"Kate Forsyth - Eileanan 06 - The Fathomless Caves" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forsyth Kate)

of her father and the Priestesses of Jor as greatly as she feared that of
Lachlan and the Coven of Witches. So she had taken up her cl├аrsach
and commanded Bronwen to take up her flute, and together mother and
daughter had sung the Fairgean warriors to death.

It did not help that Isabeau had taken Bronwen away from Maya. It
did not help that Bronwen now slept peacefully in the royal nursery, as
sweet-faced and innocent as the other children. Fairgean warriors still
swam through Isabeau's dreams every night, dragging her down with
their webbed hands, strangling her with their seaweed hair, drowning her.

Isabeau shivered and pulled her plaid up about her neck, even
though the night was balmy and the heat of the Beltane bonfire had the
dancers damp with perspiration. She wished Meghan had not retired to
her bed, or that her old friend Lilanthe was there, to talk and laugh with
and distract her from her troubled thoughts. She wished that Dide, her
oldest friend of all, was not flirting so outrageously with the newly
crowned May Queen, the prettiest girl Isabeau had ever seen.

Laughing wickedly, Dide was dancing and cavorting all round the
fire, scattering spring-green leaves behind him. He had not been still since
the dawn ceremony but he showed no sign of weariness, leading the
dancing in an unruly procession that overturned tables and knocked a
tray of goblets flying. With a shout of joyous excitement, he flung himself
over in a wild flurry of cartwheels, flip-flops, lion-leaps, hand-springs,
head-springs, sideways leaps and twists of every description that had the
crowd roaring. Brangaine leapt to her feet and clapped enthusiastically,
and Dide bowed and blew her a kiss. When she blew him a kiss in
return, he fell over backwards as if he had been felled by a blow, and lay
on the ground, his arms outstretched, his eyes shut, his chest heaving.

Isabeau poured herself another goblet of wine.

All the other jongleurs were spurred on to new feats of acrobatic
grace and dexterity. Dide sat up and watched them, occasionally jeering
or applauding a particularly deft somersault. Another pretty young girl
came and tried to drag him into a dance but he waved her away,
pretending he was swooning from exhaustion. Then he spied Isabeau,
sitting alone at the high table, the elf-owl Buba perched on the chair
behind.

Isabeau sensed rather than saw Dide get up and make his way
towards her. She turned her attention to the musicians, watching them
play as if she had no greater desire in the world than to study their
fingering. Then she felt him lean over her, his breath warm on her cheek
and smelling strongly of ale.

"If it's no' my bonny Beau," he said. "Look at ye, in your
witch-robes. And there's your wee owl. If I come too close, will she
peck me again?"