Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [407]
Morgause laughed gaily and said, “Young company does that for me, my dear—saw you Lamorak? While he thinks me beautiful, I think myself so, and so I am . . . it is the only sorcery I need!” She traced with her smooth finger a little line beneath Morgaine’s eye, and said, “I recommend it to you, my dear, or you will grow old and cross . . . are there no handsome young men at Uriens’ court with an eye for their queen?”
Over her shoulder Morgaine saw Gwenhwyfar’s frown of distaste, even though she certainly believed Morgause was joking. At least the tale of my behavior with Accolon is not common gossip here. Then she thought angrily, In the Lady’s name, I am not ashamed of what I do, I am not Gwenhwyfar!
Lancelet was talking with Isotta of Cornwall. Yes, he would always have an eye for the most beautiful woman in the room, and Morgaine could tell Gwenhwyfar liked it not; Gwenhwyfar said now, with nervous haste, “Lady Isotta, know you my husband’s sister, Morgaine?”
The Irish beauty raised her eyes listlessly to Morgaine, and smiled. She was very pale, her chiselled features white as new cream, her eyes that blue that is almost green. Morgaine saw that although she was tall, her bones were so small that she looked like a child hung with jewels and pearls and golden chains which seemed too heavy for her. Morgaine had sudden pity for the girl and withheld the first words that came into her mind, which were, So they call you queen in Cornwall now? I must have words with Duke Marcus! She said only, “My kinsman told me you are skilled in herbs and medicines, lady. Some day, if we have leisure before I return to Wales, I would like to speak of them with you.”
“It would be a pleasure,” said Isotta courteously. Lancelet looked up and said, “I have told her also that you are a musician, Morgaine. Are we to hear you play this day?”
“With Kevin here? My music is nothing to his,” said Morgaine, but Gwenhwyfar shuddered, and interrupted.
“I wish Arthur would listen to me and send that man from his court. I like it not, to have wizards and sorcerers here, and such an evil face must portend evil within! I know not how you can bear to touch him, Morgaine—I should think any fastidious woman would be ill if he touched her, yet you embraced and kissed him as if he were a kinsman—”
“Clearly,” said Morgaine, “I am altogether lacking in proper feelings—and I rejoice at it.”
Isotta of Cornwall said in her soft, sweet voice, “If what is without is like to that which is within, then the music Kevin makes must be a sign to us, lady Gwenhwyfar, that the soul within him is indeed that of the highest angels. For no evil man could play as he plays.”
Arthur had come to join them, and had heard the last few words. He said, “Yet I will not affront my queen with the presence of one distasteful to her—nor will I have the insolence to command the music of such an artist as Kevin for one who cannot receive him with grace.” He sounded displeased. “Morgaine, will you play for us, then?”
“My harp is in Wales,” she said. “Perhaps, if someone can lend me a harp, at another time. The hall is so crowded and noisy, the music would be lost. . . . Lancelet is as much a musician as I.”
Lancelet, standing behind him, shook his head. “Oh, no, cousin. I know one string from another, because I was reared in Avalon and my mother set a harp in my hand for a plaything as soon as I could hold one. But I have not the gift of music as Morgaine has, nor the nephew of Marcus—have you heard Drustan play, Morgaine?”
She shook her head, and Isotta said, “I will ask him to come and play for us.”
She sent a page for him, and Drustan came, a slight young man, dark-eyed and dark-haired; he was indeed, Morgaine thought, not unlike Lancelet. Isotta asked him to play, and he called for his harp and sat on the steps of the dais, playing some Breton tunes. They were plaintive and sad, in a very old scale, and they made Morgaine