Ronan seemed to be well-known and well-liked, for he greeted many of the shopkeepers by name as they rode through the town. Most of the buildings were made of gray stone, with thatched roofs, very much like Maiwenn’s cottage in the Hazelwood Forest. Once again, Issylte swallowed a lump of sadness, forcing herself to try to enjoy the outing and the chance to be on horseback, the sun on her face and the wind in her hair.
Ronan’s blacksmith shop and stables were a short distance from the village, with a stone cottage where he lived alone, abutted by a large forge under a covered, sloped roof. Several Elves were working over the fire, hammering metal into various shapes as they shod horses and made tools for the villagers. As he rode by, Ronan waved to his workers, who greeted him in return, and Issylte followed his lead to the nearby stables.
He dismounted and gave his horse to a stable hand, then helped her down from Maëva’s back, handing the chestnut mareto another groom. Turning to face her, the Avalonian Elf said kindly, “Come this way, Issylte. Come meet my horses.”
Behind the stables, a huge grassy plain extended to the forest, and approximately thirty magnificent horses grazed freely. The outer perimeter of the grassland was encircled by a wooden fence, allowing the animals room to roam while keeping them contained and protected. A few scattered trees offered some shade, but the wide, open field offered lots of fresh grass for nibbling.
They entered the fenced area, and at Ronan’s whistle, a pretty chestnut mare, similar to the one Issylte had been riding, came trotting over to munch on the carrot he held out to her. “This is Marron, and she just loves carrots,” he explained with a grin. “She carries a foal and is due to give birth in the spring. I bring her carrots now, and in autumn, I will spoil her with the delicious fruit of our abundant apple trees.”
As Marron crunched the carrot happily, Issylte stroked her soft muzzle. She thought of caring for Luna, the exhilaration of riding through the forest with the handsome Master of Horse Liam. A life she had lost because of the evil queen.
She turned away to hide her distress, pretending to adjust her dress as she composed herself. When she at last straightened and returned to stroke Marron’s dark mane, Ronan seemed to notice the streaks on her cheeks but wisely said nothing. He watched her stroke Maëva’s muzzle, feed Marron another carrot, and said, his deep voice gentle and soothing, “I must return you toLe Centre. Soon it will be time for the evening meal.”
She gazed into his deep green eyes, trying to hide her disappointment. She loved caring for the horses. It was almost like home. Before the wicked queen.
“If you like, I can show you the fishing village of Rochefort next week,” Ronan offered gallantly. “Do you like seafood?”
She perked up immediately. “Ilovesea food! MyTatie—Maiwenn—taught me how to dig clams, harvest shellfish…even how to catch salmon and perch in the lake of Lough Gill.”
Ronan grinned. “Excellent! I know a shop where they serve deliciouspotage—asoup made with seafood and fresh vegetables. Seasoned with herbs from their garden. I’ll bring you there next Tuesday. For now, let’s head back toLe Centre.”
They returned to the stables so that the grooms could bring their horses. “I hope you enjoyed today’s ride.” Ronan smiled at her, stroking her mare’s mane. “Maëva certainly did.”
Issylte beamed at him, her love of horses filling her heart. “I thoroughly enjoyed it, Ronan. I loved riding Maëva, exploring the village of Briac. Seeing your blacksmith shop. And especially meeting Marron, the carrot lover.” She chuckled softly. “Thank you very much.”
When they arrived back atLe Centre,Ronan helped Issylte to dismount as Viviane came to greet them. She flashed Ronan a warm smile. “Thank you for taking Lilée for an excursion today.”
The Lady of the Lake grinned at the flower garland in Issylte’s hair. “A gift?”
Nodding, Issylte replied, “From theLittle Folk.” She met the Elf’s deep green gaze. “Ronan said they were welcoming me—Églantine—to Avalon.” She smiled with delight.
Viviane’s astute eyes darted between Ronan and Issylte. The Lady of the Lake asked Issylte cheerfully,“How did it feel to go riding again?”
“Incredible! I let my hair flow freely in the wind…. It was so nice to not have to keep it covered, like I did in Ireland.” Glancing up at the enormous blond male at her side, Issylte added, “Ronan is going to show me the fishing village of Rochefort next week. It will be lovely to see a tidal bay, like the one in Sligeach, where myTatie—Maiwenn–taught me to collect shellfish.”
Ronan said goodbye, wished them a pleasant evening, and rode off through the forest, back to the village of Briac.
Viviane and Issylte joined the other priestesses and acolytes for the evening meal. As she savored the herbal flavor of heromelette aux fines herbes,drinking the mineral rich water of the sacred spring, Issylte looked forward to the future for the first time since she’d left the Hazelwood Forest.
The day Ronan arrived to escort her, he brought Maëva, much to Issylte’s delight. Once again, she reveled in the thrill of galloping across the plain to the forest, her long hair blowing in the salty breeze. This time, they headed east, to the opposite side of the island, where brightly colored boats and lovely stone cottages—many decorated with blooming floral vines—dotted the rocky coast.
The sandy beach was scattered with large rocks, sheltered by cliffs jutting out over the turquoise sea, which glimmered in the afternoon sun. A large, sinuous path led down to the shore, where Issylte could see fishermen returning with baskets and nets brimming with their fresh catch. Ravenous sea gulls squawked loudly, diving for the scraps tossed their way, as powerful waves crashed against the rocky cliffs, splattering salt spray and the tang of brine into the summer breeze.
In the village, people were bustling about, bartering for goods, selling their wares. Shops offered brightly colored pottery, woven baskets, fishing supplies, clothing, leather goods, fruits, and vegetables, and plenty of freshly caught fish.
As Ronan had promised, he took her to a small inn where patrons were enjoying delicious seafood beneath bright blue awnings draped over outdoor tables bedecked with white tablecloths and deep blue ceramic dishes. Issylte’s mouth watered as the tantalizing aroma of fresh seafood wafted through the air. When the serving girl placed heaping bowls of thepotagebefore them, Issylte inhaled deeply, savoring thefamiliar aroma of scallops, oysters, and mussels that she had grown to love in Maiwenn’s cottage.
Ronan filled her mug from the pitcher on their table and offered it to her with a gleam in his forest green eyes. “This water comes from an underground spring that is filled with bubbles.” Issylte accepted the cup and tasted the sweet, fresh water, wrinkling her nose at the effervescent tickle. The hint of mint tingled her tongue.
“This fresh mint adds a wonderful flavor. Perfect for a warm, sunny afternoon.” She smiled at Ronan, delighted with familiar flavors and new sensations.
Thepotagewas delicious—full of succulent clams and mussels, the creamy broth flavored with garlic, butter, and herbs. The fresh bread was filled with nutty grains, and the mint-flavored spring water delighted her tastebuds. Ronan talked of his horses, of Marron’s expected foal, of the Elves who worked for him, the contentment of the island villagers. Issylte spoke of her lessons with the priestesses, of Viviane’s warm welcome, of Maiwenn’s herbal tutelage in the Hazelwood Forest, the similarities between the villages of Rochefort and Sligeach. He laughed when she described fishing for trout with wriggling worms, digging for clams in the tidal bay, churning butter from Florette’s sweet milk.
The friendly conversation, savory seafood, refreshing mint water, warm sunlight, and spectacular view of the ocean made for a most delightful afternoon. Soon, it was time to return, and they headed back through the forest toLe Centre. This time, when they dismounted, Ronan offered to return the following week to take her to the south side of the island, where there were lovely shells to collect and beaches to explore.
Issylte agreed eagerly, stroking Maëva’s soft brown muzzle as the Avalonian Elf mounted his black stallion Noz, promising to return the following Tuesday. As he rode off, Viviane cameup to greet her with a warm smile, and the two women headed towards the fountain to sit and chat while they waited for the bells to chime for the evening meal.
When Issylte rode to the south side of the island the following week with Ronan, she gasped in delight at the white, sandy beach at the base of the hill from where they now sat atop the forested ledge. “Let’s water the horses here, in the stream,” he said, heading into the edge of the forest, where he dismounted, helping her do the same.
