...and Black Rory enters the tavern. He looks a bit tired and ragged, constantly avoiding the Royal Navy, but glad to be back to what is the closest thing to home.
In the sack over his shoulder are his pennywhistles, his ukelele, his squeezebox, his clacking bone sticks...
The landlady is surprised to see him and stops wiping the counter. He looks back at her expectantly with fear and hope. She gives him a warm smile.
"Is she still here?" asks Black Rory. "Was she taken from me? I know she's not that fond o' the sea like me'self..."
The landlady answers, "Not over me dead body. She is safe and has been waiting for your caresses."
"And what of the sword-wielding Iron Bess? I do miss her voice..."
"Oh, she be in town, Rory, just you wait an' see. But in the meantime..." The landlady reaches behind a closet under the stairs and pulls out the bosom-high object wrapped in blankets and thin ropes. "Welcome home, Rory. Ciara misses you."
Rory, with a bow to the landlady and gratitude in his eyes, carefully undoes the ropes and pulls away the blankets to reveal an Irish harp of simple wood, yet beautifully shaped. 'Tis Ciara, with whom he fled Ireland as a harper, hoping to find better luck in some of the Colonies, since harpers were being persecuted by the English back home as rebellious Celts against the Crown. But Fate had Her own reasoning when his ship was boarded by pirates. Rory (Ruairidh), being a musician, had the opportunity to join...or die. It was only 2 years ago, but it seemed like forever.
Rory sits on a bench, tunes Ciara, takes a swig, and plays a haunting sweet melody. Voices suddenly hush. Faces fill with longing. A man leans over to the landlady and whispers, "Now why doesn't someone like 'im get married, settle down proper-like and all?"
To which she answers with a mischievous yet kind wink, "That Black Rory Harper -- he's not that kind, if ye' knows what I mean. No lady but Ciara will ever fit in his arms, be caressed by those fingers, and sit between his legs! Yet they do make a lovely couple."
