The next day they rolled into Caernford with Yozef praying never again to ride in a carriage as long as he lived. Three hundred miles over dirt and rock roads were punishment enough for whatever transgression he had committed. The weather had deepened the last few hours, and a steady rain turned roads to slush and seeped into their clothing. They were tired, damp, and exhausted, yet their triumphal arrival was met by . . . no one. No word of their imminent return had reached the manor. All of the hetman’s family members were elsewhere.
Culich and Luwis went into the manor. Yozef, not being invited to join them, retired to the guest cottage, kicked off his boots, pulled a blanket up to his chin, and promptly fell asleep. Four hours later, he awoke to the ubiquitous knocking of Norlin, who informed him that evening meal at the manor would be in one hour, and did Yozef want to bathe before the meal? Yozef decided on the bath, compared to the alternative of sharing the accumulated aromas of the trip with the Keelan females. He suspected his acquiescence was merely a formality, since a tub of hot water waited in the cottage’s attached bathing room.
Yozef’s first sight of Maera was when Mared ushered him into the dining room. The last of the Keelans was sitting down, including Maera, wearing a form-fitting green gown again, this time a lighter shade of green and with a green ribbon of the same material tying back her hair. In addition, she wore a questioning look, and Yozef interpreted a slight twitch of her shoulders as, “Well, what happened on the trip and is the marriage on?”
Yozef twitched back with shoulder and hands, trying to reply, “I have no fucking clue.”
The meal started with the traditional thanks and then on to courses, this evening a hearty meat and barley soup, a beef roast with red carrot-like sections, beets, and the ubiquitous heavy, dark bread and butter. Cold steins of beer also appeared.
How do they do that?
Yozef had often asked himself that question since the first time with Carnigan at the abbey and still had no answer.
Culich was in a cheerful mood. He deflected talk of the trip to Dornfeld and queried the three younger daughters on their activities, then engaged in more talk about what had transpired in Caernford the last few days: the weather, Mared getting into a fight at the scholasticum, Ceinwyn hinting about a new dress for a coming festival, and a major topic—a litter from one of the Keelan dogs. Half of the meal passed before Breda stopped Culich from torturing Maera and Yozef.
“Now that we’ve gotten all the important items out of the way, Hetman Keelan has some other news,” Breda said dryly.
All other conversation stopped, and everyone rotated toward the head of the table.
Culich smiled amusedly. “Oh yes, that other matter. Maera, Yozef, after carefully considering the possibility of your marriage, I’ve decided it’s both acceptable and appropriate for the two of you. Therefore, I give my permission and blessing.”
“Yes!” Mared shouted, closely followed by an exclamation from Anid and even positive sounds from Ceinwyn, possibly because she saw her chances of marriage improved with the older sister out of the way.
“Congratulations, my dears,” said a smiling Breda. “I predict it’ll be a good marriage.”
“Thank you, Father,” said Maera, her voice catching slightly on the words.
My God! I’m committed now, roared through her mind in panic.
The moment faded quickly, as her natural inclination to plan and be orderly set in. When to schedule the wedding? How big? Who to invite or, moreover, who not to invite?
Yozef had a similar moment of panic.
My God! I’m committed now!
That thought also faded when he saw Maera giving him sideways glances with a smile at the corners of her mouth.
“Yes, thank you, Hetman Keelan. I promise to try my best to be a good husband to a wonderful woman.”
“I certainly hope you appreciate how lucky you’ll be with a smart and beautiful wife,” Culich said sternly. “She takes after her mother.”
“Yes, Hetman,” said Yozef, for the moment forgetting to be respectful, “she is lucky that’s who she takes after.”
Whoops, thought Yozef.
Uh-oh, thought Breda and three daughters.
Damn it, Yozef—things were going so well! thought Maera.
Culich looked at Yozef with one raised eyebrow, then roared with laughter. “By Merciful God, Yozef, I know you’re from another land, but I somehow think things will be more refreshing with you around.”
More laughter followed exhalations of relief from the five Keelan females.
“And as for calling me ‘Hetman Keelan,’ if you’re going to be a family member, you may start calling me Culich and Maera’s mother Breda, with her permission.”
“Granted easily,” answered Breda, not bothering to mention she and Yozef were already on a first-name basis.
Yozef was oblivious to the rest of the meal and the conversation, looking forward to getting Maera alone and practicing kissing and feeling her body against him. He was to be disappointed. As the family rose from the table, Culich escorted Yozef out the front door, wishing him a restful sleep and warning him that the women would be into planning mode the next morning.
Maera and Bronwyn
On the return trip from Dornfeld, Yozef had struggled with how to tell Maera about Bronwyn. The next morning, Maera allayed his concern.
“Uh, Maera, there’s something I need to tell you. Before I met you, there was a woman from a farm north of Abersford. We . . . uh . . . we, that is . . .”
“You mean Bronwyn Merton? I met her when she was visiting the medicants at St. Sidryn’s. She and the baby were developing well, and she was hoping for a boy, which I understand it was. That was good news.”
“Er . . . yes, that was good news.”
Now what do I say?
“It’ll be appropriate for us to pay respects when the baby is named. If we’re in Abersford at the time, I’ll suggest to Bronwyn that she and her entire family come to a Godsday service Naming Day as soon as the child is three months.”
“Naming Day?”
“Well, yes. You don’t know that a child isn’t given a name until it’s three months old? So many die before then, but Bronwyn’s new baby is reported healthy, so on Naming Day it’ll be given its name and can be blessed. That’s the best time for you to publicly recognize you’re the father.”
“Maera, I, uh, hadn’t said anything about Bronwyn before, which I should have, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
She looked at him quizzically. “How did you think I’d react?”
“I didn’t know. Angry for me having a child with another woman. Angry at me for not telling you about it. Hell, I don’t know. Just angry, I guess, for whatever reason.”
Maera took Yozef’s words sedately, accustomed by now to his still not understanding the ways of his adopted home.
“There’s nothing to be angry about. You bedded with her before we met. It has nothing to do with us. I’d mind if it had happened after we agreed to wed. Bronwyn told me you said you’d recognize the child and provide for it as necessary, which I naturally expected from you.”
“Bronwyn . . . told you . . .?” Yozef managed in a strangled voice.
“Yes, while I was at St. Sidryn’s. I had a pleasant talk with her after a Godsday service. They seem like a solid family, and the child will flourish with them.”
“And it doesn’t matter that I had a child with Bronwyn before you and I do?”
“Why should it? Bronwyn’s child has no claim on the Keelan family. I’m sure you’ll be interested in her child, since you fathered him, and that’s appropriate. But one of our sons will be the next Keelan hetman.”
Her words were spoken as if from a Delphic Oracle: a fact not to be questioned.
Planning
Culich was correct. With approval for the wedding secured, planning by the women came to the fore, and the men faded into the background. Long engagements were not expected on Caedellium. After careful consi
deration and once a marriage was decided, the Caedelli saw no reason for unnecessary delay. Yozef had assumed it would be some months off, an assumption that evaporated when he was told three sixdays were all that was necessary to make preparations and give those guests not in Caernford time to make travel plans.
The next few days Yozef saw little of Maera. She recognized his initial consternation, but planning with Breda took all of her time. Their few minutes a day together focused on the “who, what, when, where” of the wedding day. After two days, Yozef told Maera he saw no obvious reason for him to be in Caernford for at least a sixday. He proposed he return to Abersford to check on his various enterprises and make arrangements for an enlargement of his house, since now there would be two of them living there.
The statement caught Maera by surprise. Not at the idea of his disappearing for a sixday, but the reality she would be leaving her family in Caernford for a different life in Abersford. In her focus on the marriage possibility, she had ignored what came afterward. She had lived her whole life at Keelan Manor, in the same set of rooms since she’d moved out of the nursery; had helped raise her three younger sisters; knew every inch of the manor grounds and most of the surrounding town and countryside; and knew by name hundreds of citizens in the area. Though she was not a stranger to Abersford, her experiences there were fleeting, with the expectations she would return home. Now, home would be with Yozef in Abersford. It took until the next day for her to fully process her thinking. She still wasn’t comfortable with the move but accepted it as part of becoming her own woman, wife, and eventual mother, away from the security of her Caernford family.
Word Gets Out
When Yozef and Carnigan arrived back in Abersford, although only four days had passed since Culich gave permission for the marriage, the news had reached Abersford and St. Sidryn’s three days previously and was the only topic of conversation.
The Keelans gave Yozef letters for the Beynoms—Culich to Sistian, Breda to Diera, Maera to them both. Since the carriage passed the abbey on the way to Yozef’s house, they stopped to deliver the correspondence and found themselves caught in a Caedelli version of a surprise party. Word of their coming had reached the abbey the previous day, and somehow the organizers of the festivities estimated to within fifteen minutes when they would arrive. Instead of the quick mail drop and going on home, Yozef found himself the center of an ongoing celebration, apparently attended by all of the abbey complex’s staff.
The first warning sign came as they rolled into the abbey courtyard. A hundred people or more waited, headed by Sistian and Diera. Yozef groaned. He saw his bed receding into the near future.
“Yozef!” exclaimed Diera, as he stepped off the carriage. “We’ve heard the news! Congratulations, and may you and Maera be happy together.” She hugged him and kissed him on his cheek.
“Yes, congratulations indeed,” added a benevolently smiling Abbot Sistian, with a clap on the shoulder and a shake of his head. “Who but Merciful God would have thought the wretched creature washed up on our beach two years ago would marry the hetman’s daughter? Just shows us God has plans for us all, even if we don’t know it.”
Diera locked arms with Yozef and pulled him toward the dining hall. “You must be tired from the all-day trip back, but we’ve arranged a little celebration.”
He was tired and dusty, his joints ached from the carriage ride, and he was stuck for the next three hours being congratulated and having food and steins constantly forced on him.
He only vaguely remembered Carnigan pouring him into bed later that night and knew nothing more until he awoke at noon the next day. His first impulse was to anticipate a headache from the bottomless steins of the previous night. His first clear thought was, Where’s the hangover? Nestled under the covers, he futilely felt around for that expected consequence. He lay there reviewing memories since his Anyar arrival. While he wasn’t a particularly heavy drinker, there had been a few occasions, particularly with Carnigan, when he had over-imbibed. He also remembered the morning after the first meal at Keelan Manor and the wine. The headaches then or on other mornings weren’t severe enough to rate as serious hangovers. He had enough examples from his previous life to know that, for him, too much alcohol had regretful repercussions. But not here on Anyar? Was this one of the side effects of whatever the Watchers did to him? If it was, bless their little green hearts, if they had hearts.
The next thing he noticed was that he still wore his traveling clothes, had transferred dust to his bedding, and stunk. He padded barefoot out of the bedroom, only to find the Faughns waiting for him. Elian did a respectful curtsey, and Brak bowed with a board up his ass.
Oh, Christ! Am I now supposed to be royalty or something?
“Master Kolsko, we’ve heard the news. Congratulations and God’s blessing on your coming marriage,” said Elian, curtseying again, and Brak bowed once more, after an elbow in the ribs from his wife.
Yozef was irritated. “Thank you for the good wishes, but unless I suddenly got transformed into someone else by the Tooth Fairy or Gandalf the White, I’m the same person who left several sixdays ago.”
Blank looks conveyed that the references weren’t connecting.
“Don’t treat me any different than before, which means none of this bowing nonsense,” he said.
Brak grunted, gave his wife an “I told you so look,” and left the room.
Yozef chuckled to himself. That man can communicate more by nuances of grunt that many can with whole speeches.
Elian wasn’t reassured. “Will this mean you wish us to stay in your service?”
Yozef stared. It hadn’t occurred to him they might assume the hetman’s daughter would bring her own staff or would want to choose a new one.
Well, for all I know she might . . . but the Faughns are staying, he told himself firmly.
The reaction of the Faughns clued him in to what followed. In various forms, he went through the same rigmarole six times the first day back. In fairness, he tried to understand that many believed a change in his status had occurred. Instead of the strange, friendly, smart, and well-paying “Yozef,” he was now “Yozef the Important,” a member of the hetman’s family, holding some as yet unknown influence on their lives, and the husband of the infamous Maera Keelan. He suspected the latter was the most impressive, at least to those who knew Maera.
The day ended by the process being repeated at the Snarling Graeko with Carnigan. The big man laughed at Yozef’s discomfiture when they walked in. All noise died, half of the crowd rose from their chairs, and a few hesitant bows made Yozef groan aloud. It took two rounds for the house and two stories before the noise level returned to his pre-entrance state, but he couldn’t fail to notice there wasn’t quite the level of camaraderie toward him that had developed over the previous months.
It’ll just take a little time until everyone realizes nothing has changed, he told himself. It would be many months before he realized the feeling of belonging to the community would never again be exactly the same. Not necessarily worse, only different.
Fortunately for Yozef’s state of mind, the next sixday was filled with reviewing all of his enterprises, providing suggestions, settling arguments, making decisions, and meeting with Filtin’s father. Since the elder Fuller had directed building Yozef’s getaway cottage west of Abersford and organized guano gathering at Birdshit Bay, Yozef never wondered whom to go to for expanding the house. Dyfeld Fuller assured Yozef that several of the envisioned new rooms could be added by the time of the wedding: a larger kitchen area, a new master bedroom, a workroom for Maera, and an extra room in case a child came along. The barn was also too small, and Dyfeld said it was easier to build a new one than expand the existing one.
It took Dyfeld two days to show Yozef written plans for the constructions. Yozef was about to approve them when Filtin asked the critical question.
“Are you sure you want to make changes before your new wife arrives? I don’t know about hetmen’s daughter
s, but for most women I’d bet anything you do to the house won’t be quite the way she would have done it. Unless you want to be reminded of this forever, I’d be inclined to wait until she’s here. Even if she’s not the nagging type, it’d please her having her opinions taken into account.”
Yozef considered Filtin’s advice. He didn’t see Maera as the nagging type, but she’d definitely give her opinions. He decided there was no rush, then alerted Dyfeld Filtin to be ready to build once Maera arrived. Since he had told Maera he would look into expanding the house, he wrote her that he had decided to wait for her input. He didn’t mention Filtin’s warning.
No sooner had the house decision been postponed than a new issue arose. To Yozef’s dismay, formal intentions to celebrate the marriage and Maera’s return to Abersford proliferated beyond his tolerance. Despite his objection, he seemed to have no say in an elaborate reception and festival the Abersford mayor was planning. Then there was the special Godsday service at the abbey. The final straw was word that the district boyerman, Longnor Vorwich, would come to Abersford as a “social” call on the newlyweds and for the locals to arrange various dinners and receptions.
Damn! What else? Marching bands, dancing bears, fireworks? Every time I turn around, there’s more plans coming out of the woodwork!
Yozef wrote to all parties that he and his new wife, Maera Kolsko-Keelan, would be unavailable for two sixdays following their arrival from Caernford, due to following a custom of Yozef’s people called a “honeymoon.” No one knew what the English words honey and moon meant, but the word pronounced “huh-nee-moon” was a period of seclusion for a newly married couple to allow them time together to start their marriage. Yozef found that his attempt to forestall the planned events only postponed them with a reprieve until after the honeymoon.
The honeymoon custom seemed strange to all, though was readily accepted, because it came from Yozef, who redefined strange. Upstanding and friendly, yes. Still, strange.
The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) Page 23
