old ways, but the young must go with the new, and if the future of Alba resides with the Christian faith, I wish him well. What does it matter which gods rule the heavens? A human king must still rule the land."
"On the other hand, the Christian church is rich and powerful. Mattacks might find it a strong ally." An amused smile played on Dewain’s thin old face. "But in the meantime, I do think you would rule more adeptly with a queen at your side."
"You never yield, do you?" Elinas shook his head in frustration.
Dewain gazed deep into the king's eyes. "I know you well, my king, and it pains me to see you unhappy."
Elinas broke the stare with a wave of the hand. "I find this conversation tiresome, you stubborn goat."
"'Tis the privilege of my years, sire." Dewain chuckled. "While most consider me half-witted from old age, I can proclaim the truth and no one takes offense."
"Be gone. Go preach to the barons and leave me be." Elinas smiled to soften the harsh words. "I have important decisions to make, and these familiar woods give my soul some peace in which I can think."
"As you wish, sire. I shall tell the hunters to leave you to your musings." Dewain spurred his mount forth, toward the main hunting party.
Slowing his steed, Elinas let the barons and ladies forge farther ahead. When they had disappeared among the foliage, he glanced back. Seeing no one close, he veered off the trail, in the direction of a chestnut grove he used to roam as a young man. According to the druids, the bubbling spring in that clearing honored Coventina, the River Goddess. The thought of a refreshing draft made him thirsty all of a sudden.
Intoxicated by the temporary freedom from the pressures of his entourage, Elinas bubbled with renewed life force, light and young again. In a copse of oaks, movement caught his attention. Something darted through the underbrush. Sighting the rump of a white hind, the king spurred his steed into a carefree race.
Far from him the idea of killing the splendid beast worthy of a king's spear... Elinas relished the chase for the pure joy of glimpsing the doe’s alluring flanks. Darting between trees, ducking low branches, crashing through brush, he had not experienced such exhilaration in a long time. Fully alive and invigorated, he enjoyed the warm blood pulsing through his veins.
When he lost track of the hind, Elinas reined in the steed and surveyed his surroundings to orient himself. The sun had vanished behind heavy clouds. Even the breeze had abated. As he patted the horse’s neck, Elinas realized he’d lost his way.
Should he sound the ram-horn hanging from his saddle to call the hunting party? As he reached for the horn, Elinas’ heart stumbled. The melodious singing had resumed, much closer this time.
The high, clear voice, so similar to that of his departed wife, enticed him. Captivated by the strange song, intrigued and curious about what angel could sing so beautifully, Elinas directed his mount toward the source of the enchanting voice. It could not come from an ordinary woman.
Elinas dismounted, tied the horse to a birch, and planted his spear in the soft earth. As he crept silently among bushes, he held his scabbard to prevent it from flapping against his thigh. Driven by the need to spy on the angelic voice, he struggled to control his breathing, brought short by anticipation. All senses in alert, he watched his steps, like a lad venturing on forbidden grounds.
The absurdity of the situation struck him. He owned the forest, so why would he hide? But Elinas could not shake the feeling that he was trespassing. As he moved closer to the melodious sound, he recognized the dark canopy of the chestnut grove, and the spring he used to frequent as a boy.
Concealed behind a hawthorn bush at the edge of the clearing, Elinas held his breath. At the top of the boulder from which the water surged, two great skulls of gray stone looked out on the clearing. A cawing raven flew down to perch on one of the moss-grown skulls.
At the foot of the boulder, inside the oval basin dug into the bedrock by the surging water, a woman reclined, bathing. Her lovely arms rested on the stone rim, and her heavenly song filled the clearing.
At the sight of her smooth shoulders, Elinas held his breath. His heart drummed faster. Could she be entirely naked? His manhood strained the leather britches below the baldric that held his sword. Partly excited, partly embarrassed, Elinas flushed. His blood burned hotter than the fires of Bel.
Glad for his hiding place, he admired her long black hair, wide gray eyes, and delicate arms. The pure notes of her song charmed his ears, surpassing in virtuosity the skillful trills of the larks. The archaic words seemed from a lost language, witnesses of a time when the gods roamed the land.
Could this be Coventina herself, the River Goddess?
Enchanted by the melody, stunned by the beauty of the nude singer, Elinas could not help but notice how different she looked from his departed wife. Where his queen had been tall, blond and fair, the woman in the spring had dark skin and small features. When she stopped singing, the woods remained silent for a few moments, as if waiting for more, and Elinas missed the sound of her voice.
Then the lady rose, splashing out of the water. He admired her small breasts and narrow hips. She seemed young. A servant girl approached the lady, offering a wide cloth to dry her skin. The woman smiled then, and that radiant smile to another made Elinas wish she smiled for him.
Elinas pondered coming forth and talking to her. After all, she trespassed on his private estate. But he remained riveted. Even naked, the young woman had a refined manner, a proud way of holding her head. The perfect proportions of her lean body and her unblemished skin attested to a chore-free life.
This was no slave or peasant lass but a lady of noble birth. Determined to meet her, Elinas decided to wait until she had donned her clothes.
The child servant produced a linen chemise and a silky gown of a royal blue that flattered the lady’s dark complexion. The gown rustled when she cinched it with a golden sash. Then she slipped on a pair of leather sandals. Although the dress now covered the graceful body, a radiance still hung around the apparition.
The woman combed her glorious hair and set upon it a crown of wild flowers.
Time for Elinas to come out of hiding. He rose and crossed the clearing toward her. "I do not remember seeing you among my hunting party, my lady."
The lady languidly rose and curtsied.
Reaching the stone basin, Elinas braced a booted foot on the rim. "I want to know who you are, and what you are doing on my land."
The lady straightened and met his stare. "Pressine, Princess of Bretagne, daughter of King Salomon. I travel through this land in search of a worthy husband. And whom do I have the honor to address?"
Elinas smiled, not used to identify himself. "Elinas of Dumfries, King of Strathclyde." A princess would never travel without a male kin and a full retinue, so he asked, "Where is your escort?"
"Bivouacking close by." Merriment played in the lady's eyes. She did not seem at all intimidated by his station. "You said you owned this land, but a sacred spring can only belong to the River Goddess."
"Perhaps. Was that you singing earlier? How beautiful." Elinas wondered whether she had guessed his indiscretion but could read nothing in the lady’s eyes. "Strange language, though. I never heard it before."
"The song is ancient." Lady Pressine sat on the stone rim and arranged the graceful folds of her gown. "The River Goddess likes it so much, she often enhances its sound."
Elinas remembered the lady’s nude body and yearned to touch her smooth skin. "I believe the singer should be given more credit."
"Thank you." Did she blush at the compliment?
Plucking a fern, Elinas sat next to her, eyes down as he fingered the feathery leaves. "Looking for a husband, are you? But surely, your father knows many rich princes who would consider themselves lucky to marry you."
"None in my native Bretagne, sire." Was it regret in her tone?
Elinas gazed straight into her eyes, trying to guess her thoughts. "How could your father king allow such a dangerous journey? Or is there another reason for your travels?"
Pressine suddenly rose and paced in front of him. "Royal women of my blood do not bow to the will of men." She flipped the hem of her skirt as she turned, then planted herself in front of him. "I follow the signs, trust in the Goddess, and decide for myself which man is worthy of my love."
Elinas realized with a start that he wanted her. He chuckled to cover his confusion.
"What amuses you, Lord King?" Her gray eyes sparkled.
"Love? When did love ever determine marriages? I thought I was the only mistaken fool on that subject." The memory of his departed wife filled him with shame and cooled his lust.
Pressine considered him gravely for a moment. "Love is a powerful force. It has been known to rejuvenate the old, give heart to the warrior, and conquer empires."
"Indeed, I believe it." Elinas tossed away the fern and stood. A hint of suspicion brushed his mind. Something about the young princess seemed odd. But what harm could come from such an innocent creature?
Pressine smiled as if reading his thoughts.
"Since you are journeying through my lands, allow me to offer the hospitality of my castle, where you and your escort may stay as long as you wish." Elinas offered his arm to walk the lady to her camp.
Pressine remained silent and did not take his arm.
At a loss, Elinas explained. "Tonight after the hunt, we are feasting in the great hall in Dumfries, to celebrate Beltane and rekindle the fires."
When she did not react, Elinas wondered whether inviting her was a mistake. He had never let anyone intimidate him before, but the lady managed to shake his confidence. "Your presence would be greatly prized as my guest of honor."
Lady Pressine hesitated. "Beltane can get unruly in the heat of fire and mead. Will my retinue be treated with proper respect? Can I place my good name under your protection?"
Offended by the insinuation, Elinas concealed his annoyance. "I maintain order in my hall, Lady Pressine, but I swear to protect and defend your honor if the need arises."
The lady still gazed at him, unconvinced. "You behave like an honorable man but manners can be deceiving. What guarantees do I have of your good faith?"
"Guarantees?" How insulting. What woman ever asked guarantees from a king? Elinas struggled to keep a calm demeanor. "What kind of guarantee?"
"How about that exquisite sword hanging at your side?" The lady reached for the scabbard and lightly traced the intricate designs of gold and silver.
Elinas snatched her wrist. Could the woman be a common thief? "A lady should know that a warrior never surrenders his sword."
"As you wish." Pressine pulled her hand free. "Farewell then." She walked away.
Elinas started after her. "Wait!"
Pressine turned about and faced him.
In that instant, Elinas realized he cared nothing about the precious scabbard or the jewels encased in the silver hilt, but a warrior's blade was his soul. Yet, Elinas could not stand the thought of never seeing Pressine again.
He unhooked the scabbard from the baldric and held it out. "Take it."
When the lady smiled at him, relief and happiness flooded Elinas.
She hefted the heavy weapon as if it weighed nothing. "I promise to return it before you need it again."
She hooked the scabbard on her sash. Where the heavy blade should have dragged to the ground, it held perfectly in place, as if weightless.
When the lady extended a small hand, Elinas took the offered fingers with reverence and brought them to his lips. They felt smooth and cool under his kiss. His entire body tingled with elation as he offered his arm and guided Pressine's graceful steps toward the white mare brought by a page boy.
Elinas grinned as he lifted Pressine’s lithe body into the side-saddle. He reveled in the sweet fragrance of lily when her long hair brushed his cheek.
Lady Pressine adjusted the sword on her hip. She smiled one last time then slowly rode away, the page boy leading the mare and the servant girl following on foot.
After the small party disappeared around a thicket, Elinas shook his head, wondering whether he had dreamed the strange encounter. The sword missing from his side, however, attested to the incident, and he felt glad. Suddenly remembering his thirst, he approached the murmuring spring, took the wooden goblet attached to the rock with a rusty chain, filled it up to the brim, and drank in long gulps. Above his head, a raven cried and took flight.
Startled, Elinas glanced up at the circling bird then laughed as he splashed water on his face and short beard. Never had he felt so fascinated by beauty. He sat on the stone rim, caressing the very spot the lady had touched earlier. For now, he could only think about the captivating siren, and he congratulated himself for extending his hospitality.
The Beltane festivities might not be so gloomy this year, after all, although Elinas did not quite trust his feelings. Something in lady Pressine’s presence and behavior seemed a little strange, and he wondered what kind of trouble he might have invited to the castle, along with the beautiful princess.