FOUR
Warm sunlight streamed into Maeve’s room, waking her early on Beltane morning, but she didn’t mind. Even though she still wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the festivities, she had been drawn into the sense of joyful anticipation that permeated the entire estate. The only thing that truly worried her was the fact that, in order to participate, she would have to accompany the others in returning to the main palace, with the full court in attendance. In order to remain inconspicuous, she would be joining the ranks of Princess Rhosyn’s handmaidens. This made her feel somewhat better, but she was still anxious as she put on the green sundress that Fenella had chosen for her, which was embellished with iridescent blue dragonflies along the hem.
Rhosyn came to her room just as she was finished dressing, wearing a similar dress but lavender in color and embroidered with pink flowers. “Oh, good. You’re already dressed.”
“I thought we weren’t leaving for hours yet,” Maeve said, both confused and alarmed. She might have been physically ready to go, but she was no way near psychologically prepared. And she had wanted to practice on her flute at least once more before she would have to play in public.
“Oh, we aren’t, don’t worry,” Rhosyn replied. “But it’s traditional for all the unmarried women to make flower crowns for the household, and I thought you might like to join us.”
“But I don’t know how to make a flower crown,” she said, the only protest to which she felt she could put words. She never felt like she belonged at these kinds of things, but Rhosyn was always inviting her anyway. The princess seemed determined that Maeve be included in every aspect of life at the estate, and as time passed, she found herself protesting less and less.
“It’s easy. I’ll show you,” Rhosyn said cheerfully, taking her by the arm. “It’ll be really fun; I promise.”
And so, a few minutes later, she entered the courtyard with Rhosyn and a few other young women, and began learning how to weave flower crowns under Fenella’s expert tutelage. It wasn’t that difficult, just as Rhosyn had promised, and soon they were all talking and laughing as they wove the blossoms together.
“You never did explain what this holiday is all about. What are we even celebrating?” Maeve asked Rhosyn quietly as she finished her first crown and set it upon her own head.
“Oh. I forgot you won’t have celebrated before. Beltane is supposed to be the first day of summer. It’s about the joy of returning warmth and fertility,” she said. “We drink May wine, cover everything with flowers, and dance around the maypole. Traditionally, couples spend the night out in the woods and fields, celebrating more personal rites to ensure the land’s abundance in the coming year.”
“What?” Maeve exclaimed squeakily. “Is that um… expected of… everyone?” Rhosyn took one look at her horrified and embarrassed expression and burst into laughter.
“No! Of course not. I mean, if you’re interested, I’m sure there are several people who’d be more than willing,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Maeve shook her head hurriedly. “But it’s no big deal if you aren’t. You can just head back to the palace after the feast with my parents and Oisin.”
“So, you’re going to stay?” Maeve murmured, curious despite herself.
“I don’t have anyone in particular in mind,” Rhosyn said, her lips pursed thoughtfully and her eyes twinkling. “But we’ll see what happens.” Maeve had a sudden impulse to ask about Idris, but she squashed it. She doubted that the siblings discussed their love lives with each other, and furthermore, she didn’t know why she cared. Or she did, but she refused to examine this curiosity more closely.
After each of them had made several flower crowns, others of the household came out to receive them. Rhosyn explained that there was a bit of teasing and flirtation among those of courting age, involving who received crowns from whom, but it wasn’t a contractual obligation. Maeve was still careful not to give her flowers away to anyone who looked too interested. Couples tended to make them for each other, so when the Lord and Lady appeared in the courtyard, they were already wearing matching ornaments of honeysuckle and starwort. Idris trailed behind them, looking somewhat uncomfortable as several young ladies thrust their creations in his direction, and then his eyes met hers.
“I’ll take one of Maeve’s,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Since she has so many.” She felt her cheeks go red as everyone’s attention suddenly centered on her. She picked up a crown of primrose and lilac and placed it on his head, and he smiled, a brief but natural smile that made her heart turn over. He turned and followed after his parents, and Maeve shook herself.
“Interesting,” Rhosyn said, her tone somewhat smug. Maeve was too afraid to ask what she meant. They gathered their things together and followed the others through the gate to the main palace.
It was like the castles of her girlhood dreams, soaring towers of white stone, stained glass windows, copper roof tiles flashing in the sunlight, and banners flapping in the breeze. But it was obvious that the main part of the festivities were out on the lawn. Long tables were set out in the courtyard, and in front of the main gate, wood had been stacked for several bonfires. Lord Aidan and Lady Rowan opened the celebration with a few simple words and the blessing of a communal cup. The drink tasted like honey and flowers on Maeve’s tongue, and she cheered with everyone else when the fire shot upward with a whoosh of sparks.
Almost immediately, the music began, and people started dancing around the fire. Maeve sat and watched at first, smiling and clapping with the others, but then Rhosyn suddenly appeared from within the crowd and pulled her into the dance. She had no idea what she was doing, but no one seemed to be paying attention, and she picked it up after a few rounds. It was a fast dance with a lot of whirling and clapping, and at the end of every set, they exchanged partners. Maeve didn’t pay much attention to who she was dancing with, since she usually didn’t know them. It wasn’t as if this was a dance that allowed much conversation. Once, she was even paired with Rhosyn, which was fun. But then, unexpectedly, she found herself flung into a familiar pair of arms.
Idris looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. They whirled around the fire together, and Maeve found that she couldn’t look away from the intense gaze of his crystal blue eyes. She was keenly aware of the strength of his arm around her waist and the warmth of his hand as it gripped her own. The song came to an end, and there was a brief, strange moment where they stood, staring at each other and trying to catch their breath. But, as the musicians started to wind up for another song, Idris pulled them out of the way of the dancers, into the shelter of a nearby archway.
“I didn’t know you were dancing,” Maeve said, still somewhat breathless but wanting to dispel the awkwardness between them.
“I wasn’t, but then Rhosyn pulled me in to take her place.” He was frowning slightly, but Maeve thought it was more thoughtful than annoyed. “You dance very well, by the way,” he added with an upward quirk of his mouth. His outfit was a bit more colorful than usual, spring green and periwinkle blue with embroidered ivy trailing over his collar. She had the sudden desire to trace it with her fingers, and she clenched her fist to keep her hands from getting ideas.
“Well, thank you. I’ve never done it before, so I’m glad I didn’t make a fool of myself,” she replied, smiling up at him. He had a strange expression on his face, surprised and almost disbelieving, and then it was gone.
“No,” he said in a low voice. “You look lovely today… I mean,” he said, the tips of his ears flushing, “you look nice every day, but this color suits you. It makes your hair even more striking.” To her increasing surprise, he picked up an errant lock and placed it gently behind her ear. She didn’t know what to think, but her heart was beating wildly. He swallowed. “Maeve…” The sound of a bell interrupted whatever Idris had been about to say, and he shook himself. “That’s the signal for the feast. Shall I escort you?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you,” she said, putting her arm through his elbow, a pose that was becoming somewhat familiar. She thought she could feel the eyes of the entire court upon them, wondering who she was, and what she was doing on the arm of the prince. But Idris did not seem at all concerned, even though, to Maeve’s mounting horror, he led her up to the high table and seated her in between himself and his younger brother. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to sit here?” she whispered, panicked.
“You’re our guest. My mother told me you’d be sitting with us,” Idris said, unperturbed. As if on cue, Lady Rowan turned and smiled at the both of them. “Besides,” he continued as he sat down beside her, “if we let you sit down there, I have no doubt the court would be on you like wolves on an injured deer, trying to figure out who you are and what use you might be to them.” Looking down at everyone taking their seats below the dais, Maeve couldn’t disagree. Even now, many of the courtiers kept glancing up at them, their gazes speculative.
Still, the feast was delicious, even though the food was clearly of the enchanted variety. Having spent the past week eating the filling, ‘real’ food at the estate, going back to magical food was something like a pleasing novelty. Prince Oisin was a clever and charming child who was happy to converse with her, and it did wonders for easing her nervousness, which, she supposed, had been the idea. The freely flowing wine might also have been a factor.
The meal began to wind down, and people started to drift away from the table. Idris had left a few minutes earlier, and Maeve started to wonder if it was nearly time for her to take her leave of the festivities, when suddenly Rhosyn was standing at the arm of her chair. “You did bring your flute, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she replied nervously, pulling the case out from under her legs. She had practiced and practiced, but now that the time came to perform… Rhosyn, as usual, didn’t want to hear any excuses. She pulled Maeve by the arm until they were standing by the fire. There was already a group of musicians around it, their faces shadowed in the firelight as they played a cheerful tune. “But I didn’t prepare to play with anyone,” she whispered desperately to the princess.
“I know. Just wait for them to come to a stopping point. It’ll be fine,” Rhosyn said, swaying to the music unconcernedly. Maeve took out her flute, her stomach full of butterflies, but with the dim light masking everyone’s faces and the alcohol in her veins boosting her courage, she thought she might actually be able to do it. As Rhosyn had predicted, the music petered to a stop after a few minutes, and in that pause, she put the flute to her mouth. The melody was light and meandering at first; it had made Maeve think of a lively mountain stream. But as the tune slowed and deepened, another instrument, something low and stringed, joined in. She didn’t dare stop to look for the mysterious musician, but she felt they were speaking directly to her, taking a song that had alone been gentle and wistful and turning it almost sensuous. The two melodies twined around one another, perfectly balanced, and no one else dared to join in. Time was suspended in that moment, the music and the firelight, and when the last note of the song finally died away, Maeve felt a pang of loss and regret, even as she looked around frantically for whoever had joined her song.
Rhosyn grabbed her arm and pointed across the fire. Even in the dim light, the figure sitting at the cello was unmistakable. “Idris,” Maeve murmured without even realizing it. Their eyes met, and then he stood, moving away from the circle of the firelight. She let out a sigh, not even able to put a name to what she was feeling.
“Well, go after him,” Rhosyn said, giving her a little shove. Maybe it was the wine, but she didn’t even give it a second thought. She pushed past the group around the fire and followed his retreating form. Though he never looked back, his steps slowed to allow her to catch up.
“Idris, that was beautiful,” she said breathlessly as she reached his side. It was too dark to see his expression when he turned, but there was a smile in his voice.
“When nobody joined you, I decided I couldn't let you play alone. It was such a lovely tune, and you played it beautifully,” he said, and then he reached for her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles as he brought it to his mouth. She felt a sort of vibratory anticipation, knowing something was going to happen but unsure what. Would he ask her to go into the forest with him? Did she want him to?
“Would you…” He cleared his throat, and she held her breath. “Would you like me to show you to your room?” Maeve felt as relieved as she was disappointed. It wasn't that she wasn't attracted to him; she could no longer deny that. But she had to tell him, to tell them all about the curse, first.
“I would like that; thank you,” she said. He turned back toward the palace, but he didn't let go of her hand. Around them were the sounds of music, laughter, and celebration. She could see the silhouettes of people dizzily weaving around a tall pole with ribbons in their hands, but most of her attention was taken up by the feeling of her hand in his. His cool fingers gripped hers steadily, and it was as reassuring as it was distracting. What did it mean? Did he have feelings for her? Was he just being nice? Maybe it was nothing; maybe she was overthinking things, seeing a simple gesture of friendship for more than it was.
The corridors were dim and silent when they entered the palace, and their footsteps echoed on the marble floors. Idris led her through the maze of corridors to her room, and then they stopped in front of a door just like all the others. “Here we are,” Idris said. “Fenella’s room is right next door, if you need anything, and Rhosyn and I are down the hall.”
“Thank you. I’m sure I would have gotten hopelessly lost if you hadn't brought me,” she said, giving him a grateful smile. He still hadn’t released her hand; he was looking at her face as if he was searching for something, and her heart was thudding so loudly in her ears she was sure he could hear it.
“Maeve… I know you’re Lord Cian’s daughter. My father recognized you right away,” Idris said, and it felt like the bottom had fallen right out of the world. Tears were streaming down her face before she even realized it.
“I’m sorry, Idris; I should have told you all a while ago, but I was afraid you would hate me, and…” She stuttered to a stop as he laid a finger over her lips.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care if you’re his daughter or the least of his serving girls. I only wanted you to know that you don’t have to hide anymore; you can trust me.” This only made her tears fall harder. She didn’t deserve this, his friendship or help. But he leaned closer, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “Whatever you think, you are worthy of our protection.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide at his eerily accurate predication of her protests. “But there’s more I haven’t told you; I…”
“It can wait until tomorrow,” he said gently, brushing away the hair that stuck to her tear-streaked face, and then letting his hand rest on her shoulder in a comforting way. She found herself leaning into him, almost unconsciously, and in response, he put his arms around her. He smelled clean and masculine, like rainwater, soap, and sandalwood. “You should get some rest. Everything is going to be fine,” he said, his voice quiet and low.
He was right, but she felt a strange reluctance to leave him, as if whatever was happening right now was an ephemera that would disappear the moment she looked away. She nodded, and he pulled away, though she thought he seemed as reluctant as she felt. “Goodnight, Idris,” she said. “Thank you for everything.”
“Goodnight, Maeve,” he said. But instead of turning his back on her, he bent down quickly and pressed a kiss to her forehead before walking away. She went into the bedroom feeling dazed. Tomorrow, she would tell them everything, and then, if he wasn’t completely repulsed by her, maybe then she could examine all these strange new emotions erupting in her heart.
*********************************
Idris’s dreams, though disjointed, had been decidedly sensual, and it was difficult to know whether it was in response to the general magical atmosphere permeating Beltane or due to his belated realization of his growing feelings for Maeve. He had wanted to kiss her the night before, to do more than kiss her, and it was only his knowledge of her relative inexperience coupled by his own confusion that had kept him from doing either one. His father had been entirely correct about his romantic ventures thus far. He’d taken lovers before, a night at a time, with the understanding on both sides that there was no relationship implied, nor the expectation of one. It was just a little fun to let off steam. That had been good enough, until now. He knew that was not what he wanted with Maeve. Not only because he feared that would hurt her, though he was aware that she was younger and much more sheltered than he, but he also wanted to know her, to protect her, to make her happy, and the implication frightened him as much as it drew him.
The result of this was that he woke feeling confused, restless, and dissatisfied, and his shower did not noticeably improve his temper. He was still only half-dressed when there was a frantic knocking at his door. “What is it?”
“It’s about Maeve,” came his sister’s voice. He yanked open the door, suddenly terrified that something horrible had occurred. Had he scared her into running off?
“What happened?” he demanded, though he knew by the expression on his sister’s face that he wasn't going to like the answer.
“You’re going to want to put on a shirt,” Rhosyn said, frowning despite the panic in her eyes. “Her brother, Prince Conall, is here, demanding we send her back home. She’s obviously terrified.” He didn’t need to hear another word; he strode to his closet, looking for his most intimidating outfit.