Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] (33 page)

"Once handfasting vows are spoken, a man and woman cannot spend more than three nights away from each other, for the whole of a year and a day, or the union is annulled," Morag said.

Alainna looked at her in surprise. "Sooner than a year?"

"As soon as a long separation occurs," Morag said. "If he goes to Brittany and does not take you with him, the union is no longer valid. If he goes anywhere—even out hunting, or to visit the king at court—and is gone for more than three nights from your side, it is annulled. Any nuptial contract you sign with him is made null, too. Did Father Padruig not tell you this?"

Alainna shook her head. "He only said that if he witnessed the vows we said, that would make a marriage and not a handfasting. That is why he said he would come late in the day, for the feast only, and not the ceremony between us."

"If your Norman knight sails to Brittany, he must take you with him," Morag said, drawing the comb through the thick, damp length of Alainna's hair.

"I will not leave Kinlochan, and he will not stay here. He has a young son in Brittany living with... friends who have had troubles of late. Sebastien is concerned about all of them."

"A little son!" Una beamed. "See, the luck has already begun! There will be a child at Kinlochan soon!"

"Sebastien wants to keep the child in his own homeland," Alainna said. "Sebastien cannot stay in Scotland because of his son, and I will not leave here."

"Ach,"
Una said, shaking her head. "So much pride."

"And so much loyalty each one has to their kin," Morag commented. "There must be some way to work this out."

"Tell your knight not to leave you behind," Una said. "You could certainly sail with him to Brittany."

"He will not be back for a long time," Alainna said.

"Beitris, take Alainna's tunic and shake it out at the window, if you will," Una directed. "It is full of stone dust. And we will have to shake her shoes clean of dust as well. Have we flowers for her hair? There is so much to do, and so little time, with the handfasting before the feast!"

"Be calm, Una," Morag said. "Mairi is working in the kitchen now, and Beitris and I will go help her soon. We have dried heather sprigs to weave into a wreath for Alainna's hair. We do need more juniper to decorate the hall, and to burn so that the smoke will banish ill luck. Alainna can go find some when her hair is dry."

Beitris went to the window, opened the shutter, and flapped the garment in the air like a banner. "Look!" she said, peering out. "Now surely that is a good omen for the wedding!"

"It is not a wedding. Ow," Alainna mumbled, as Morag pushed her head forward to pull through a stubborn tangle.

"Let me see," Una said, going to the window. "Ah, a good sign indeed, that!" Esa set down her stitching and followed her.

"What is it?" Morag rose to join the others at the narrow aperture that lit Alainna's small, timber-walled bedchamber. "He looks like Aenghus mac Og or some warrior hero from a story out there," Beitris said admiringly.

"Ah, he does," Morag agreed, and sighed.

Alainna tugged the comb through her hair. "What are you looking at?"

"Your man," Una said. "Come see."

Alainna crossed to the window to join them. She looked beyond the palisade wall and the loch to the meadow where the Stone Maiden stood, a serene giantess in the morning light.

A giantess with her own guard. Sebastien circled the base of the pillar, thrusting with the claymore, lunging, pulling back. He was intent on his practice, his hair gleaming golden, his blade a bright edge as it arced and swooped.

"It is a good portent to see the groom guarding our Maiden on the morn of his wedding. Handfasting," Beitris added hastily.

"He is circling
deiseil,
sunwise. That is definitely good luck," Una said. "Alainna, did I tell you to be sure to walk sunwise around him before you stand with him today?"

"You told me," she said as she watched Sebastien circle the Maiden as if he protected her. He raised his sword and held it high, facing the stone. Light sparked off steel, and he lowered the blade and turned away to picked up his cloak and his long shield, painted blue, its insigne scarcely visible.

Although from this distance she could not see it clearly, she knew the design well: a single white arrow on a blue field. She had seen it in his possession in reality, and in a dream, although then she had not known Sebastien le Bret.

The golden warrior of her dream did indeed exist, she thought. He walked toward Kinlochan even now, and toward a handfasting with her. A shiver traveled up her spine, and her heart quickened.

Suddenly she wished that he could stay with her forever, that he would take her name and accept her clan as his own family. In so many ways, he was the champion of her dream.

But he did not want to be that champion for her. He would be glad to learn that his journey to Brittany would annul the handfasted union between them.

She sighed in dismay and turned away from the window.

* * *

Sebastien waited alone in the center of the hall, the fire crackling behind him, its heat close on his back and legs. He wore his dark green surcoat trimmed in silver over his brown tunic, and had fastened the dark green plaid over his shoulders like a flowing mantle. He cleared his throat nervously.

The others formed a wide, firelit circle around him. As the door opened, all he heard, suddenly, was the pulse of his own blood rushing in his ears.

Alainna came forward alone, dressed as he had first seen her in the king's hall. The hem of her midnight blue gown, sparkling with red-and-gold stitchery, swept over the rushes as she walked toward him. Her loosened hair flowed to her waist like a sunset cloud, its dazzling color framing her pale face and upper torso. She wore no plaid, the elegant drape of the gown enhancing the taut curves of her body. A narrow wreath woven of dried heather sprigs crowned her head. Beneath that delicate ring, her eyes seemed brilliantly blue.

She came toward him, then around him in a circle, brushing behind him, circling in front, and again, twice more, until she stood before him.

He held out his hands, and she offered hers, joining with him left to left, right to right, so that their arms made a crossed loop like an interlaced design. They stood still, their gazes steady upon one another. Her hands were silken but strong in his. He tightened his grip for a moment, and she pressed back in reassuring answer, a silent agreement to proceed.

He closed his eyes briefly, recalling Lome's earlier instructions. Lome had patiently taught Sebastien lines of poetry to use, and had advised him on how to phrase his vow, which, he said, should come freely from his heart.

But when Sebastien looked at her, what he had planned to say slipped from his head like mist in the sun. She was radiant in the firelight, her eyes shining. He felt the fine tremble that ran through her like a drawn harp string.

She clung to his hands, drew a breath, and began.

A shade you are in summer

A shelter you are in winter

A rock you are

A fortress you are

A shield you are about me

I cherish you

I help you

I enfold you

I promise you.

Alainna paused. "I will take you, Sebastien le Bret," she said softly, "for my handfasted spouse so long as we both agree, in peace, in joy, in grace of promise." She tightened her quavering fingers on his.

He sensed in that tremor the shimmer of her soul. She was strength honed by grace. What she offered him was precious and genuine. He drew in his breath, overcome by awe.

He knew what to say. But he had not known until this moment that he would say it with such conviction.

"I will take you, Alainna MacLaren," he murmured, "for my handfasted wife, in peace and in joy, in grace of promise." He tightened his fingers over hers and closed his eyes. The poem that sprang into his mind was not one that Lorne had taught him that morning, but one the bard had recited a few nights ago. Somehow it seemed perfect, and he began.

I found in the garden

My jewel, my love

Her eye like a star

Her lip like a berry

Her voice like a harp.

I found in the meadow

The bright-eyed maiden

Her eye like a star

Her cheek like a rose

Her kiss like honey.

Small tears sparkled in her eyes. He drew her toward him, hands clasped. "It is done," he whispered. "So be it."

" And so it begins," she murmured, and tilted her face toward him, her eyes half closed. He touched his lips to hers, a kiss of peace between them. Her lips yielded, warm and giving.

He felt his heart leap into a new pattern within his breast, and he knew then that he was securely caught in its infinite turning.

Chapter 21

The delicate jingle of silver bells echoed around the hall. Startled, Sebastien looked up from his quiet conversation with Robert and glanced around. He saw only the tops of heads and the shoulders and backs of those near him. He picked up his wooden cup and sipped at the potent water of life.

The handfasting supper was still on the tables in half-empty wooden bowls, flanked by horn spoons and eating knives. Platters and larger bowls still held generous portions of roast venison and mutton stew, carrots and onions, oatcakes and honey, cheeses and apples. Jugs of spiced wine, heather ale, and bladders of
uisge beatha
sat about, lifted now and again by those still thirsty.

Though most were sated, Sebastien had eaten little. He knew that Alainna, who sat beside him talking quietly with Giric, had hardly touched her food either. Some of the Highlanders and the knights still sat at the trestle tables, while others had moved to stools and benches or found places on the floor, anticipating the storytelling entertainment.

The chiming, rhythmic sound came again. The chatter in the hall stilled. Sebastien looked up again. This time he saw Lome enter the doorway and walk through the room.

Lome's hair drifted over his shoulders like snow as he raised one hand high. He held a curving branch of an apple tree, the twigs strung with colored threads, from which dangled small silver bells, sparkling crystals, acorns, and nuts. As he shook the branch in a distinct rhythm, it made a light, musical sound.

Alainna stood as Lome entered the hall. She went to the hearth to pull a carved chair into position beside the fire, then poured ale from a jug into a silver cup, which she left on a low stool. She returned to the bench, slipping back into her place between Giric and Sebastien, who looked questioningly at her, his curiosity sparked.

"What is he doing?" he murmured.

Alainna leaned toward him, her arm snug against his. He leaned down to hear her answer. "He carries the silver branch, an honor allowed only to bards who have trained for at least nine years," she whispered. "He is more than a storyteller. Lome is a trained
fili,
a master poet. He learned his skill in a school of bards in the western Highlands, whose traditions trace back to ancient Ireland. He studied for nine years as a youth and young man to earn the right to be one of the
filidh."

Sebastien nodded, fascinated, enjoying the simple closeness between them, made so natural by the crowded bench they sat upon.

Lome circled the hearth, shaking the decorated branch in a lively rhythm, bells and acorns and crystals vibrating. The faery-like music filled the room. Lome sat, laid the branch on the stool beside him, and picked up the cup to take a sip of ale. Then he settled in his chair and looked around, his profile strong and commanding in the firelight.

Each movement he made, each glance he gave was slow and deliberate. Sebastien felt anticipation mount in the air like a tangible thing. One by one, the audience leaned forward, eager for the story to begin. The old man picked up the branch again, and created an airy cadence this time, lifting the branch and letting it sink, again and again, until he finally stilled it. The silvery chime of the bells faded to silence.

Alainna sat hip to hip and arm to arm with Sebastien, crowded on her other side by Giric and the others who occupied the bench. Sebastien shifted, turning his torso to allow her more room. Her shoulder pressed against his chest. Heat swirled between them. Aware of how easily he could draw her into the circle of his arm, Sebastien kept still and watched Lome.