“Aye, Mr. Lyons, indeed I am.”
“How is it that you come to hold such a prestigious English title, if you do not mind my asking?” Mr. Lyons’ tone was respectful, his only goal appeared to be to appease his curiosity, not to cause embarrassment.
“My maither was English, daughter o’ the late Earl o’ Irondale. When my uncle, her brother, died, I became my grandfaither’s heir. When he passed, I became the earl.”
Mr. Lyons nodded, leaning forward in interest at the opportunity to learn more. He was the kind of man who found anything and everything interesting and it showed in the excited gleam in his eyes. “And your father’s people were Scottish?”
“Aye, from the Clan MacDonald.”
“Ah, the former Lords of the Isles, if I am not mistaken before the Clan Campbell changed all of that.”
“Aye, ye ken yer Scottish history, Mr. Lyons.”
Mr. Lyons blushed at the compliment from such a distinguished and interesting nobleman. “I dabble,” he admitted. “I enjoy learning about the peoples of Britain’s many lands. I dabble a bit in Welsh and Irish history as well.”
“My maternal grandmaither was Welsh,” Arthur admitted, a gentle smile lighting his face as he spoke.
“Ah, a lovely and confusing language, would you not agree?”
“Aye, I would at that,” Arthur nodded. “I had the pleasure o’ hearing it again just last night.”
“Oh, do tell us.”
“I was taking a midnight stroll when I overheard a mother singing her wee bairn tae sleep. It was a Welsh lullaby,Ar Hyd Y Nos.Do ye ken it?”
“All Through The Night? Yes, I know it well,” Mr. Lyons nodded profusely. “A lovely tune.”
“Indeed, it is.” Arthur smiled kindly at the older man. “What is your area of study, Mr. Lyons?”
“British history, but Arthurian legend is my obsession. It is how Professor Wallace and I met, actually,” he turned his gaze back to Cleo. “Your father was a man of great insight. I miss him dearly and I am not ashamed to admit it.”
“As do I, Mr. Lyons.” Cleo shared a look of sympathy with the older man.
“Arthurian legend, ye say?” Arthur asked, steering the conversation back to the topic of their shared interest.
“Oh, yes. I have read absolutely everything there is on the subject.”
“I had a former student o’ Professor Wallace’s ask me a question the other day about Arthurian lore, and I wished that I could have asked Henry about it.”
“Oh, do tell? Perhaps I can be of aid to your friend.”
“Perhaps,” Arthur nodded as if it had not occurred to him that such a thing could transpire, even though Cleo knew full well that it had been his intention all along. “He asked if there was ever a reference to King Arthur swallowing fire. I had never heard such a thing and was unable tae aid the poor lad in his inquiries.” It was all that Cleo could do not to snort in amusement at Arthur referring to himself in third person as a poor lad.
“Ah, nay, I am not aware of any such reference. I am sorry.” Mr. Lyons looked genuinely sad. “I am aware of a fiery sword-wielding Welsh legend that I always thought was similar in nature to the Arthurian legend of the sword in the stone as only the worthy could wield the fiery sword, but nothing about fire being swallowed. Such sounds of things belonging to the medieval courts of old where performers would juggle, dance about, and eat fire for their royal masters.”
“Dyrnwyn, the sword of Rhydderch Hael from Welsh legend?”
“Yes, indeed, My Lord. You know your Welsh history,” Mr. Lyons nodded, impressed with Arthur’s intelligence.
“My grandmaither told me tales of just such a sword. She said that it was my duty to become just such a man that might wield the sword of Rhydderch Hael, for if I were not a worthy man and someday found myself in need o’ such a sword that Dyrnwyn would burn me alive.”
“A bit gruesome for a child, is it not, Irondale?” The Earl of Dustshore joined the conversation. “The Welsh are such a morbid people.”
“As are the English, Dustshore. One need only look at the tales o’ the English kings o’ auld tae see it.”
“Quite so. Quite so,” Mr. Lyons nodded his head in agreement.
Cleo sat between the men thankful for Arthur taking over the conversation so that she might sit quietly and listen for any detail that might aid her in solving her father’s riddle. Thus far, nothing had been a clear answer to her question, but if Mr. Lyons was as obsessed as he claimed to be with Arthurian lore, perhaps he would stumble upon something that might be of help if they were able to keep him talking.
