“You know a lot of people in New Skye. Don’t you?”
“Yes, I’ve been there a lot lately, why? I thought you had them down for disgusting savages,” Rafe said, a little defensively, “but they’re nice people and I like their way of life. I’m not asking you to john them. I know you wouldn’t and they won’t let me in without a woman of my own–they try to keep the sexes balanced, though they don’t marry–but they treat me like one of them.”
She said with unusual gentleness. “I’m very glad, and I’m certainly not jealous. But I’d like to see Fiona, and I can’t explain why. Could you take me to one of their meetings?”
“You don’t have to explain,” he said, `They’re having a concert–oh, informal, but that’s what it is–tonight, and anyone who wants to come is welcome. You could even join in, if you felt like singing. I do sometimes. You know some old Spanish songs, don’t you? There’s a sort of informal project to preserve as much music as we can remember
“Some other time, I’ll be glad to; I’m too short of breath to do much singing now,” she said. “Maybe after the baby’s born.” She clasped him hand, and MacAran felt a wild pang of jealousy. She knows Fiona’s carrying the Captain’s child, and she wants to see her. And that’s why she isn’t jealous she couldn’t care less… .
I’m jealous. But would I want her to lie to me? She does love me, she’s having my child, what more do I want?
They heard the music beginning before they reached the new Community Hall at the New Skye farm, and Camilla looked at MacAran in startled dismay. “Good Lord, what’s that unholy racked”
“I forgot you weren’t a Scot, darling, don’t you like the bagpipes? Moray and Domenick and a couple of others play them, but yon don’t have to go in until they’re finished unless you like,” he laughed.
“It sounds worse than a banshee on the loose,” Camilla said firmly. `The music isn’t all like that, I hope?”
“No, there are harps, guitars, lutes, you name it, they’ve got it. And building new ones.” He squeezed her fingers as the pipes died, and they walked toward the hall. “It’s a tradition, that’s all. The pipes. And the Highland regalia–the kilts and swords.”
Camilla felt, surprisingly, a brief pang almost of envy as they came into the hall, brightly lit with candles and torches; the girls in their brilliant tartan skirts and plaids, the men resplendent in kilts, swords, buckled plaids swaggering over their shoulders. So many of them were bright-haired redheads. A colorful tradition. They pass it on, and our traditions–die Oh, come, damn it, what traditions? The annual parade of the Space Academy? Theirs fit, at least, into this strange world.
Two men, Moray and the tall, red-headed Alastair, were doing a sword dance, leaping nimbly across the gleaming blades to the sound of the piper. For an instant Camilla had a strange vision of gleaming swords, not used in games, but deadly serious, then it flickered out again and she joined in the applause for the dancers.
There were other dances and songs, mostly unfamiliar to Camilla, with a strange, melancholy lilt and a rhythm that made her think of the sea. And the sea, too, ran through many of the words. It was dark in the hall, even by the torchlight, and she did not anywhere see the coppery-haired girl she sought, and after a time she forgot the urgency that had brought her there, listening to the mournful songs of a vanished world of islands and seas;
O Mhari Oh, Mhari my girl
Thy sea-blue eyes with witchery
Draw me to thee, off Mull’s wild shore
My heart is sore, for love of thee… .
MacAran’s arm tightened around her and she let herself lean against him.
She whispered, “How strange, that on a world without seas, so many sea-songs should be kept alive… .”
He murmured, “Give us time. Well find some seas to sing about–” and broke off, for the song had died, and someone called, “Fiona! Fiona, you sing for us!” Others took up the cry, and after a time the slight red-haired girl, wearing a full green-and-blue skirt which accentuated, almost flaunting, her pregnancy, came through the crowd. She said, in her light sweet voice, “I can’t do much singing, I’m short of breath these days. What would you like to hear?”