Brude eased off of her and leaned up on one elbow, gazing at her as she lay by his side.
She whispered to Brude, “I like the way we dance when we are alone in our bed.”
“It my favorite way to dance,” he chuckled.
* * * * *
Other than the times Brude led surprise attacks, the stark, icy winter days blended together, one seeming much like the rest. Everyone lodged in their wheelhouses, huddled around blazing hearth fires. But, as creamy-yellow primroses blossomed and the bellies of ewes grew fat and heavy with the promise of fluffy lambs, thoughts of spring arrived with the feast of Imbolc.
Tanwen noticed subtle changes in her body as well. In the two moons since her woman’s cycle had come, her breasts had grown fuller. After retching the little food she’d eaten that morning, she stopped by the well. She drew up a bucket to cleanse her face and hands and then headed into the woods to prepare for this special Imbolc, the first one she’d celebrate as a mother-to-be rather than as a maiden.
Garbed in her voluminous gold-speckled, white cloak, Tanwen stood in the sacred grove holding a large chalice. Ciniatha, parading a mother ewe and Huctia, cradling its newborn lamb, led in the women of the tribe. Each woman held a white, burning candle. They gathered in a circle around Tanwen.
“Let us honor the mysteries of motherhood.” Tanwen knelt down and set the chalice beneath the ewe. She milked her then stood with the chalice in her hands. “We drink the milk of the first ewe to give birth after winter.” She passed it around so everyone had a sip. “We drink the milk of motherhood, which the goddess gives us to bless new life.”
“Blessings on new life,” the women chanted in unison.
The ewe’s milk provided the main staple of the Imbolc feast, a celebration for women only. Women held the highest level of magic— birthing, creating new life. Only women held the gift of fertility and creation, one of the many reasons why women were sacred.
After the cup was handed back to her, Tanwen held it with one hand as she rubbed her belly with the other. She gazed down at the slight bulge in her tummy. A mother? Me? A baby? My baby?
“Druidess, what is it?” Ciniatha asked with a worried look on her face. “Does your stomach pain you?”
“No, the standing stone blessed me with fertility.” Tanwen smiled at her mother by marriage. Her tone rose with excitement as she said, “I have not spoken of it to Brude yet, but I am with child.” She clutched the cup to her chest.
Ciniatha walked forward. She drew Tanwen into her arms. “Blessings upon you.” Then Ciniatha stepped back as the circle of women cooed with good wishes.
“My thanks,” Tanwen said. “Blessings to the goddess and to mother earth whose fertility feeds us all.” She poured the rest of the offering of milk onto the ground, drenching a patch of the fertile earth. “We nourish it as it nourishes us.”
One of the women handed her a burning beeswax candle. Holding it to the towering pile of logs and branches, Tanwen ignited the bonfire into a roaring blaze. The heat of the flames warmed the chill from her bones on the cold night. The women gathered closer to the crackling fire for warmth. As the flames flickered, the women leapt like the sparks. They shot up into the air like the flickering embers as they danced for the goddess.
Tanwen’s hot skin was slick with sweat from the heat of the red amber fire as she twirled and leapt. She thought of the babe that would soon be kicking inside her. She shook her whole body freely and fervently as she danced around the blazing fire with the other women of the tribe.
Late at night, the women departed the grove. Bubbling forth with energy from the celebration, she walked briskly to the wheelhouse she and Brude now shared— her home.
Finding him asleep, she slid into bed beside him and covered his lips with hers. With the unquenchable hunger she had for him, Tanwen moved her mouth over his in a demanding caress. He stirred and opened his eyes as his warm lips met hers.
Now awake, he ran his hands slowly down her bare back. Still straddling his muscular thighs, she wrapped her fingers around the smooth skin of his erection. She slid her fingers up and down his bulging arousal. He moaned as she stroked his hardening flesh.
He placed a hand on each of her breasts. Her nipples tightened. He squeezed and she mewed with delight. As he kneaded and stroked her breasts, she burned with need. He arched and stiffened as she guided the head of his erection inside her. She slid down the girth and length of his rock hard shaft. Her quivering sex fully impaled on his, the fire ignited. She felt hotter than when she’d danced around the flaming Imbolc bonfire. Tanwen and Brude began their own dance, rocking to and fro in the ancient rhythm of love play.
He caressed her breasts as she pumped her hips up and down, harder and faster. She gasped as he flicked her nipples with his fingers then gently tugged on and pinched the tight tips. She moaned.
Her breasts and sex tightened as she squeezed his hard flesh, clenching down, expanding, contracting and massaging his erection. He met her thrusts, jabbing harder and deeper into her fiery center. Panting heavily, they moved together to the low, rhythmic music of their urgent pants as flesh slapped against flesh. Pleasure rioted in her, taking her to the brink.
She sucked in quick breaths. Ragged groans tore through his lips. She shuddered. A tormented expression of deep pleasure-pain crossed his face as he burst inside her. She quivered in spasms as jolts of pleasure racked her body. For a few moments, she didn’t know who or where she was.
Her panting slowed. She eased off of him and then slid down by his side as he wrapped his arm around her. Fully sated, she shut her eyes. Tanwen didn’t known she had drifted to sleep until Brude awakened her with moist, butterfly kisses on her forehead, cheeks, and lips.
“Good morn.” He grinned.
She reached up and hugged him, squeezing him fervently as she planted her lips on his. They were warm and soft and a hot shiver shot through her. The sensations of his kiss was so riveting it took all her might to tear her lips away.
"I have something to tell you,” she said in a near breathless whisper.
“What news have you?”
She gazed into his moist eyes and knew her face beamed with a bright smile as she announced the best tidings she had ever had. “Our child lives within me.”
“What?” He laughed with joy. “A baby.”
“It is so.” She wrapped her arms around him, mellow warmth spread through her.
At the same time, they each uttered, “I Love you.”
They eased out of bed and dressed quickly. With her hand in his, Brude led her to the chief’s wheelhouse to share the news of the blessed event.
“Father, you are to be a grandsire.”
Calach patted Brude on the back. “This is wonderful.” The chief turned toward his wife, who had her back to them as she pulled things out of the cupboard. “We are to be grandparents.”
“Yes. I am getting the mead to celebrate.” She came toward them with a tray of cups and a jug of mead.
All four poured themselves a generous drank and chugged it down.
“This one will be a great warrior, like his father,” Calach said.
“What if it is a girl?” Ciniatha asked as she carried the tray with the cups and jug back to the cupboard.
“Then she will be a great war leader like her grandmother, Boudica,” Tanwen said.
The round house filled with laughter as they all chuckled.
“We need more warriors.” Calach set his empty cup down. “The chiefs grow impatient. Many of our allies sent messengers demanding a grand battle to wipe out the Romans once and for all. “
“No.” Brude leaned closer to his father. “It is not the way to fight the Romans. Planned battles on a large field are their strength. We must continue to fight in concealment with small raids. It is the only way we will win.”
“Are you saying we will lose a battle their way? Do you have so little faith in your men?”
“No.” Tanwen folded her arms over her chest.
“Our men have not been drilled in Roman warfare as they have. We need to fight as Celts not as Romans.” She placed her hand over her stomach. “Calach, for the sake of your grandchild and for your entire tribe, I implore you— heed the gods.”
Chapter Twelve
Tanwen sat on a pelt, turned toward the hearth and rubbed the back of her neck. Though her growing belly put a strain on her body, her neck ached due to the strain of Calach’s changing view on fighting the Romans in a final battle. The hot-blooded chieftains had grown overly confident from the success of the raids, and they wanted to put a quick and final end to the war with Rome. After continually pushing their foolish idea of an all-out battle onto Calach, he finally nibbled at their bait.
The babe leapt within her. She slid her hand from her neck to her belly to feel its tiny foot push against her from the comfy womb.
She let out a sigh of pleasure as warm hands cupped her shoulders and nimble fingers kneaded her knotted flesh. “That feels good, Brude.” She leaned back into his broad, muscular chest as he continued the thorough massage.
“What fare are we to break our fast on this morn?” he asked.
“Oat cakes and honey.”
“Again,” he said with a rich chuckle.
“It is all I wish to eat in the morning.”
“The baby likes sweets.”
“I think so.” She let out a soft giggle. “What do you wish to eat?”
“Oat cakes and honey.”
“You are such a good husband.”
“Well now I like oat cakes and I like you.” He trailed whispery kisses down her neck.
Her flesh tingled as a blast of heat surged through her.
Slipping to her side, he placed one arm around her now relaxed shoulders as he gently patted her belly. “How is my son or daughter?”
“Lively. He’s been kicking all morning.”
“The babe wants to come out to play.” Brude placed his hand on her stomach and felt the soft bounce against his palm. “He’s strong.”
“Yes, but It is not yet time for him or her to burst forth. Our child will be inside me at least five more full moons.”
“It is for the best. Mayhaps my sire will come to his senses after the birth.”
“I am of like mind. If your father does not listen to reason, this little warrior will see its first battle against the Romans before it is even born.
“Tanwen you do not mean to fight in the battle pregnant?”
“If you go to battle, then so will I. I am Boudica’s granddaughter.”
“Tanwen, you cannot go to the battlefield while you carry my child.”
“I am not the first nor will I be the last woman to walk on a battlefield with a babe in her womb. Many Pict women fight while with child and I carry the full protection of the goddess with me for I carry the life she blesses within me.”
“There is no talking to you. You will listen to your own council before anyone else’s, even that of your loved ones.”
“Well, that is true. You know you cannot persuade me to change my mind once I have decided to do something.”
“And you speak of my sire’s foolishness.” Brude pulled her into the circle of his arms. He didn’t want to ever let her go. “I have a better chance of dissuading my sire from this plan of a final battle with the Romans than forbidding you to join the ranks of warriors with our child in your belly.”
Leaning her head up to his, she gazed into his eyes. “You are wise, my husband.”
He pressed his lips against hers. She shut her eyes and slipped her arms around him as a soft warmth spread through her body from the slow, sultry kiss. She eased her mouth off his to take a breath.
“Brude, I hate to spoil the mood, but will you speak to Calach?”
“Yes. It will be worse in a few days.”
“Yes, for the chiefs will all gather here again for Beltane, as they did at Samhain.”
“They will begin arriving today.”
“I know, I have much work to do.”
"Well, I am preparing for the feast by hunting.”
“For boar?”
“Yes, join me.”
“I will.” A big smile spread across her face.
He stood and reached out his hands to help her up.
They each grabbed a long black spear from the wall where they hung. Arm in arm, they headed to the woods with her two guards and his friends following.
* * * * *
Drawing in a deep breath, Brude inhaled the lively, primeval scents of earth, ferns and sweet flowers. His gaze locked onto Tanwen’s lush breasts, which were fuller now that she was pregnant. His eyes swept down to the slight bulge in her tunic where the baby nestled in her womb. She had left off the belt she usually wore, and this was the only difference in her attire since she became pregnant. Even with a child within, she gracefully clutched a spear in her left hand. She looked so much like Boudica herself. She walked deep into the forest of densely rooted, towering trees. All the branches reached out against each other like a giant web of wood draped with thick canopies of leaves.
Brude bent down and untied the dog’s leash, freeing him to flush out a boar. Brude kept his gaze alert. He spotted a black creature emerging from behind a tree. The dog barked and shot off in a rapid chase. The boar darted into a copse, hidden from Brude's view until he could get closer. He and Gethin took off at a hard run behind the hound toward the small grove. Due to the distance, the dog had disappeared from Brude’s sight when he turned into the copse. The boar’s low-pitched grunts mingled with the dog’s howls. Brude leapt over a large, fallen tree as he rushed through the forest. Gethin had been keeping pace with him, but soon passed Brude, taking the lead. Brude heard Tanwen’s racing footfalls behind him. Even though pregnant, she ran nearly as fast as him. The barking dog stopped up ahead.
“They’ve got one,” Gethin yelled out.
Nearing the boar, Brude saw that the huge wolfhound had clamped it teeth on one of the boar’s hind legs, holding it for them. Thrashing its body this way and that, the boar fought to shake free from the dog’s clenching bite.
“Hold him, Colwyn. Good dog,” Brude yelled out to the shaggy wolfhound.
Gethin had almost reached the boar. As he closed in, the beast wrestled free from Colwyn’s teeth. Bristles covered its sagging belly. The beast's paltry worm of a tail pointed straight down. With a toss of his huge tusk, the beast veered toward Gethin. In a flash, the boar's tapered, pointed snout rammed forward. Its jagged ears lay back against its flat head. Thrusting its sharp tusk, it pierced through the warrior’s flesh. As the deadly tusk ripped through Gethin’s leg, his roar of pain thundered through the forest.
Blood burst out of the gash in his leg. The dog grabbed hold of the boar’s legs with its teeth again. The beast's high pitched squeals vibrated through the air. Brude ran up to the bristle-haired beast. He raised his long spear to slay the boar…but another spear flew at him. He leapt back.
The dog stood its ground with its teeth clamped on the wild beast holding it down. The spear hit its mark and impaled the thick hide of the squealing boar. It was still alive, though. Brude jabbed the boar’s rough hide with his spear for the kill. The boar's ear-splitting shrieks filled the air. Brude glanced up to see Nectan, the Smertae chief, walking forward.
Tanwen rushed up to them, panting from exertion. “Gethin, can you walk?”
“Yes,” her Silure guard and friend said through gritted teeth as he gazed down at his blood-soaked braies.
“We need to get back and tend to that wound.” She pulled off his belt and wrapped it around his wound to staunch the bleeding.
“I got him,” Nectan said smugly. “You did well too, Brude.”
“You took my kill,” he said.
“Well, we will share warrior honor. “ Nectan clasped Brude on the shoulder in friendship.
“How generous you are.” Brude didn’t feel friendly.
“We’ll both feast on the joint of the boar tonight for Beltane.” N
ectan grinned.
“It is agreed. For Beltane, we shall share the champion portion.” Brude nodded as he thought, I will give you that but naught more.
“But the head is mine.” Nectan placed his foot on the slain boar and drew his sword from its sheath. “I mean it as gift to your father.” Bending down, he plunged his sword into the beast’s neck, and sliced off its head. Blood gushed onto the ground. He picked up the bloody, severed head in his hands. “Soon, I shall bring Agricola’s head to him in the same way when we fight the great battle.”
Brude turned to Tanwen. “I have to talk to my father now.”
“I’m coming with you,” Tanwen said.
Brude nodded. “Good.” He reached out his arm to Gethin, who leaned on him and hobbled back with them.
Chapter Thirteen
With Tanwen at his heels, Brude pulled back the flap to his parents’ wheelhouse. “Greetings, mother.” He nodded at Ciniatha, who handed a cup of ale to his father. “Greetings my chief,” he said as he entered the wheel house, then he sat on a fox pelt, facing Calach.
Tanwen nodded to Ciniatha and Calach then eased down beside Brude.
“Hail, my son. Did you have good hunting?” Calach took a sip of ale.
“No. Someone took my kill.”
“Nectan. He has arrived for Beltane.” Tanwen let out a soft chuckle.
“He is an ally, though I dislike him as much as you do. Is he bringing the boar?” Calach asked.
Brude nodded. “It is trussed up and being carried here.”
“So it is, my chief. But there is more,” Tanwen said.
Ciniatha handed them each a cup of ale as they continued to discuss war tactics.
“Sire, he speaks of fighting a battle with the Romans.” Brude took a gulp of ale. “Do you deem it best?”
"You have talked to me of this. I ken you deem a battle is not the way to defeat the Romans, and you want skirmishes and raids instead.”
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