Swiftstalker looked up at the housekeeper. “You can see the glow in the blade, Mistress?"
"Of course, I can see the glow, Lord Swiftstalker. I might be old but my eyes are still as sharp as ever."
Duke Richard said, “He meant no offense to you, Mistress Margaret. His reaction was caused by his surprise. You see, I cannot see the glow, yet Lord Rorrick and Lord Swiftstalker can. The glow can only be seen by those with elven blood."
Mistress Margaret's hand covered her mouth in surprise at this revelation. “I did not know that."
"I have known you all your life, Margaret, since you started working in this keep as a serving girl,” Duke Richard said. “Yet in all those years, I never suspected you of being part elf."
"I never knew until this moment, Your Grace. I never knew my real family. I was a foundling and your father, Duke Rorrick, brought me into the keep as a kindness."
Lord Swiftstalker rose from his place at the table and walked to Mistress Margaret's side. He took her hand in his and said, “Festive greetings to you, lost sister of the Forest Folk. May your day be filled with joy. Should you wish it, I will tell you of our people when you have the opportunity to listen.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her cheek.
"I would like that very much, but not today. I have too much to do to get ready for tonight. Now, sit down and eat before your food gets cold."
Once Mistress Margaret returned to the kitchen, Duke Richard turned to Swiftstalker and asked, “Did you have any idea she was part elf?"
"None, Your Grace. She displays none of the usual physical characteristics found in a hybrid. Perhaps she is only a quarter elf. It doesn't make a difference to the Forest Folk whether she's half, quarter or less. If she is attuned enough to the life force to detect the glow of elven enchantment, she is one of us and will be welcome among us."
* * * *
As a part of the Winter Festival tradition, the duke's family and retainers would distribute food to the older villagers and those with small children who would be unable to attend the feast at the keep. Due to the heavy weather, Rory and Swiftstalker volunteered to fulfill the tradition to spare the duke. It also gave them an excuse to test their new cloaks under the extreme wind and snow.
The pair spent the afternoon delivering baskets of food. The traditional winter gifts of bread, salt, wine, and meat would become the basis for the villagers’ festival dinner. In every house, they were welcomed with open arms and, in many of them, sent on their way with a hearty hug from the male head of the house and a kiss from the lady.
To spare the retainers who carried the food, only a few went with them at a time. When the few baskets they carried were given out, those retainers would return to the keep and the next group would come out with more. In this fashion, each basket delivered contained bread still warm from the oven despite the cold.
As they walked between the houses on their list, Swiftstalker explained the tradition behind the festival itself. “As you know, winter itself is the ending of the year. It is also the time when most of the labor for the year is over. The fields have all been harvested and cleared, the livestock have been sequestered in their winter quarters, and most of their immediate needs have been stockpiled. It becomes both a time for introspection and a time to celebrate the release from day-to-day labor. As a result, a day of gift giving and feasting was born. Tonight there will be lots of food and drink, music and dancing. Many of the rules of normal propriety are relaxed, which results in a surprising number of babies born in late fall, such as those we have been delivering food baskets to all afternoon. Another quaint custom involves the decorations in the houses and the hall tonight. You will see small balls of a green plant with white berries. It is a parasite plant called mistletoe. Tradition calls for whoever stands beneath this plant on festival night to be kissed. There are no strings attached and no shame for the parties involved. While the plant is normally hung above the center of the ballroom dance floor, there will also be sprigs hanging in secluded alcoves where things can get more ... involved, hence the increase in babies I mentioned earlier."
Rory looked at him skeptically. “Why would anyone believe such nonsense? You are making fun of me."
"No, lad, I am not. As sure as it is cold here in this snow, some young lass will be very eager to plant kisses on your lips. Did I happen to mention that neither of you will know the identity of the other? Everyone will wear half masks and costumes."
"Costumes? What kind of costumes?"
"Oh some will dress as nobles, when they are really tradesmen. Some women will dress as fine ladies, others as fairies. The idea is to be someone you are not for this one night of celebration. Relax, I have already seen to your costume and mine."
"Really? What are they?"
"You, my fine lad, will be a Lord of the Forest, dressed in the finest garb—my own, I might add. I'm going as General Gustav, complete with scar and scowl."
* * * *
Rory looked at his reflection and was amazed. He'd realized that he'd been growing the past few months and putting on some muscle, but he did not recognize the image he was looking at. He'd expected Swiftstalker's elven garb to be a bit big on him, but it made him realize he was now as tall as the elven lord. The months of work with his sword had trimmed any excess fat from Rory's body while building large shoulders and chest and arm muscles which filled out the silken shirt. The close-knit hose emphasized his mighty thighs and tight buttocks, too.
Sprigs of holly had been plaited into his long hair, now drawn back in a queue that fell below his shoulder blades, its ebony luster as polished as the agate stones that adorned the intricate feathered mask that covered his features above his mouth. The valet had trimmed his fledgling beard in a fashion that seemed to emphasize his strong jaw and focus the eye on the mobile mouth and its startlingly white teeth.
His overtunic, embroidered in a motif of evergreen boughs and holly, was a bright silver beneath the dark green embroidery. Where the holly berries would be in nature, tiny garnets had been shaped and sewn onto the garment. What would have been ice crystals on the tips of the evergreen boughs were tiny diamonds. A wide silver chased belt held the overtunic closed, and an ornate elven dagger was suspended from the belt. Fleece-lined half-boots, dyed to match his outfit, completed his costume.
Looking at his reflection in the glass, Rory had to admit that he actually looked like a Lord of the Forest. In fact, he looked a great deal like his father, Prince Brightblade. He was still trying to work up the courage to leave his room when the door opened. Rory wasn't sure how the wizened old man, a woodcutter by all appearances, had gained access to the family quarters within the keep but he obviously did not belong here. Rory was moving to usher the man from the room when he spoke.
"I didn't know you were coming tonight, Prince Brightblade. I was looking for my grandson."
"Grandfather? Is that you?” Rory was astonished.
"By the All-Father! You look like your father dressed like that! I thought for a moment he had come to collect you early. Are you ready? Most of the guests are already here and the party has begun."
"Already? How could they begin until you arrived?"
"It would defeat the purpose of the mask and disguise if they announced us, wouldn't it?” Duke Richard chided Rory. “To them, I will appear as a simple woodcutter, although I suspect I won't fool a soul. It is a habit of mine to dress as one of my subjects each year, choosing a different occupation each time. I think my most effective costume was the year I was a goat herder, complete with goat excrement on my shoes. For some reason, no ladies pulled me under the mistletoe that year!"
"Do you mean to say that all that nonsense Swiftstalker said about the mistletoe was true?” Rory asked, amazed.
"Certainly. Rory, a kiss or something more from you will be a treasured memory for the women involved, to be brought back in her mind whenever life seems hard or bleak. She will recall that for one brief period, the rules of class were suspended and s
he was in your arms. For that moment, she was as good as the Lady Bethany herself. It's not all one-sided, you know. For that same brief moment, you get to hold and kiss a delightful companion on a cold and bitter night without worrying about what anyone will say. So my parting advice for you tonight is to enjoy yourself. Eat plenty of food, drink the wine, dance until you are dizzy, and enjoy the willing company that will seek you out. This is one of the happier celebrations of the year and the only one in the winter. It is also one of your last nights here in the keep for a while to come; soon you will leave for the Great Forest and the Lords of the Forest.” The duke tugged Rory's doublet straighter. “Come, let us go join the festival."
* * * *
The great room had been decorated with the traditional boughs and holly. The stone walls were all draped with great swaths of red and gold fabric to insulate against the cold. Large fires burned in the hearths and torches were burning in the sconces along the walls. The large tables had been placed along two walls and fairly groaned with the vast amounts of food available whenever someone felt hungry. Great kegs of ale and wine were placed around the room as well, along with a stock of tankards and goblets. The alcoves had all been curtained off, both as a means to ward off the chill and as a gesture to privacy for those who wished it. The center of the room was reserved for dancing and mingling for all the festivalgoers, with small clumps of mistletoe hanging above the crowd at various points.
Duke Richard slipped unnoticed into the room and made his way to one of the kegs of cider. He filled a tankard and stood back to enjoy the show as Rory entered the room.
The moment Rory stepped through the doorway, the entire crowd hushed and turned to see him. Completely unexpectedly, they all bowed to the Lord of the Forest who now moved among them. Rory, trying hard to keep up the appearance of his disguise, merely nodded in acknowledgement and then waved his hand for all to proceed as they had been. As he approached the edge of the crowd, it seemed to part in front of him and he followed the revealed path, intending to reach the wine on the other side. It wasn't until a young woman, dressed in what she imagined an desert princess might wear, grabbed his arm and pressed her lips to his that Rory realized the crowd had subtly directed him under one of the balls of mistletoe. Before he could move away from that spot, another had taken the first woman's place. Five women had kissed him before he successfully escaped from under the mistletoe.
As he reached a shaking hand out for one of the goblets of wine, a gravelly voice said in his ear, “You can't say I didn't warn you, lad."
He turned to find himself facing General Gustav. Or was it General Gustav ... the armor was correct and there was the scar parting the beard, but this apparition did not seem as menacing as the real Gustav. “Swiftstalker? Oh, that is excellent! You look enough like him to scare the sentries!'
"I know because I already have.” Swiftstalker then laughed. “I upbraided one poor soldier for a tiny imperfection in his dress. The poor lad was shaking! But the laugh was on me for the real Gustav had come up behind me. How a man that big can move so quietly is beyond me. He must be part elf. Anyway, when he slammed his huge hand on my shoulder and spun me around, I almost wet myself. Then he laughed and admitted I had done a good job of imitation and offered me a job as his double ... on the fighting lines, that is.” Swiftstalker shook his head. “I have truly come to admire that man and I will miss him when we leave."
After another sip of his wine, Swiftstalker said, “So, lad, how are the kisses tonight? Some of those lasses looked quite delightful.” He set his goblet down. “Good man, never kiss and tell. Guess I shall go see if anyone will ever kiss this scarred old puss. This costume might not have been the best idea I ever had for a festival night."
Rory watched as Swiftstalker made his way across to one of the spots below the mistletoe. An older woman, dressed as a duchess, threw her arms about Swiftstalker's neck and pressed her lips to his with great abandon. Swiftstalker slid his hands down and cupped the woman's buttocks as he kissed her. She broke the kiss, whispered something in his ear, and then dragged him to one of the alcoves. As the faux general closed the curtain, he flipped a jaunty salute across the room to Rory.
"Would you like to dance, Great Lord?” The sultry voice broke Rory's reverie and he turned to find a young woman of medium height, garbed in a revealing blue gown and a matching blue feathered mask. Her auburn hair was swept up atop her head and sprigs of holly and mistletoe were threaded within it. Her eyes were a soft hazel, but it was the tiny half-moon scar on the edge of her chin that identified her to Rory; this was Rachel, the daughter of the village leader.
"I fear I would disappoint, beautiful one, for I have no skill in dancing,” Rory said.
"I find that difficult to believe, but I will accept your statement. Why don't we just slip to the edge of the dance area, you can put your arms around me, and we can pretend we are dancing. That way, we can enjoy each other's company without having to deal with the importunities of the others. Truly, there is one I seek to avoid and he will not bother me when I am in your company."
"Never let it be said I abandoned a lady in distress. Lead on and let us attempt this charade. But I warn you. Let it be on your head if I step on your dainty feet.” Rory took her by the hand and soon found himself at the edge of the dance floor. Rachel slid into his arms and then began to sway in time to the music from the few musicians on the lyre, lutes, and flutes. Rachel was much closer than propriety would normally permit and his greater height gave him a view down the front of her dress that left nothing to his imagination. She looked up to him, mischief in those hazel eyes, and said, “We seem to be under the mistletoe. I suspect you should kiss me."
When their lips met, it was not the brief contact he shared with others that evening. This kiss was much slower, as if she were tasting his lips and finding them pleasing. As they kissed, she pressed her body against his and then the tip of her tongue traced a path across his closed lips. “Someone needs to teach you how to really kiss a woman, Great Lord.” She slipped from his arms and took his hand, pulling him behind a curtain into an alcove. She pulled his head back down to hers and kissed him deeply, her tongue pushing its way past his lips and into his mouth. His hands slid down her shoulders and arms, his fingertips brushing the bare slopes of her breasts. Rory had no idea how long they kissed or even how he managed to breathe around her greedy mouth. All he knew for sure was his hands were now cupping her naked breasts with their turgid nipples, and both of them were breathing very hard.
"Your pardon, my lady, but perhaps it is time to return beyond this curtain before I take too many liberties,” Rory said, trying to catch his breath once more.
She caught him staring at her bare breasts and teased him by tracing her fingertips across them to brush her own nipples before she pulled her bodice back up into place. As she leaned in to give him a final kiss, she whispered, “I would have let you take many more liberties than that, Great Lord, but only this one night. After that, you belong to Lady Bethany."
"So you know who I am, Rachel."
"From the moment you walked into the room. I have watched you ever since you came here, Lord Rorrick, and dreamed of this night when the traditions of Festival would let me kiss you and feel you touch me as I have dreamed for so many weeks. Had it been your desire, you could have taken anything from me you wished. You will be a good duke, because I can see that no matter how tempted you might be to go on with me here and now, you would not risk damaging my name or reputation.” Rachel ran her hand down across Rory's chest as she said, “Lady Bethany has a better man than she knows. Know this, Heir of Westfell, if you would like to join me in an alcove again this night, you have but to ask.” With that, she slipped from the alcove and back into the crowd.
The old woodcutter came up to Rory as he stood at the table filling a plate with some food. “Well, are you having fun?"
Rory nodded. “It has been quite interesting."
Duke Richard laughed. “That's one way t
o describe it! I imagine it must have been interesting with Rachel in the alcove. Yes, I saw you go in and how long before you came out. Don't fret so, boy! Have fun! It's the thoughts of this night that will keep you warm in the bitter cold and snow between the keep and the Great Forest. So eat up, drink some more wine, find a pretty girl, and dance."
Swiftstalker joined them at that moment, “You are an old reprobate, woodcutter! Yes, you. I saw you kissing that young girl under the mistletoe."
Rory turned a shocked look on his grandfather. Duke Richard said, “Poor lass, I overheard one of her friends dare her to kiss the dirty old woodcutter. I will give her credit; she did a good job of it, too. Before we parted, I wished a duke's blessing in her ear. When she realized exactly who I was, she kissed me again, harder! Ah, to be young again!"
"The next thing you know, you'll be stealing away to the alcoves!” came the gravelly voice from the large suit of armor standing beside the table.
"All-Father! It's the general!” Rory exclaimed.
"And just how long have you been standing there?” Duke Richard asked.
"All evening. Most people think I am just a suit of armor that someone forgot to move. In a little while, I plan to scare some sweet innocent out of a year's growth.” There was a pause. “Although I think I can subtract Rachel from the list of innocents."
"Not you, too,” groaned Rory.
The party had been going for several hours when Rory was pulled into another alcove. This time he had no idea who the honey blonde woman was. He could tell she was older than most of the girls who had kissed him, and she was dressed as a common tavern girl, with a ragged edge skirt and peasant blouse worn low on her shoulders. Her breasts were heavier and more rounded yet still firm. He pushed his tongue into her mouth as he stroked her skin. Her hand slid downward beneath his belt and around to his front. Rory caught his breath as she touched him, then all went dark as a cudgel struck the back of his head.
The Heir Of Westfall [The Alurian Chronicles Book 1] Page 10
