Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  She knew some of his concern stemmed from the enormity of his task, but they had little choice about the matter. Circumstances were such they could no longer continue to enjoy the freedom they’d experienced until now. They had to face up to their responsibilities.

  “Are you warm enough? I have a woollen blanket if not. And a couple of hides in case it rains.”

  “You’ve thought of everything. Thank you.”

  “’Tis only what you deserve.”

  His tight smile and the ensuing silence alerted her to his reservations about today’s task and she could almost hear his unspoken question.

  “What happens if he …?”

  She put her finger to his lips. “Do not finish the thought. Assure yourself that all will be well and it will be.” She noted the whiteness of his knuckles and squeezed his hand. “Have faith, my sweet. Mother says she has never seen him take to young men the way he has to you and Baxter.”

  “I fear that if he had not come along to charm your father it would have been a very different story.”

  Although she would never admit it aloud, Lareeta agreed wholeheartedly. “I would never have believed him capable of enjoying so many lively conversations with men he’d always referred to as ‘tradesmen’ with a sneer.”

  “He always encourages me to air my views – he seems genuinely interested in an artisan’s lot.”

  Taron had a fire inside which made him susceptible to her father’s prejudice. However, Garvenal seemed to have calmed down considerably during her prolonged absence; a much nicer man altogether.

  “In fact, I find it difficult to reconcile that man with the angry bully you have hinted at on several occasions.”

  Taron’s statement was so close to her thought, she almost exclaimed aloud. However a deep-buried memory rushed to the surface, reminding her of his past cruelties.

  Taron seemed to be expecting some kind of reply, so she murmured something affirmatory about how the years and his good works in the community must have mellowed him.

  “Yes. His religion is important to him.” He sat quietly for a while, then another thought played on his insecurities. “What if he finds out about …?”

  “Why would he? He has observed you in church and you give a convincing performance of a pious Christian. And every part of your speech and behaviour displays how you embrace what he considers to be ‘Christian values.’ He has no idea the old religion involves all of those beliefs, along with so much more.”

  Taron smiled, relaxing his grip on the reins. “The way you speak I could almost believe you have converted to our ways.” With a quick glance to ensure they were unobserved, he transferred the reins to one hand and put his arm around her, cuddling her close.

  “I cannot believe we shall soon be able to do this without fear of retribution. Maybe even this.” He kissed her cheek.

  She pretended outrage. “What kind of girl do you take me for? Such displays of affection are not seemly in public, even after we are wed.”

  His face fell and she giggled. “But while no one is watching …” Leaning in, she aimed a kiss at his cheek, but he turned so it landed on his lips.

  He pulled away, matching her previous scandalised tone. “Miss Lareeta, you hussy. Exactly what kind of boy do you take me for? Outrageous behaviour.”

  Their fun was curtailed as a wheel sank into a rut and the cart wobbled alarmingly. Thankfully, it was not deep and the experienced horse continued without missing a step, but it persuaded him to maintain a more watchful eye.

  They approached the most vulnerable stretch of road to find a low wall had been built to contain the flooding, so it did not prove the same challenge as they had experienced in the spring. However, the line of vehicles making their way into town was considerably longer than they were used to, so all his attention had to focus on maintaining a goodly distance between their cart and the one in front.

  Her mother seemed particularly cheerful as they greeted her, and she moved closer to her husband, revealing sufficient space on the front row for both of them to fit. An honour indeed. Her good humour continued throughout the mass as she sang along joyfully. But Lareeta’s father was even more vociferous, giving every appearance of a contentment she would never have associated with him.

  Taron whispered about her father’s good mood as they walked from the church to the house. As the meal progressed, he became visibly less anxious as Garvenal took every opportunity to shower him with praise.

  They had decided it would be best to wait until the meal ended. Taron’s reasoning suggested that, if it went badly, they would not have ruined a good meal. She tensed as he addressed her father.

  “If it pleases you, may I have a word in private?”

  “Of course, son. We shall retire to my study.” He stood, and Taron caught her eye, briefly clasping his hands as though in prayer.

  She smiled her reassurance, only to find her mother watching with her own encouraging smile, before standing to fetch a bottle of brandy-wine and four fresh goblets.

  After setting them on the table, she took Lareeta’s hand and pulled her out of her chair and into a rare hug. “I’m so thrilled for you, my darling. We both are. You could not have made a better match.”

  What? When? How? Lareeta felt sure the host of questions jumbled her face as she glanced toward her father’s study.

  Her mother gave another indulgent smile. “Do not let on I told you, but your father had another one of his visions that Taron would be asking for your hand. He sent a man to make enquiries in the village.”

  Wait. Another of his visions? Since when did her father, who was so firmly against anything which could be tainted with the label of magic, have visions?

  Oblivious to Lareeta’s confusion, her mother continued. “Being your father, he had a concern about Taron’s reasons for swapping one trade for another, but both the smith and the carpenter had nothing but good things to say about his honesty and diligence, a real point in his favour.”

  Even as she nodded, Lareeta squirmed at the implication, but reasoned it was no more than any father would do before agreeing to a match.

  Her mother rarely showed such enthusiasm. “Everyone vouched for his generosity, saying how friendly and virtuous he is, a surprising pillar of the community for one so young.”

  “He is the kindest, most generous man I know.” She arranged her features to hide her consternation at the idea of someone poking around asking questions in Avebury. How could he not find out about Taron’s participation in the old religion?

  “I can believe it. And when the priest sang his praises, Garvenal was ecstatic.”

  Lareeta frowned. Really? They’d only attended the church twice. Three times at most.

  “I knew it. You didn’t even know about his generous gift. That seems typical from what I have heard.”

  As the men returned from the study, she turned to her husband. “Can you believe what a true saint this man is? He didn’t even tell Lareeta he had donated the wooden benches so the congregation could enjoy the service in considerably more comfort than normal.”

  Her father beamed from ear to ear. “Nothing about this man would surprise me.” He clapped Taron on the back. “I hope you didn’t mind, but I hired a sleuth to ratify the scant facts about you.”

  Taron’s ability as a mummer surprised Lareeta as he bowed low. “I would not expect anything less from any father. You would not wish your daughter to end up in the hands of some ruffian who might do her harm.”

  “Absolutely not. But thankfully, she has landed an extremely worthy man who is a credit to his parents and will be the best possible husband my daughter could wish for. The toasts, my dear.”

  As her mother filled the goblets, Lareeta gave thanks that her father’s sleuth had not found out anything which might diminish Taron in her father’s eyes.

  Garvenal led a toast to the pair of them and they all clinked goblets and sipped the fine wine.

  Taron cleared his throat. “I need to tell
you about the benches. My uncle donated the wood to cover his tithe.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure he did. But that is not the same as the amount of effort you put into sawing the planks and planing the wood or whatever it is you do.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “That’s as maybe. The priest praised the hours you put in, after a full day of work, and your willingness to accommodate his changes of mind about the design. He said he’s seldom seen such workmanship or generosity. ‘Inspired by God’ were his words.”

  On the journey home, Taron confessed that the wood was part of the clearance of a copse destroyed in order to prevent the spread of the assiduous wood ant which had infested several trees. But when she questioned the relevance, he assured her they had taken every precaution to eliminate the pest, only using good wood for the endeavour. But Taron being who he was, he still felt guilt at the manner of obtaining the logs.

  ’Twas of no matter. They now had her parents’ blessing.

  14 – Ostara Bliss

  Lareeta gazed around her beautiful chamber in Rielle’s house realising that she had barely two weeks before she would sleep there no more. Her father had generously paid for a house to be built close by so neither would have to walk far to work. She knew the land was not cheap on that side of town, but he had insisted, although the house was considerably smaller than the ones owned by Taysen and Sawyer. He suggested that when they became successful, they could add more rooms.

  The idea of spending the first night in her own home excited her beyond belief, but the thought of sharing a bed with Taron terrified her. She’d tried asking her unmarried friends, but they all giggled or blushed, asking how on earth she thought they would know. And she wouldn’t dream of approaching the older women – despite Dagda being only a few years older than her, she was probably the most intimidating of them all. Freya had the most to say; talking of the blood which proved the wife was still a maid.

  Frowning, Lareeta remembered her question about whether the bleeding every moon would stop after she was no longer a maid. Marena had shrugged and the other girls had turned the conversation to other things.

  As the excited chatter intruded on her private moment, she realised it would probably be the last one she got that day. Giving thanks for the good fortune which had come her way since setting foot in this house, she walked down the stairs to be met by the various oohs and ahhs of her bridemaidens.

  “You look so beautiful, pale blue really matches your eyes.” Freya squeezed her hand.

  Not to be outdone, Lyrelie took the other one. “Every man will be unable to keep his eyes off you.”

  Cedany stepped forward and adjusted her sash, her smile wry. “Then I shall tell Baxter to keep his closed.”

  Amid the giggles, Lareeta winked at her best friend. “Then he wouldn’t see how gorgeous you look. Pink is a lovely colour for all three of you.” She gathered the girls to her, embracing them all.

  As they all donned their outer garments, Lyrelie asked a question she’d obviously been bursting to ask. “I’ve never heard of a handfasting on a Sunday before. Why did you not have it three days ago at Ostara?”

  “Because we wanted to keep it small and private. There would be too many people at the Sabbat, and we could not manage to feed them all.”

  A knock at the door startled them and Cedany flew to open it. A liveried footman took a deep bow. “A carriage for the bride, courtesy of Baxter.”

  They rushed out to see the pony and trap festooned with forget-me-nots and blue ribbons fluttering in the breeze.

  Tears stung the corners of Lareeta’s eyes and she hugged Cedany. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”

  “It’s quite a walk to the henge from here, and I didn’t want those lovely boots getting all muddy.” Cedany winked as she pulled the veil down.

  “Sorry to hurry you, ladies. But we should get going if you want to make it by noon.” The man, who Lareeta recognised as Baxter’s father, helped them onto the cart and walked alongside, leading the horse at a stately pace down the lane to the henge. It was nothing like as far as Cedany had made out, and in no time, they were being helped down to the sun circle where a small group of family and friends gathered.

  Lareeta was glad of the fleece-lined cloak Rielle had designed, providing them for all four girls. It held the chilly March breeze at bay, and included a hood which would keep off the rain. The muff from Taron warmed her hands, and Freya had fashioned a couple of ribbons so she could carry the posy of primroses and forget-me-nots without exposing her hands to the chill wind.

  In the absence of her father, Taysen had happily escorted her from the stone circle to the solar stone where Taron stood, tall and proud, Baxter by his side. They wore matching tunics in the same blue as her dress, with short cloaks in a darker blue.

  Taron stepped forward to lift her veil, with a mute enquiry in his eyes.

  Nodding reassurance that she was, indeed, all right, she listened to the Archdruid’s welcome and short address. In the interests of brevity, he explained he would ask the questions of both of them together. Taron answered first and she echoed his responses in the loudest voice she could muster.

  Wary of the cold, they’d kept their vows short and chosen a single cord with three knots, so the entire ceremony was over in around half an hour, but that was the way Taron had wanted it. He stood forward at the end, inviting everyone to return to Rielle’s house for some hearty pottage and mulled wine, “to warm you all up.”

  Rielle and Taysen acted as mother and father to the bride, and Sawyer and Dagda happily stepped in to play the parts of Taron’s parents, who had both died when he was young.

  There were no formal speeches as such, but Taron stood and thanked everyone for coming, explaining that they would be married again in St Mary’s church in Marlborough on the following Sunday. “You are welcome to come, but I do not expect people to travel all that way. I promise, you would not enjoy the mass. There’s a lot of chanting in Latin and plenty of standing, sitting and kneeling, but no dancing.”

  “Thank you very much, but it’s not to my taste.” Sawyer raised his beaker of wine and sipped. “I went into the church here one Sunday and it made my head hurt.”

  Dagda slapped his arm. “You are going whether you like it or not. The lad has so few relatives, it wouldn’t be right for us not to go.” She toasted Taron. “Don’t you worry; I will have him there and joining in like he’s been doing it his entire life.”

  Most of the people there thought the same as Sawyer, and Lareeta was glad because more people there meant a greater possibility of her father finding out. She fully intended to tell him at some point, but probably not until the first child came along. Until then, Taron’s participation in the church’s way of life should be more than sufficient; he did not have to do that.

  The feast was a modest affair with less than two dozen people, and between them, the women had cooked many tasty dishes. At this time of year, fresh fruits and vegetables were sparse, and they augmented them with whatever dried or pickled items remained in their store cupboards. The workroom girls had carefully constructed a cake using mostly flat pancakes and biscuits so they could build it quite tall. Nothing like tall enough, and Taron had no problem kissing her without risk of a single element toppling.

  They ate, drank and chatted until sundown, when people started leaving. Rielle and Taysen stayed in the inn, whose owner was glad of the business, and Cedany slept in Dagda’s spare room, so they had the house to themselves.

  Lareeta lay in her bed, waiting for Taron, near fainting with apprehension. When he knocked on the door, she bade him enter.

  He had not changed out of his fine tunic, and he gazed at her for longer than she was comfortable with.

  “What are you waiting for? Get out of those fine clothes and come to bed.” She patted the space beside her, but he did not move.

  “You are so beautiful, Lareeta. I love you so much, and tonight I am the luckiest man in the world to have yo
u here, as my wife. It is everything I have ever dreamed of.”

  “Are you afraid, too?”

  “Yes. Afraid that, in your father’s eyes, we are not yet married. So, if we couple tonight, it will not be legal.”

  “But we are married according to your religion. And he will never know.”

  His gaze travelled over her body, filled with a fiery light. “You are sent to tempt me. Believe me, I want nothing more than to feel the length of your body against mine, but I would rather wait.”

  “Would you?” Lareeta was assailed by an unreasonable urge, and drew the covers back, revealing the outline of her body in the cotton chemise.

  He groaned, his eyes devouring her as he approached the bed. Shaking his head, he dropped beside her and ran his hands over her gown, then scooped her toward him.

  As he gazed into her eyes, she poured out all her love for him, wanting nothing more than for him to introduce her to the delights whispered about by gaggles of married women. His mouth touched hers in their first real kiss. Without the mores of propriety holding her back, she allowed herself to respond with wild abandon.

  When he finally broke away, panting, his eyes glittering in the dim candlelight, she regretted her wanton behaviour, no doubt brought on by too much liquor. She had no experience of any of this aspect of life; nothing but second-hand tales of what her father would call debauchery. Although living away from home for so long had released her from the actual restrictions her father imposed, she was still bound by his disapproval of anything pertaining to one of the body’s most natural functions.

  The last thing she expected was for Taron to be the first to pause the passion which had built between them.

  “Forgive me, my love. Trust me, I want nothing more than to consummate our union, but I fear I would not do you justice. I have drunk far more liquor than I am accustomed to, and …”

  Her finger stilled his mouth and she smiled. Her voice caught as she sought to reassure him. “I – I am content to wait a few more days. I’m sure it will be all the sweeter for the anticipation.”