by Ria Cantrell
I smile to myself now at that thought, for I eventually met Sir Erik and while he was imposing to be sure, he was a good man; handsome, too, like the Viking god of Thunder, Thor. He was just not the man for my Bronwyn. Funny how the Ancients weave their threads, indeed, for it was Sir Erik’s man that was to be the mate of my Highland Rose. He was the one in her dreams and had she not gone to meet Sir Erik, she would nay have finally met Sir Drew. Bronwyn wed her English knight and no amount of denying him could prevent the love that was destined to blossom between them. It is through this union that my greatest gift would one day come.
Sometimes I think upon the machinations of those Old Ones and I wonder if they laugh at us mere mortals who dance like puppets on Their strings. Or maybe, t’is that we mortals fail to see the greater picture in all that will be cast as our lots. Perhaps, They guide us purposefully for the best outcome and it is in our own attempts to manipulate the course of life where we find our greatest failures. Surely, I had ne’er imagined that in sharing that vision of Bronwyn’s future intended so many years ago on that cold high ridge, that my destiny would be forged as well.
Mayhap t’is just that we only see what we want to see. Mayhap we punish ourselves far greater than any One Power would do. Mayhap the answers lie before us all along, but until we truly see, they are denied for our taking. How many times and moments I wasted not seeing the forest for the trees! Forgive me, for in my telling of my tale, my musings sometimes fog an old woman’s mind. But mark me, these are words of wisdom. I tell them to ye’ so ye’ dunna’ lose precious time with the ones that make life worth living. I am old, and my life’s tapestry is woven, mostly now. I canna’ take back the lost moments wasted from my ignorance. While I would nay change the course I have taken, I wish I had nay been so blinded from the truth for so long a time. My wisdom comes only after much foolishness to be certain.
Anyway, my Bronwyn wed and she had two beautiful children. She became such a comfort to me. She learned the hard way, that her ties to the Ancients could nary be denied and in finally embracing the Ways, she fulfilled a destiny that she would never again forsake. She could not! She allowed me to teach her and instruct her in the Path and she became my best student. And even though she was no longer a child, but a grown woman with children of her own, she became my most sincere acolyte.
Not only that; she cared for me when my old bones ached with the pains of one who has lived so long life as I have. Even though I was not her grandmother, she regarded me as such. For me, she was like a daughter; the daughter I never had but could have, perhaps, had my Ian lived. I am certain Ian and I would have made many more babes if we had been granted more mortal time to spend with one another.
There was ne’er a day that I wanted to deny the touch of the man of my heart. It would only be natural to fill the clan with more babes of our own, but it was not to be. I consoled myself in the raising of first Donal’s bairns and then Caleb’s. Ye’ may ask why I ne’er married again after Ian’s passing, but it was just not to be. My life was filled with the Path of the Ancients and the raising of bairns not my own. I dunna’ regret that I found no other mate. I know my Ian waits for me when my tale is finally ended and that is enough for me now.
Chapter Ten – A Woman in Love
I could nay marry another after Ian passed from this life. Nay! To this day, my heart seems to only beat for him…for him and Tavish. T’is not like I dinna’ have other offers. I did. And handsome men sought my hand, too. Not just anyone who thought to take in a poor widow, either. Nay, there were several clansmen that offered for my hand and even one or two from a neighboring clan that came a callin’. Through the years, they came to Donal and asked to wed me, as he was my protector and liege after Ian’s passing. Donal would not have refused them, had I been in a mind to remarry. T’is that Donal MacCollum knew that I had no heart or stomach for it. Ye’ may say I had closed my heart to the possibilities of a life as someone else’s wife other than Ian’s.
Oh, my heart yearned for a man’s touch and I longed to bear another babe, but unless it was Ian’s, I could nay imagine it. I suppose I was being honed for a greater purpose, but when ye’ are a lass of four and twenty years, it dinna’ seem that my life would have much more purpose than that of bein’ a nursemaid to other people’s children. I thought o’er time, my heart would harden and the pangs of longing would ebb but instead, with the nurturing of children; even children that were not my own, my heart swelled instead of closing.
A woman’s heart is a funny thing, indeed. When grief and loss threaten to make it stop beating, it beats all the stronger for love never dies. Ah well, and sometimes hurts and sorrows dunna’ die, either. Believe me, I longed to nay hurt, and with time, the joys and sorrows add up in a life. The hurt dulls over time, but what once is sharp, can still ache steadily forever more. I swear, in those first years after I lost Ian and then Tavish, I could almost feel the wound of my heart bleeding. I begged the Guardians and the One true God to take me home, too, so I could end the pain that never seemed to vanish. But time…ah time, yes it dulls the bleeding, and the lessons of life give a body purpose; even to a woman such as m’self, who had seemingly lost everything she had ever held dear.
About Ian; I want to tell ye’ more about Ian. I need to remember now so I can tell ye’. He was braw. Even though he was young, he was wonderfully built. When we were but children, he was lithe and lank, but as he grew into manhood, he grew strong and he filled out in all the places that make a girl’s heart pound in her chest. My Ian had the most beautiful brown eyes. I remember I could just gaze into them for what seemed like hours. And when I looked into his eyes, I just knew he could peer into my very soul. Sometimes, we needed no words. We only needed to look at one another and we spoke as if our voices could be heard.
Ian wore his hair shorter than most of the men of the clan. Though t’was different, I liked it. I think it curled a little and the longer it got, the more the waves would show. Ian dinna’ like having curly hair so to tame its unruliness, he wore it cropped closer to his ears. Because he cut it often, for it always seemed to be growin’, it was thick. I loved to spend hours next to him with my fingers buried deep in it. He liked that, too. Sometimes he would come to me and lay across my lap and we would form our dreams of the days to come. He would let my fingers wander into his hair. I loved those times. At times, I missed those moments even more than I missed the hours I wiled away in his bed. And as for that, ach, he was a caring and giving lover. I often wondered how a man could be a strong fighter and soldier and still be gentle in a woman’s bed, but Ian was.
I loved to touch Ian. His muscles, like his hair, had grown thick and he was broad of shoulder and narrow of waist. His arms were made to hold me and I was certain and there was no where I wished to be more. I remember the first time he kissed me. We had spent our lives as friends, the three of us; Gavin, Ian and me. But as we gave over our childhood, something changed between us all. Gavin had fallen in love with a local lass and suddenly when Ian looked at me, I felt shy. I could feel my heart pound wildly in my chest when he smiled at me. Imagine that. We had grown up together and had been inseparable as children and suddenly I could scarcely look at him without blushing. I had felt the changes in my body as his body had done and I realized he was no longer just that boy I played with as a child. He was a man and I was becoming a woman.
I guess I was about six and ten at the time and we had just celebrated another Beltane in the vale. It was a magical night, I was certain. Some of the other maidens had woven flowers into my hair and I felt the presence of the Ancients as we had all danced around the bonfires. So filled with joy was I, that when Ian grabbed my hand to dance with me, I forgot to be shy and we spun and spun till I was dizzy with glee. When I could scarcely catch my breath, Ian pulled me by the hand and he led me away from the revelers. No one took much notice of our leaving, or if they did, they did not prevent it. Many a girl tasted her first kiss on Beltane and in fact, those who worshipped the G
oddess encouraged it.
Laughing with the giddy joy of the moment, I ran along with Ian. Ach, his smile was so bright that night, I think it rivaled the stars that twinkled and lit our way. As I struggled to keep up with his long strides, I nearly stumbled on some stones and Ian caught me so that I would nay fall. It was as if time stood still then and we stared into each other’s eyes like we were seein’ one another for the first time. I knew, in that instant, that I was in love with him and I could see by the way he looked at me that he was in love with me, too. So, that’s what has changed between us! We were no longer babes but grown and what once was child’s play was now blossoming love. I dunna’ know how long we stood just gazing at one another. Why, t’is like yesterday that I remember….
~~~~~
~A cool breeze lifted the young lass’ hair and Ian tucked it behind her ear.
He whispered, “Ye’ are so beautiful tonight, Morag.”
“Just tonight,” she replied and she saw him now blush, though they were only lit by the pale yellow of the moon that night.
He shook his head and he said, “Nay, not just tonight. I am nay sure when it happened, lass, but ye’ are nay longer a girl--I mean, a child. Ye’ were always a pretty little thing, but now. Ach, ye’ are a man’s dream.”
Maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t but in that instant she felt as if she was Ian’s dream; that was certain and that was enough for her! So too, was Ian her dream. She would never be sure who initiated the kiss but their lips seemed to brush tentatively at first. Then Ian drew Morag into his arms and he kissed her in earnest. She had never felt such a kiss. Aye, she was not so innocent that she had not seen other lasses kiss lads, but she hadn’t ever herself, at least not like that. Morag felt as if her legs would turn to jelly and she guessed that Ian sensed she would not be able to stand on her own.
Morag soon lost any worries of toppling because Ian’s arms were strong as he held her there in the shadows of the trees, with the whisper of the night breeze on the leaves above them. When their lips touched again, it seemed as if it went on for an eternity; a blissful eternity. All doubts that Ian had not cared for her escaped at the feel of his mouth upon her own. It was then that she knew that her childhood had truly passed and she was now entering into the realms of womanhood. It was not something she feared any longer. With that realization she knew that she was Ian’s woman and always would be.~
~~~~~
I can still remember how my chin felt scraped from the prickling of Ian’s newly growing beard. I loved the way it scratched my soft flesh to remind me of his kisses even a day later. I loved the taste of him, too and the way the inside of his mouth felt when my tongue explored it. We found ourselves seated, facing each other and we continued exploring and kissing, not wanting to say anything that would break the spell of the moment. It was the most magical night of my life. Why even now, with so many years gone by, I can remember every single aspect of that night.
Finally, he broke the kiss long enough to say important things to me; those things a girl longs to hear. First he said that he loved me. He dinna’ have to tell me, though, because I now knew it by the way he had looked at me. Finally, there was nay a doubt of it. I told him I loved him too. Then, he said, “Well, then I should like us to announce our betrothal if ye’ are of a mind to wed me.”
Chapter Eleven – My Wedding Day
Oh, I was of a mind! Every part of me wanted to marry Ian MacCollum that night and I agreed to his request. I thought my da’ would nay wish it to be so, but he was gladdened when Ian went to speak to him and offered for my hand.
Ian wanted to set up a homestead for me, and so we dinna’ actually wed for about eighteen moons after that Beltane. Ian believed in providing for his wife and I was so proud of him as he worked to make a home for me and the family we would surely wish to raise there.
We were wed on a summer day. Ach! And a handsome groom was he! The village was adorned with flowers for the occasion and even Laird Donal was present at the rite. I wore a gown of blue with primroses tucked into my hair. Ian wore the clan colors and I thought I had ne’er seen so handsome a man as Ian was that day. The local priest performed the marriage rite, as wished by my stepmother, but I knew that later that night, Ian and I would take the binding vows that were part of the Ancient Ways. I did nay always follow the Christian God, to be sure, but I believed in Him and so I allowed the Christian ceremony to take place outside of the town kirk to appease my father’s second wife, who I had grown to respect.
Afterward, there was a huge banquet of wild boar and venison. It seemed the entire clan had turned out for the feast. I remember the way the sun seemed brighter for us as we celebrated and danced the hours away. Drink flowed like water and the merrymakers were a raucous bunch to be sure. Why, even a few scraps were averted when Donal gave the stink eye. Mostly, it was a joyful day that held promise and blessings.
When day became night and I had danced and drank my fill, I prepared myself for the bedding that was to come and for the Ancient Binding Rite Ian and I already agreed to make. Looking back now, as I tell ye’ my story, I can honestly say, not a twinge of worry crossed my mind in thinking of bedding Ian. We had waited, as best we could for our wedding night, but we had tasted the passion of young love. Though we dinna’ give ourselves fully to each other until that night, we had learned about and explored each other without giving way completely to our desires. Still, Ian taught me what it meant to be stirred and to yearn for a man. Ian taught me about passion and so when the prospect of the wedding night loomed before me, I was nay nervous as so many young brides are. Nay, I could nay wait to be with Ian. I wanted him and he wanted me.
As is the custom, the townswomen led me to the place that would be my home; the place that Ian had so carefully prepared for me. It was a sod house made of stone and mortar, with a grassy roof that had been packed with the sweet Highland earth. Inside, Ian had built rooms that we would forge our lives together within. I had seen it mostly when he was building it, but he would nay let me see it in the final months of its construction. When the women took me inside, I felt Ian’s love in everything he had done for me; for us.
There was a large fireplace and hearth for me to do my cooking. Ian had created a separate chamber for us to sleep in. He had carved a bed big enough to accommodate his size and it was beautifully adorned with patterns of Celtic knotwork about the frame. Ian had been gifted as a talented woodcarver and the details on the bedposts were fit for a queen. I had made our pallet, stitching the ticking myself and stuffing it with down and wool. Ian had also carved a lovely chest for my things, which sat at the foot of our bed. The knotwork mirrored the designs on the bed and reflected the depth of his craft.
Ian had packed the floor with stones from the nearby stream and when the lamps were lit, it glittered as if the water still flowed o’er it. He said he wanted it to be easy to sweep and clean because once the babies came; he did nay wish me to worry about them playin’ on a dirt floor. Ian thought of everything. There was a room for our bairns once they were born next to our bedroom and the sweetest spot of all was a shed only paces from the living space timbered with hewn rafters for me to hang my herbs for my healing craft.
My eyes took in all Ian had done and my heart was filled to burstin’ at the love that was put into all the details of our home. I loved that place. I walked from room to room and touched the surfaces of the carved wooden items. I fingered the gleaming pots that sat by the hearth and I breathed in the fragrance of the herbs that already were drying in the rafters. Lamps were lit near our bed and soon it came time for the women to prepare me for my wedding night. I fairly shook with anticipation because I suddenly wanted to see Ian and even minutes apart from him seemed like an eternity. I could nay wait to thank him for everything he had done for me and for the start of our lives together.
The village women helped me to undress and they dressed me in a nightrail my stepmother had bestowed upon me. Once they had me settled in our bed, someone bru
shed my long brown locks until they fairly shone like the river stones of the floor. Tucking a primrose back behind my ear, they took turns hugging and kissing me. As if by magic, when the last kiss was passed on my cheek, there was a loud ruckus outside waiting to burst into the quiet of the house. Men bore my Ian on their shoulders and they dropped him less roughly onto the bed beside me. I was a little mortified by it all, what with me bein’ practically bare beneath the bedcovers and I remember holding the bedding up to my chin in a grip of death. I still blush thinking of that moment, but as the men bade their jests and spoke their ribald words, the women hushed them and shooed them out of the room.
When we heard the latch on the front door click into place, we knew that we were finally alone. It was then that my Ian was so tender with me. He did not rush me or try to frighten me. He held me for a while until he knew I had calmed. I reckon he could feel the beating of my heart through the thin fabric of my night rail. As I took a deep breath, I too could feel his heart pounding against me. It seemed as if our hearts were beating as one.
As the flickering candlelight reflected the gold flecks in his soft brown eyes, I sensed his love and I welcomed his touch. If I had any fear, it soon evaporated as I settled into his embrace. He spoke softly to me and he made me laugh, just like we had always done as children only now, we were adults…and we were married to each other. This was my Ian; the only man I could ever love; the lad I had loved from when I was just a young girl.
After a short time, Ian could sense that I was no longer nervous. As soft kisses soon turned more passionate, I quickly felt my body respond to the gentle caresses of his fingers. It was a touch I was familiar with for we had often shared heated kisses and touches that sparked pleasure within us both, aye even afore we were wed. I knew there was nothing more to be afraid of; there was nothing more to fear. Ian knew me so well. He knew the things that made my heart soar. He knew the ways my body responded to him. He loved me then, completely as a man loves his wife. We coupled again and again, into the wee hours of the morning, and each time I rejoiced in our joining. There was nothing that he did that shamed me. He honored me. He loved me. He cherished me. And as the hours advanced toward morn, the passion grew. I cherished him with my body and my soul. There was never a time after that night that I would deny my husband had he the need of me. Nor had I ever grown weary of needing him, as I now recall.
