Percussion hammered out the beat of her heart as the music surrounded her, infiltrating her heart, mind, and soul. She was the leader, she was the dance. Her shoes pounded out the rhythm of her pulse, drumming on the hard ground. The rain tapped out the double-time-downbeat on her head as she danced alone, whirling about and skipping. The music was enticing, it was intoxicating, it was exhilarating, it was life-sustaining, and then her song ended and he began to dance.
A different tune poured out of the trees as he danced. His shoes were loud, drumming as hers did. He became the music, working its way into every fiber of her existence. He was haunting, he was beautiful, he was magnetic, he was the dance. The music would never end for her turn once more, and then it did.
Every night the dream was the same, and every morning fifteen-year-old Rhiannon Thomas woke in a cold sweat, her long, dark blonde braid dripping. Breathing heavily, she threw back the covers of her bed and, wrapping a cloak around her body, she ran from the stable in which she lived until she arrived at a small stream not three miles away. She dropped her cloak and began to dance, letting the rhythm of the river inspire her feet. Then, she realized how very late it was as the sun rose before her. Grabbing her cloak from the branch of a tree, she returned to Sparrow Manor, where she was a stablehand, and changed quickly into her simple off-white homespun cotton shift; a light strapless garment that flowed to her ankles in two layers of cotton, a corset, three petticoats in varying stages of shabbiness, and a simple brown dress. Looking down at herself, she groaned. Once more she'd have to let out fabric at the chest and hips. Being a girl was far more trouble than it was worth, in her opinion. Thread was costly and sewing was time-consuming. Finally, she stepped into a comfortable pair of soft leather boots and began her chores.
After working until noon, Rhiannon went up to the main manor house for food. She nearly collapsed at the table before one of her fellow servants, the lord's chef, set a few pieces of thick, rich brown bread in front of her, still hot from the oven. "How are the horses?" asked the elderly man, almost a father-figure to Rhiannon. Her own parents had died when she was too young to know and she had been taken in off the streets by Josiah, the chef.
"They're wonderful," replied Rhiannon, a smile on her face. Her thick Irish accent clouded her speech compared to the rich sound of Josiah's English inflections. "Rupert nearly threw the royal brat yesterday," she grinned, laughing.
Josiah joined in her laughter, a hearty guffaw shaking his entire body. "Wonderful," he smiled. Pinching Rhiannon's cheek affectionately, he said, "Don't let the boy fool you, child of my heart. The women of court may admire his handsome features and his sharp wit but it takes the eyes of a servant to see him as he truly is, a foolish lad with far too much gold for his own good. The farther you are from him, the better." Rhiannon smiled and stood.
"Well, I'm off to saddle up Rhian. We're to go for a ride. He's been lazing about and I want to see if a bit of fresh air will lift his spirits," replied Rhiannon. Rhian was her favorite horse, a young gelding with a fine coat of white and a rare mane the color of Rhiannon's hair.
"Off with you, girl!" Josiah smiled. He cracked a towel at his non-daughter as she left in a whirl of torn brown cotton. "And fix your skirts!"
Rhiannon felt like she was flying; the sensation of Rhian galloping with her clinging to him was almost as amazing as dancing at the stream. She and the horse she thought of as hers though he truly belonged to Lord Sparrow, the owner of the manor, rode alongside the sparkling water, not stopping for five miles. Rhiannon stripped down to her shift and ducked under the water, allowing the clear water and gentle current to float her a few yards before climbing out and laying on the dry brown grass to dry herself off. "Having fun?" asked a voice from behind Rhiannon. She shrieked, grabbing her dress and holding it before her.
"I'm not decent!" she cried. "Be gone!" Her eyes were tight shut so she could not see who was laughing at her. A moment later, he pried her fingers from her face and she looked into the haunting blue eyes and slightly messy black hair of Adam Sparrow, the son of Lord Sparrow, who in a sense owned Rhiannon, or at least the next two years of her life. "What are you doing here? You should be at your house, seeing your subjects," Rhiannon mocked.
"I should ask you the same thing," replied the arrogant lad, also fifteen. "This is not my father's land. I could have you hung for horse theft, and if not, for trespassing on another's land."
"Be gone so I may dress!" she hissed, still clinging to the dress with one hand.
"Well, stable girl, if you're going to be so rude, I suppose I won't tell you of the dance contest I shall be entering," Adam sneered.
Rhiannon's jaw dropped. "Dance contest?" she asked. "Where? When?"
Adam shrugged, "The fair in town, in three weeks' time. Why should you care? You know traditional dance competitions are only for men. You couldn't enter even if you could dance!" Rhiannon wanted to slap him.
"Then why bother taunting me?" she quipped. Adam took a step closer and snaked an arm around her waist.
"You're beautiful when you're annoyed," he said in a mocking tone. Rhiannon pushed him away and, grabbing her clothes, ran off with Rhian in tow to dress.
"Oh, shove off!" she hollered back, dressing as she walked. Suddenly, she realized she'd left her boots back at the stream. She jumped onto Rhian's back and they rode back to Adam.
"Looking for these?" he asked, holding up the boots in question.
"As a matter of fact, I am," replied Rhiannon. "May I have them?"
Adam handed her the boots without so much as a whine and asked, "Will you be at the fair?" Rhiannon shrugged.
"I may be working," she replied, leading Rhian after her back along the course of the river.
Returning to Sparrow Manor, Rhiannon burst through the doors of the kitchen as Josiah held out another piece of the delicious bread. "What is it, Rhia?" he asked, using Rhiannon's childhood nickname.
"I need you to cut my hair," she said with a wince.
"Why?" asked Josiah. "You've never cut your hair before unless you absolutely had to, and you don't need to, yet."
Rhiannon sighed, knowing Josiah would try to stop her, but said anyway, "There's a dance contest at the fair and I could win and buy the last two years of service I owe here. I could buy my freedom and be out of here. The thing is that the dance contest is only for men and boys." Josiah blinked heavily.
"Are you serious? You really think you can pull this off?" he asked disbelievingly. Rhiannon nodded and Josiah sighed. "Just let me get a good knife," he said heavily.
Rhiannon shook her head, trying out her new hairstyle. Her golden hair was now as short as a boy's and, with a pair of breeches, a shirt, and some proper stockings and shoes, she could really compete. Josiah managed to nick a set from one of the servant boys who worked in the palace and gave them to Rhiannon. "What name will you enter under?" he asked.
"Rhian Dordan," she replied, taking the clothes and going behind the curtain that sectioned off Josiah's living quarters from the kitchen. She emerged from the curtain a moment later and asked, "Do I look the part?"
"You could be your own brother," replied Josiah, smiling. He kissed Rhiannon's forehead and said, "I'll go if I can convince Sparrow to let me. Since Adam is competing, they may go to watch."
Rhiannon's jaw dropped. "Adam is in the contest? I didn't even know he could dance!"
Josiah chuckled, "My dear, how could you possibly not know? Adam is a noble, so he's had training from the time he could stand. Here, let me play a simple reel and you can show me what you would do."
Rhiannon smiled, "Thanks for everything." Josiah just waved her words away and drew out a bagpipe. He played a few bars, then stopped mid-note. "That bad?" Rhiannon asked.
Josiah's eyes grew wide and he smiled, "If you don't beat that spoiled brat, I may just die." Rhiannon hugged him gently and returned to the barn. She gathered her pillow and the only thing she owned that had once belonged to her mother; a pair of fancy dance shoes with real gold coins nailed to the toes and heels to produce sound. She tucked them into a knapsack and went back to the kitchen. Josiah had readied a bag filled with a few dozen apples, three loaves of brown bread, and a few potatoes. "Rhia, you can do it," he whispered.
Rhiannon smiled as the old man kissed her forehead once more, then set off for the one-week journey to the main city of Dublin where the fair was to be held.
The gates were of iron, bronze, and silver smelted together to produce a gleaming metal comparable to gold. Rhiannon stared in awe for a moment, but then the gates opened and she was in Dublin. Josiah had given her a few bronze and silver crowns to use for lodging and such. It was all the money he had and Rhiannon hated taking it but he had insisted and wouldn't have let Rhiannon leave without it. "Rhian Dordan," she said to the owner of the inn.