With eyes that grew wider and rounder with every word the Dragon woman said, Brighde could perhaps be pardoned for having reservations about what she said. A Dragon lived w2ho was more than four thousand years in age? And the vital, active, beautiful woman who sat before her was more than a thousand and a half years? Surely she must be mistaken! Why, she scarce looked old enough to have grandbairns, let alone be more than a hundred years.
And yet ...
Brighde just had seen two transformations of shape. Her agile mind reached for, and accepted, the next extension without her bidding. If one could change her shape as these two women obviously could, what was to prevent them from restoring the appearance of health, of youthful glow to skin, of sufficient plumpness under that skin to eliminate the wrinkles that time always brought? Were there any limits? In her innocence of the moment, she could not think of what so powerful a being might find to constrain them regarding anything about their personal appearance.
Looking quickly at her mistress, she could see that the little muscles around her jaw were working subtly, and she guessed that Lady Ainsley was having similar thoughts. That woman, she knew, was beginning the loss of the bloom of her maidenly appearance. What price might a grown woman place on youthfulness? And how might one obtain it? In this reverie, she was left somewhat high and dry when she heard her name mentioned by Lady Bronwyn.
"And Brighde, if she so desires, can come as well."
Sir Ian nodded and looked over at Lady Ainsley, awaiting her decision. In the several seconds it took for her mistress to consider what had been asked, Brighde once again spoke out of turn. Her voice was so soft that the others in the room besides that woman had to strain to hear it.
"Och, micht I coome as weel, my Lady? Please?" she breathed.