Home From The Sea: The Elemental Masters, Book Seven (37 page)

“But there’s nothing he can do about it?” Mari asked, a question she had not dared before this.

Idwal shook his head. “The spell is set, with or without his blessing. There is naught he can do to set it aside. And he agreed; the choice of mate was yours and yours alone, and if you did not take your mate from the ones he set before you, you still took a mate from our clan. The Bargain will be fulfilled. In fact, with the banns read, it is largely a matter of form. What is said three times in public is also a spell, and possibly even more powerful than the actual wedding vows.”

Hardly had the words left his mouth, when the door burst open, and the doorway was filled with an outraged clan chief.

Nan had never seen Gethin, but there was no question of who this could be. Idwal and Mari stood up together. Nan was scarcely a second behind them, and already she could feel the Celtic warrior rising in her, demanding to be unleashed. But she felt a restraining hand on her wrist, and reined in herself, glancing at Sarah.

Sarah shook her head, slightly. Nan knew why. Idwal and Mari had to deal with this themselves, or Gethin would do whatever he pleased with them. They
had
to assert themselves, and show him he could not bully them; they certainly couldn’t live under this threat all their lives. Better to have it taken care of now.

Still… Nan readied herself. Because she wasn’t going to allow people who were her friends get punished for doing
nothing
wrong without a fight.

“How dare—”
Gethin roared, and Mari stepped right up to him and made an odd little gesture, as if she was gathering up something in one hand. Gethin’s words were literally choked off, and he fell into a fit of shocked coughing. What had she done?

Some magic with water, I suppose. Made him choke on his own spit for a moment, maybe. Clever!
Nan thought

“Don’t you come blathering to me about what I dare and dare not, Gethin Selch,” she said, her eyes flashing. “The bargain was
that you sent me men to court me and a teacher. You never said, not once, that the teacher was not to court me. You should be pleased I picked the teacher, since if I had not, I would be telling you this minute you had better send me more men.” She sniffed with disdain. “It seems the ones you sent cannot hold their own with a woman who knows her own mind.”

Gethin gaped at her, eyes wide, as if he could not believe what he was hearing, and then he spluttered, trying to get words out past his anger and shock.

“Fortunately, with the boys, you also sent a
man,”
she continued, and reached for Idwal’s hand. “So. With this good man, I’ve made my choice, the marriage is made, the Bargain is set.”

Finally Gethin found his voice again. “I never told you that you could steal away my Druid!” he bellowed.

“You never told her she could not, either,” Idwal pointed out, moving to stand beside Mari, and putting his arm around her shoulders. “Nor did you forbid me to do what the others were doing.” His lips curved in the faintest suggestion of a smirk. “Perhaps you should have considered that when you sent me. It’s not as if I were already mated, after all. I am also free to set my fancy where I will, and this is where I will.”

“The Bargain is set,” Mari said, stubbornly. “And the marriage is made and there is nothing you can do about it but accept what has come to pass with a good grace.”

Gethin’s face darkened with rage, but it was clear that he knew he was beaten. “The Bargain is set,” he growled. “The marriage is made.” He started to turn, then turned back. “And consider your own words in the Bargain, Mari Prothero,” he added.

Then he stalked out of the door, heading for the sea. The door slammed shut behind him, and there was silence but for the surf for a long, long moment.

Nan relaxed, as did Sarah. Neville gave a derisive quork, and Grey made a very rude noise.

Idwal laughed. “Well said, birds,” he chuckled. “And thank you for being here, friends. Gethin is an intemperate man, and I think
there might have been more consequence than confrontation if you had not been here, and willing to stand with us.”

Nan didn’t know how he had been aware she had been ready to launch herself right at the Selch clan-chief, since he’d had his back to her and Sarah, but it was clear that he had known, and that was all she needed.

“It was only fair,” she pointed out. “We
are
your friends, and we are not going to stand and watch as you get put in a bad situation. Besides, he made the Bargain in the first place, and since he wasn’t more careful of how he worded it, he has only himself to blame.”

Sarah started laughing at that. They all turned to look at her curiously.

“Oh… you know, in all of the stories, it’s the human that has to be careful of how he makes bargains with the Fair Folk,” she pointed out. “I think half the reason he was so angry was because today it was the Selch that got hoodwinked by the human!”

Idwal gave Mari’s shoulders a squeeze; Nan could see that she was shaking a bit, though whether it was because of repressed fear or relief, she couldn’t tell. They both sat down again, but Mari didn’t seem to have any more appetite. Nan hardly blamed her.

They spoke of trivialities for a while—of the preparations that Nan and Sarah were making for winter, some description from Idwal of the sorts of weather they could expect, and of the sorts of provisions that Idwal thought they ought to lay in, here at the cottage. “Lord Alderscroft has given us a fairly generous allowance,” Sarah mused. “You know, we hadn’t actually gotten you a wedding present yet. Would you object to some provisioning? We could have the lion’s share of it waiting for Daffyd to ferry over from Criccieth if you like, if you’d rather Constable Ewynnog didn’t know about it.”

Mari had recovered enough to answer normally now. “That… that would be just splendid!” she said. “And yes, I really would rather the constable knew nothing of what comes into this house. Anything he sees that he can’t account for, he is going to assume came from wrong-doing.”

“Then tell us what you need—and then tell us what you
want—
and what we get for you out of the wanting part will be the surprise,” suggested Sarah. Nan nearly chuckled at that; knowing Sarah as she did, she also knew that Sarah was probably going to arrange for every bit of whatever Mari wanted to be purchased, counting on Daffyd to never look a gift horse in the mouth and overcome his daughter’s objections.

So the two of them encouraged Mari to name off all manner of things, including some she clearly thought were the height of extravagance, and Sarah wrote them down on the back of one of her sketches, until they were interrupted by a tap on the door. Idwal opened it to find Rhodri standing there, with Daffyd behind them, both of them with creels full of spider-crabs.

“Is it safe?” Rhodri said nervously, peering into the depths of the cottage as if he expected Gethin to jump out at him at any moment. “Is he gone?”

“It’s as safe as it is ever going to be when Gethin is involved,” Idwal told him. “And yes, he’s gone. I would keep clear of the clan-hall if I were you. At least for a time. He’s going to blame the lot of you for this.”

“Of course he is,” Rhodri said, crossly. “When has Gethin
ever
accepted blame for anything on himself. Not that there should be blame!” he added hastily, with a little bow in Mari’s direction. “You made your choice as was your right! And you outwitted him.”

“I didn’t actually intend to, at least, not in that way,” she replied ruefully. “It just came out that way.”

“And now you sound as if you regret your part of the Bargain,” Idwal teased, feigning hurt. “Am I suddenly turned troll because now you have me?”

“No!” Mari exclaimed, and flung herself at her husband to glue her lips to his in a most passionate and unmistakable manner—

“I believe I’ll boil some crab,” Rhodri said hastily, backing out of the door.

“We’ll join you!” said Nan, and she and Sarah quickly edged past the two, and shut the door behind them.

T
HE
wedding was almost an anti-climax, so small and simple it was, with just the girls standing as witnesses and signing the book. Somehow Daffyd and the parson managed to keep Constable Ewynnog from finding out about it, so they did not even have his unwelcome presence in the old chapel. Sarah had given Mari one of her artistic gowns for the wedding so that she looked like a splendid princess of the ancient times, with her hair streaming loose down her back. The preacher was quite startled when he saw her, and Idwal could not restrain his pleasure at seeing her. The minister also seemed surprised that Mari did not put up any sort of resistance to the marriage, and perhaps she and Idwal should have made more of an effort to keep up the façade, but without the constable present, neither of them wanted to be bothered. They did, however, slip quietly out of the chapel and out of Clogwyn without encountering anyone else, so it probably didn’t matter what the minister thought.

Then it was the frantic spiral from autumn to winter. The girls found that autumn was the busiest season of a country year; everywhere there were crops to be brought in, hay to be cut and dried
and brought to barns, animals to slaughter, food to preserve. The weather at harvest time was always chancy in Wales, and every good day had to be leapt upon and worked as long as anyone could stand. Everyone helped everyone else, and the helpers got the gift of a share of whatever was being harvested, thus ensuring everyone got some provisioning for over-winter in the form of trade-for-labor. Even the fishermen of Clogwyn participated, by bringing in huge catches of fish for pickling and salting, handing over part of the catch to those who came to help. Nan was amazed at how quickly people moved on the good days. She would not have believed that so great an expanse of land could be harvested in so short a time. Constable Ewynnog was beside himself; it was clear he found all of this helping and giving to be entirely suspicious and unnatural.

Squire’s fields were left last, not out of meanness, but so that he could give a great feast to everyone around about. He had, for the most part, more than enough labor to bring the harvest in himself, since he not only had his own tenants and laborers but hired some of the itinerant harvest-workers that passed through every fall. But he preferred to leave his fields last unless the weather made it imperative that he rush the harvest, so that everyone around could come to his Harvest Home.

It was quite the celebration. Every hand was pressed into duty in the Manor kitchen and at ovens and pits and fires outside too. Nan and Sarah got to introduce the populace to the succulence of the spider-crab, and it was clear that there would be no more tossing away of the monsters when they were caught.

There were gallons of beer and ale and cider; a roasted pig and a young roasted bull, too old to be called a calf, but not considered, by the squire, as good enough to be allowed to grow up to breed nor strong enough to be gelded and raised as an ox. There was oat pottage and cream, oat bread and wheat bread, potatoes, and cheese, fish in plenty and no one was allowed to leave the least little bit hungry.

Nan and Sarah were quite amused at some of the curious
customs, which until now they had only read about. The last sheaf of the year had been left standing in the middle of the field and the men threw their sickles at it until one of them cut it down. It was bound and braided and called “The Mare,” and the men tried to smuggle it into the Manor without it getting wet, while the women threw water at them. This year, the men were successful, despite a couple of the handsomest almost being stripped to their smallclothes by women looking for the Mare, and the successful smuggler was given a shilling. The Mare was then hung in the rafters, and the Mare of the previous year taken down and burned; the seed from it had been thrashed out and mingled with the seed to be sown next spring “to teach it to grow,” or so it was explained to Sarah. A couple of the young men of Clogwyn made very public presentations of beautifully carved wooden spoons to young ladies, which baffled both the girls until it was explained that these were Welsh love spoons and this was essentially asking for the girl’s hand in marriage. Fortunately both of the young women had been prepared for such a presentation and both were willing, but Nan could easily imagine such a bold declaration backfiring on the hapless fellow.