by Hawke, Jessa
For Fingall, that had meant he’d immediately become the head of Dhugall’s family. He’d seen to it that the fallen had all been brought home for burial, excepting Colin McIntosh’s brother. Once their betrayal had come to light, it had been agreed to leave him to the crows.
Fingall spent his days caring for the cattle, and he had more than ever. All of McIntosh’s stock and property was awarded to Murron for her and the children, by agreement of the village elders. It also meant Fingall was doing the tasks that had fallen to Dhugall before. He spent far more time than usual around his young niece and nephew, and he tried to take all of his meals at the Dhugall’s cottage. It also meant he was seeing far more of Jocelyn.
Initially, their mutual interest had been dimmed, seeming improper in light of Murron’s and the children’s loss. After Dhugall’s body had been properly buried, weeks went by. There was no question of Jocelyn leaving. At the same time, the warmth between Fingall and Jocelyn grew, gradually at first, then stronger so that no one could miss it.
“You’ll need to marry her, and soon, you realize.” Mártainn had reminded him. It was their first fishing they’d tried together since Dhugall had passed. Mártainn’s own war wounds had healed almost fully. Some remarked that he seemed a bit slower in his memory for a time after, but eventually even that returned to its old strength.
“I know it. But I’m so busy taking care of Murron and the children.”
“No one says you need be there for them at all times. You are doing honorably in caring for them, but Murron is a strong woman. She will remarry, never fear it. There are some who would court her, when the proper mourning period has been decided to have ended.”
“It’s not over yet.” Fingall declared, knowing it was for him to decide. He thought it strange that he should have such control and say over his sister-in-law’s life, but such things were never questioned in the clan. He had once said as much to Murron in happier days, that he wondered that women did so much for men. She’d laughed at it.
“If we didn’t do this work, you men would be helpless children living in your own filth. I am amazed you manage to clean up after yourself on your own at all. Though, I confess I’ve never understood why you don’t even attempt to learn these skills!”
“I do well enough.” He’d claimed, and it had been true. But Murron hadn’t objected and now that he was the man of the family, he found the unexpected responsibility to be a burden; one he would try to shoulder honorably and without complaint.
Turning away from his memory and returning to his conversation with Mártainn, he informed him, “It’s not over and won’t be until Colin McIntosh lies dead in the ground. On that she and I agree.” He told the blacksmith.
“And how will you do that? He could have gone anywhere.”
“Word has gone through the clans. He is known for his deeds now. Word is to be sent to me if he is seen. If that is so, I will find him and challenge him. Justice will be done.”
Mártainn shook his head, disbelieving. “You sound certain. Men like McIntosh don’t necessarily abide by the ancient customs of honor. I would be wary of his possible treachery.”
“And so I shall.” He agreed.
###
As time went by, it became clearer that the large amount of space in Fingall’s home was a better place for the family. As it became clear that Murron and her children were very dependent on him and he had no intentions of marrying his sister-in-law, he made a decision one night.
“Murron. You’ll mourn no more.” He told her after a day of hard labor caring for the cattle. The lands he was responsible for were too much for him; he’d enlisted his nephew and another kinsman to help with care of the cattle.
She had been cleaning the house and looked up from her work. “I thought it was your intention to wait until my husband had been avenged.” She said cooly.
Fingall sighed. “One day, and there can be no doubt in this, I will see McIntosh dead. But you have a life to live, two children to raise. You need to be free to take a husband again.”
“You don’t stake your claim upon me?” She checked.
“You know I think of you as a sister.” He noted.
“I know, and glad I am of it. Well- I’ll remind you that there’s one not far from us who has waited too long for your attentions.”
He nodded. “I know it. You’re her only kin. Will you object to my asking to marry her?”
Murron put both hands on her hips and laughed heartily. “Object to this match? As close as the two of you have become, I insist! It’s borders on unseemly, how you two carry on- and don’t carry on. Get married, finally!”
It was true. Wherever Fingall was, whatever work he was at, Jocelyn was at his side. They’d long since given up on traditional male and female work between the two. There was too much that needed to be done, and as she liked to say, she preferred to be useful. In the process, the flirtations between them were noted by all, to such an extent that it was the talk of the town as to when the pair would finally make it official.
He sighed with relief. Not that he expected opposition, but there was no way to be absolutely sure. “I’m going back to your old house to bring some things over. I’ll talk to Jocelyn on the way.”
“A good plan. Off you go, then!”
Jocelyn was in one of the out buildings, preparing feed for the cattle. He told her his plan to bring some of Dhugall’s family’s things over to the house, and she readily agreed.
As they approached the door, he looked up at the building. “Eventually, I should likely tear this down. Use it the boards for something else around the farm.”
“So you don’t plan to see us move in here?” She said with a twinkle in her eye.
“How do you know I’ll be asking you to marry?” He teased, opening the door. Before she could answer, a bolt was buried deep within his right bicep.
He shouted with fury. On the far side of the room, he spotted Colin McIntosh throwing down a crossbow and lifting up an axe. Fingall was unarmed, so he slammed the door with his good arm.
“Get out of here!” He yelled to Jocelyn. She hesitated, then ran around the building.
There was no one nearby who could help Fingall, so he held onto the door, bracing his feet. Colin tried to get out of the building, but found he couldn’t get out. Instead, he started to hack away at the door. It wasn’t the strongest wood, so it would only be moments before he was upon him, defenseless.
As the door began to splinter, Jocelyn came around the corner again, this time with a small axe used to chop wood. The moment he saw that, he let go of the handle and snatched the weapon back up from her.
“Now go!” He insisted, having no time for gratitude. She stood her ground and he realized she’d also brought a hoe, ready to use it to help defend him. He thought to demand she leave, but before he could do that, Colin stepped out of the door. The man was expecting he’d face nothing in return. Instead, he was taken by surprised and received the edge of the Fingall’s blade to his head.
When he was sure his attacker was dead, Fingall dropped the axe and went to Jocelyn, grabbing hold of her about the waist. “You saved us both.” He said, his voice cracking. “You saved us.”
“You did pretty well yourself, Fingall MacAllarran.” Jocelyn replied. They embraced, kissing hard and thrilled to still be alive.
###
The wedding of Fingall and Jocelyn was the event big event of the fall of 1411. All the village was in attendance, including Murron and her new beau, a kind baker by the name of Gerald. He had the approval of Fingall, and had shown himself to be a strong and honorable fighter at Red Harlaw, as the people of Bodhuvan had come to call it.
When the ceremony was over, there was a feast like none had seen in a long time. It was held at McAllaran's farm, with a rich meal contributed by all the families. After, there was much singing, music, and dancing. Fiddles, pipes, and all manner of instruments were broken out. Though he was no musician, Fingall sang at least one song, o
ne of Dhugall’s favorites.
“In honor of my brother who I know would have been pleased to see this day. May his memory never fade!” He said, raising a glass. They whole company drank, then drank to the happiness of Jocelyn and Fingall.
As he made the rounds of welcoming the guests and being congratulated, as Jocelyn did as well, Mártainn cornered him. “You’ve done well at last, Fingall!” The blacksmith told his friend. “Being a lifelong bachelor never suited you, you know.”
“I know, I know.” He laughed. “I thought my independence was all I craved. It was an excuse, I suppose.”
“You became too comfortable with your old ways, Fingall. But now the lovely Jocelyn will make an honest man of you.” He proceeded to lecture his friend on the best ways for a man to stay in the good graces of his wife. Though he appreciated the sentiment, the hours were growing late and the man, once in his cups, could hold forth endlessly.
“I think I should go to her now, before she loses her temper. A good idea, would you not agree?” Fingall said at last, patting his friend on the back.
“Certainly, certainly! It’ll never do to be gone so long.”
As their friends and family made merry, Jocelyn and Fingall were finally able to take their leave and adjourn to the cottage. “I thought we’d never be allowed to go.” She laughed as they entered the bedroom.
“Mártainn wouldn’t stop talking to me. You’d think the man would realize that I’d want some time with you eventually.”
“Well he’s well away now.” She said, looking about the room nervously. He heard her voice shaking as she spoke.
He put his arms around her. “Hey there. My lass, you needn’t be nervous.”
“You’ll have more experience in these things than me. I fear I’ll be a disappointment.”
“Nothing you do or say could ever disappoint me.” He said quietly, lifting her chin up with his hand. “You’re perfect and I’m bewitched by your beauty.”
Fingall caressed her arms and she reached up to touch his cheeks, run her fingers through his hair. They kissed, gently at first, then with increasing need. They pressed their bodies close. His breath quickened and they helped each other remove their wedding clothes. By the time each was naked, Jocelyn’s body was still shaking with nervousness and desire.
“Don’t… you won’t… hurt will you? Be gentle.” She warned.
He kissed her gently and whispered in her ear. “Tell me if you hurt at all. We’ll go as slow as you need. There’s no rush.”
“No rush.” She agreed, finding herself smiling. “I want you to feel good. I want this to be right, for you to love me.”
“I do love you, and you never need worry. We have the rest of our lives to get this right. Let’s take tonight to discover each other.”
She sat on the bed and he knelt down to kiss her neck, working his mouth down her neck and to her breasts. As his tongue moved gently around the curve of her breasts and her nipples, she sighed, feeling increasingly excited. She ran her hands along his back, his chest, and reached down to grasp and feel his erection.
He touched her as well, feeling the wet warmth between her legs. Her nervousness gone, she held onto him and they began to feel one another, she stroking his hardened shaft and he rubbing the her softly and rhythmically.
Quietly, though panting, he asked, “Have you ever been kissed there?”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand what you intend.” She asked. He responded but falling to his knees and gently pressing his lips to her. She was shocked at first by it, then found her mouth open with joy as his tongue ran along her, pressing and licking in ways she hadn’t imagined. Jocelyn held his head, leaned back, and moaned.
When he was finished, she felt curious. He stood full before her, so she sat on the bed, leaned down, and took him her mouth as well. His grateful gasps told her she was exciting him, and she felt her own excitement rise.
She stopped before he could become too excited. After kissing his chest and running her hands along the length of his body, she tired of the slow exploration, wanting him in her. She guided him in and he moved slowly, teasing and allowing her to adjust to him inside. When he was in as deep within her as they could meet, the slow, rising friction brought them to greater joy. She felt some discomfort throughout it, but when she did she let him know and he slowed or stopped enough for her to adjust and become comfortable. By the time they’d reached the end, she felt comfortable enough to touch herself as he moved within her and they both came to nearly the same release.
They lay together after, entwined and exhausted. “Is this real?” She asked, unbelieving. “Are we finally together and happy?”
“I’m happy.” He assured her. “And I’ll be with you for the rest of my days.”
###
Old Mártainn finished his final drink and blinked to try to wake himself up. He’d told his story as best he could, though his old wound to the head was said to have made him go a bit senile earlier than most. No one was entirely sure how old the man was, though, and given his great age some degree of forgetfulness was certain.
Though he hadn’t shared Fingall’s marriage night with his audience- they were certainly not details he was privvy to- he was able to tell them the broad strokes of Fingall and Jocelyn MacAllarran’s lives to the best of his ability. It wasn’t as though he was without some help.
“Now, I told you they married, but did I tell you they had children?” He asked. The audience laughed, and the middle-aged man to his left patted him on the back. The old man joined in, chuckling.
“Well, I suppose that part Dhugall MacAllarran can tell you his own self, could he not?”
“That I could, good sir.” Dhugall agreed. “For instance, I can say I’m pleased to have been named for my uncle and I’m do my best to give honor to both my names. But you’ve done so well in your storytelling, it’d be a shame to stop you now!”
“I’ll do my best.” He agreed. He steadied himself in his seat and sighed. “Sad to be the last of us from that time. Your mother, there was a wonderful woman. Gone these five years now. Your father passed only a year before.”
“They lived good long lives, sir, as have you.” Dhugall assured him.
“I have tried. And they have seen their five children all grow to adulthood and make them proud. Your two sisters, Jocelyn and Murron, have left the village and married well. Dhugall , Kieth, and Uilleam have each grown their stock to become the wealthiest men of the village. All of you have children of your own, most of whom your parents were able to know. Aye, I envy you your happy life ahead as the years before me grow dimmer.”
Dhugall cleared his throat. “Yet you fought at Red Harlaw, as did many of our town. If you are the last of those men, it is you I envy. I envy your bravery and your chance at honor.”
The last of the drinks were passed around and Dhugall stood. “To our ancestors and those who came before us. Let their memories never fade.”
THE END
His Reluctant Heart
Eddie stepped back to admire his handiwork, wondering when the realization of his the end of his bachelor status would set in. His life was about to change so drastically that he may never again have time to leisurely paint his own house. He probably wouldn’t be able to paint anyone else’s house while drunk either, since the beer slowed his speed considerably, and he’d have to keep better hours now. It never affected his precision, but his hand couldn’t keep up with the speed of his thoughts. He set down his empty glass of ale and ran his dark blue pupils over the cream-colored walls again. The windowsills were painted a true blue, smooth and nearly has deep as his eyes, and the steps and railing were the same shade. He hoped his new bride like it; then the next second a voice within him scolded the thought. What are you, a wuss? Who cares if she likes it.
Your uncle probably will, he reminded himself. His Uncle Raymond was counting on him to make this marriage stick, unlike his own father had done with his series of wives. By the time Eddie was
four, his mother, Lola, was living with her sister and allowed the confused boy to see his father one day a week, if that, and never while he was drunk (after the first time Eddie came home with singed pants: his father had accidentally lit him on fire with a cigarette). His Uncle never wasted breath tiptoeing around the fact that he feared Eddie would turn into Edward Senior, and this was no different. Raymond reminded Eddie of his father’s last words, spoken before he’d died of a head injury.
“I promised your father I’d take care of you,” Raymond said gruffly a month before Eddie’s bride was due to arrive. “And I’ve done that. I gave you a plot of land, materials for houses, and taught you to build and paint. And you done good in some respects,” Raymond said hurriedly as he saw Eddie’s face grow red. “But you ain’t taking real good care of yourself.”
“I’m fine, Uncle Ray.” Eddie had grown tired of lectures by the time he turned 16. “I work, I rest, I work some more. I don’t need anyone to help, and when I find someone, I’ll settle down. I’m not an old man yet.”
