Page 71

Alone, my life would be so bare.

I would sigh and I would weep,

Never, never would I sleep

For my love is far beyond compare

She of the wondrous hair.

Black, black, black

is the color of my true love's hair..."

His voice held the last note, then faded slowly into a sigh. The people paid him the tribute of their utter silence.

Before they could recover themselves he began again, this time a merry tune that he played upon the harp, and his bright green gaze was fixed, not on Deirdre, but on Alistair.

"There was a gypsy came to our door

He came brave and boldy-o

And he sang high and he sang low

And he sang a raggle-taggle gypsy-o."

Feet were tapping, hands beating out the time as they caught the familiar rhythm of the song. But Alistair sat very still beside her.

"It was late that night when the knight came in

inquiring for his lady-o,

and the servant girl she said to the knight,

'She's away wi' the raggle taggle gypsy-o.'"

Ronan grinned as he played between the verses, obviously enjoying his jest. All around the hall people began to dance. Why, Ronan? Deirdre wondered. Why must you shame Alistair in his own hall? People would remember this later when she was gone. They all believed she was betrothed to Alistair, and they would think she had run off, just like the lady in the song, and left him behind. Her face was crimson with embarrassment as Ronan began the verses that told of the Knight's final meeting with his lady.

"'How could you leave your house and your land?

How could you leave your money-o?

How could you leave your own husband

all for a raggle taggle gypsy-o?'

"'What care I for my house and my land?

What care I for my money-o?

I'd rather have a kiss from the gypsy's lips

I'm away wi' the raggle taggle gypsy-o!'"

When the last verse was done, the music still went on. Deirdre had never heard anything like it, not even from Ronan. His fingers danced over the harpstrings, faster and faster, weaving a melody that wound into fantastic flights of fancy. Yet it always came back again to the original tune, changing it, playing with it, all of it done with an apparent ease that stole Deirdre's breath.

Oh, Ronan had been good before, he had been brilliant, but now such words were too pale and ordinary to describe what he was doing. Indeed, it hardly seemed to be mortal music at all. There was magic in him tonight, fey and wild, that held his listeners in thrall. Deirdre wondered a little uneasily if the people could have ceased their dancing even if they wanted to.

And then, at last, it ended. As the last strains faded to silence there came a great sigh of loss.