Bradana surrendered the harp to his hands. Her most treasured possession besides Wen, it looked small and crude as the man examined it.
“Aye, so, ye are indeed in need of new strings.”
“Can ye provide them? I am sure my husband can pay for your service.”
His smile widened. “Your husband, Adair MacMurtray. He is a good friend o’ mine. I can fit your harp, mistress, and gladly—if ye repay me wi’ a song.”
“Och, I am sure I do no’ play as well as yourself, Master Caomhán.”
He ignored that. Stepping away to a nearby pack, half the contents of which had already been spread on the ground, he fished for supplies.
“I have been to Alba, ye know.”
“Have ye?” Bradana’s heart leaped.
“Indeed, as a young man. A wild sort o’ place, is it no’? But I got some wondrous tunes there.”
“Aye.”
“When there, I did not see any female harpers.”
“’Tis no’ usual,” Bradana admitted. “I had to beg to receive my lessons.”
“Och, so. A determined woman, then.”
Bradana found herself smiling. “I was gey determined about that.”
“Well, we must spread beauty as we can.”
She watched as, with quick and practical motions, he replaced the strings on her little harp.
As he worked, he continued to chatter. “I myself have two children. My son already learns upon the harp. I confess, I would not have thought to teach my daughter also. Mayhap ye can change my mind.”
“’Tis always good to learn.” When he finished stringing her harp, she said, “I thank ye. Adair will be glad of it also. He loves me to play for him.”
“Adair possess an excellent ear and might have made a fine harper, in another life. These new strings will need to stretch out.”
“Aye.”
“But ye owe me a tune, mistress. Why not use my harp?”
“Yours? Och, I could not.”
“Why?”
“It is much larger than mine, and it is so magnificent—”
“The harp canna see itself, and knows only its own voice.” He walked to a nearby rug, where sat his harp in solitary splendor, and took it up. “Please.”
How could she refuse when he had shown her all she’d seen so far of kindness here in Erin?
By now, everyone there watched them, including Forba. Hesitantly, Bradana took a seat on one of the stools and balanced the instrument on her knee. She ran her fingers down the strings and the harp gave voice into the clear, soft air.
It was enough to let the magic take hold, and her doubt fled. She gave them one of the first songs she had learned, finding her way on the strings, adding the embellishments by which it had become her own. She broke then at once into the song she’d made for Adair. The beautiful harp sang for her, and when they finished, there was not a sound.
Not until Caomhán cleared his throat. “I ha’ ne’er heard that last tune.”
“Because it is one o’ my own.”
