Free The Ballad of Rosamunde by Claire Delacroix Page B

with more when no one was
looking.
    But all the fairy court was silent,
clustered around their king’s favored chessboard. They watched,
knowing that more than victory at a game hung in the balance.
    As usual.
    Finvarra did not care for low stakes.
    Finvarra played to win.
    The spriggan, Darg, sat opposite the king
and fidgeted. Recently of Scotland, the small thieving fairy had
traveled to Ireland in the hold of the ship of Padraig Deane, a
blue-eyed and handsome pirate possessed of a broken heart. Caught
trespassing in Finvarra’s sid , a crime punishable by death,
the spriggan played for its life.
    Finvarra, in truth, tired of the game. The
spoils were not so remarkable and the spriggan was a mediocre
opponent. The splendor of the board, indeed, he felt was wasted
upon the rough little creature. Certainly, his skill was.
    Then Finvarra heard the distant lilt of
human song.

    “ Rosamunde was a pirate queen
    With hair red gold and eyes of green…”

    As was common with Finvarra, the mention of
a beauteous mortal woman piqued his interest. He turned his head to
listen, just as the spriggan interrupted with a hiss.
    “A laughing trickster Rosamunde did be, but
she did not have the best of me.”
    “You knew this mortal?”
    Darg raised a fist. “Stole from me! That she
dared, but I did steal her from her laird. She would be dead but
for me; now she owes me her fealty.” The spriggan cackled, then
moved a pawn with care. It was a poor choice. “Not dead but
enchanted she doth be, while I choose what my vengeance shall
be.”
    Intrigued, Finvarra snapped his fingers and
his wife, Una, brought his silver mirror to his hand. She knew him
well. She caressed his hand as she passed the mirror to him, but
Finvarra ignored her gesture of affection.
    He didn’t imagine her sniff of displeasure,
but Una’s pleasure was not his current concern. Not when there was
a beauteous woman to be possessed. He murmured to the mirror and
its surface swirled before his eyes, the image of this Rosamunde
appearing so suddenly that Finvarra caught his breath.
    Then his blood quickened.
    Una, always able to read his response, spun
on her heel. She strode from the hall, her ladies scurrying after
her like so many sparrows. Finvarra was oblivious to his wife’s
mood.
    This Rosamunde was not just beautiful, but
there was a set to her chin that hinted at a spirited nature.
    Finvarra had to know more. He touched the
queen, his favored piece, sliding his finger up her carved back.
She strolled across the board in perfect understanding of his
intent, halted on the desired spot and tucked her hands into her
sleeves meekly.
    If only all queens might be so biddable.
    “Check,” he murmured with a smile.
    “No! I shall not die, not by your whim!” The
spriggan erupted from its place in fury, jumping across the board
and kicking pieces left and right. “I demand we play the game
again!”
    Finvarra shook his head.
    The spriggan scattered the pieces onto the
earthen floor, then lunged at Finvarra. There was no contest
between them, the spriggan being only as tall as the king’s golden
chalice. Finvarra struck the ill-tempered creature with the back of
his hand, sending it sprawling across the floor.
    The elegantly-attired fey stepped away from
the spriggan, whispering at its poor manners. It hissed at all of
them, then made to run. Two elfin knights seized it, holding
tightly while it bit and struggled.
    “I have no interest in your life,” Finvarra
said with soft authority. The spriggan froze, staring at him in
confusion. It was a crafty creature and Finvarra deliberately
stated his terms so that there could be no deception. “I would
trade your life for a specific treasure in your possession.”
    Darg’s eyes narrowed into hostile slits. “No
gem do I see fit to spare…”
    “The woman,” Finvarra decreed, interrupting
what would likely be an impolite diatribe. “I trade your life for
that of your captive, Rosamunde.”
    The spriggan