Page 26 of Wyvern

She tucked the fiddle beneath her chin. “Gundrig’s Ballad, thenMerry Alice. After that, we’ll play whatever the spirit wills us toplay.”

Guests began dancing as soon as the first chord was struck. Elsbeth played with gusto, as lost to the music as the people who twirled to its rhythms. She and Ewan played a dozen tunes straight before taking abreak.

He gave her a sheepish look. “I have to water the verge,Elsbeth.”

She swatted him lightly on the arm. “Well don’t just sit there telling me about it, Ewan. Get going. I can play a tune or two withoutyou.”

Ewan dashed off, leaving his flute in her keeping. Elsbeth gazed at the crowd surrounding her, laughing, drinking and celebrating the marriage of Aelis to Duncan. A tall, imposing figure caught her eye. She inhaled sharply at the brief glimpse of broad shoulders and rose, her heart fluttering in her chest. The crowd parted, revealing a blond stranger, from either Durnsdale or Hallowfaire. Her sudden exhilaration died a quickdeath.

She returned to her seat. The dull despair she had fought off for months seeped into her soul with an insidious chill. Alaric had promised he’d return, and she believed him. But sometimes it was difficult, especially now in the middle of a weddingcelebration.

She smiled weakly when Irena caught her eye. A few of the guests called out to her, requesting a lively reel or a more sedate cotillion. Elsbeth took up her fiddle. The tune she chose was not a favorite of Angus’s, nor one she’d written for Alaric. She’d composed this one for herself and her memory of a past summer day when she’d flown on a wyvern’s back, breathed in the wind and saw the green and gold lands stretched out belowher.

A hush fell over the crowd as she played. Many who’d come from the nearby towns whispered their admiration of her skill, the way her music captured some indefinable wish, or emotion, or memory. Those of Byderside were quick to boast it was she who saved the village by bewitching a wyvern with herfiddle.

Elsbeth remained oblivious to them. She wakened from the haze of her memories to enthusiastic applause and a voice that made her knees weak. Had she not been sitting, she would havefallen.

“The gods still dance upon your bow, ElsbethWeaver.”

She looked up, and this time another tall, broad-shouldered man stood before her. Not a blond farmer, but a dark-haired bard with the summer storms trapped in his gray eyes and wyvern blood in his veins. He wasn’t of Hallowfaire or Durnsdale, but a far country where mythical beasts roamed rolling plains, and ancient kings, descended of gods, built temples to theirdead.

The first question on her tongue was not one she expected to ask. “What did they nameher?”

Alaric laughed, a joyful sound that turned a few heads their way in curiosity. “She is Peregrine, out of Damoshin, byAlaric.”

He plucked the bow and fiddle out of her hands and set them on a nearby table. Elsbeth threw her arms around him when he lifted her, uncaring of the neighbors who stared at her in open-mouthamazement.

“You’re here,” she whispered. “You cameback.”

He crushed her to him and brushed a delicate kiss across her lips. “I promised I would. I keep my promises.” His features were more somber, his shoulders tense. “Wyverns may mate with women and bond with them. But they cannot breed with them. I can’t give you children,Beth.”

Elsbeth stroked the line of his nose with one finger. “I will love you all the days of my life, but I can’t give you six hundred years,Alaric.”

He rested his forehead against hers, his relief palpable. “And I will love you until the end of both our days. That will beenough.”

She thought of her most recent tune. “Will you take me flying again? Far from here. To the great oceans and the land of yourbirth.”

“You’re notafraid?”

“Only if you let me fall. Only if you stop lovingme.”

Alaric tightened his embrace. “The world itself will fall before that ever comes to pass, my sweetBeth.”

Calls rose from the milling crowd, demands for Elsbeth to play another tune. Ewan had returned and stood nearby gesturing to her fiddle where it lay on the table. She sighed, reluctant to leave Alaric’s arms. He was here. He was here! And she thought her heart might burst with theknowledge.

“I have to play,” shesaid.

Alaric shook his head. “Not this time. This time the fiddler dances.” He nodded to Ewan. “You’re on your own with this one, lad. Play something lively.” He released Elsbeth and held out his hand to her. “You flew with me once. Now let me fly withyou.”

She laughed and gripped his hand. “Come, wyvern,” she whispered for his ears alone. “And soar withme.”

~End~