The Ballad of Rosamunde Read Free Page B

hastened
closer.

    “ Una was the Faerie queen

Fairest woman ever seen

Wed centuries to her king
    Love meant more to her than his ring.”

    The ground rose ahead of Padraig in a mound,
a low hill covered with grass. A circle of large stones surrounded
the crest of the hill, like a crown upon it, and a hawthorne tree
grew outside the circle of stones.
    The hair prickled on the back of his neck
for he had learned at his mother’s knee to be cautious in the
presence of the fey. If nothing else, this was the kind of place
they favored.
    He could barely discern the silhouette of a
woman atop the hill. She was sitting on a stone in the midst of the
circle, combing her long hair, and he knew she was the one who
sang. Two women sat at her feet, one with a lyre the like of which
Padraig had never seen, the other humming along with her lady. They
were all lovely, ethereal in the moonlight.
    Her voice had a lovely lilt and Padraig
wished to hear more of her song. He walked closer, trying to move
silently as he didn’t want to startle the women.
    To his astonishment, as soon as he stepped
within the circle of stones, the lady with the comb turned to
confront him. She smiled, her hand falling to her lap as she sang
directly to him.
    With proximity, he could see more than her
silhouette. Her hair was golden, as bright as sunlight, her eyes as
blue as a southern sea. Padraig walked closer, awed by her
loveliness.

    “ But Finvarra had an appetite,
    For mortal women, both dark and light.
    He vowed he’d have the pirate queen,
    Held captive by the spriggan’s greed.
    One glimpse of the fair Rosamunde
    Had left him filled with lust and love.
    And so his wife did come to dread
    Her spouse taking Rosamunde to his bed.”

    Padraig blinked. Surely she could not be
singing of his Rosamunde?
    The woman stood up, revealing that she was
tall and slender. She wore a dress that was fitted to her curves
and swept to her ankles, one as blue as her eyes and rich with
golden embroidery. There were gems encrusting the hem and cuffs of
the gown, and it seemed to Padraig that her slippers were made of
silk the color of moonlight.
    Or perhaps she was wrought of moonlight. She
seemed insubstantial as she walked toward him, both of this world
and not. Was he dreaming? The hem of her skirt seemed to dance with
a will of its own, and lights glinted around the perimeter of the
stone circle. He remembered will ‘o the wisp, the fabled lights of
the fey, and knew that he had strayed into their enchanted
realm.
    Only when the woman was directly before him
did he see the numerous small courtiers holding the hem. They could
not have stood as high as his knee, not a one of them, and were
dressed in green livery. Their faces were sharp, their eyes narrow,
and their hair caught with twigs.
    Padraig remembered her own words and knew
whom he encountered.
    The Faerie queen, Una.
    “Greetings, Padraig, sailor of the many
seas,” she said, her voice as melodious in speech as in song.
    “Greetings, beauteous queen.” Padraig bowed
deeply, knowing well the price of insulting one of the fey.
    “Perhaps you have guessed that I have
summoned you here. I heard your song and knew that our goals could
be as one.”
    “Heard my song?” Padraig glanced over his
shoulder, unable to glimpse the lights of the town. “But that was
miles away. You could not possibly have heard…”
    Una laid a fingertip across his lips to
silence him. Her touch was as cold as ice, as smooth as silken
velvet.
    She smiled. “She is not dead, your
Rosamunde.” Her lips tightened and she averted her gaze. “And now
my husband, casting his glance over all of Faerie, with aid of his
treacherous mirror, has glimpsed the slumbering Rosamunde. He means
to make her his own on Beltane.”
    “I mean no offense, my lady, but Rosamunde
is dead,” Padraig spoke with care. He knew of the fey inclination
to trick mortals. “I saw the fallen rock, I tried to retrieve her
from the destroyed caverns. She