The Chieftain Needs an Heir - a Highland ménage novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions)

by Carmichael, Jonnet

  She lay a long time in the water, wondering when her husband would be brought to her, and the feelings gathering within her made her glad when it came time to be dried. She stood meekly as Oona dabbed the cloth over all her skin from top to bottom, and then down her legs. A tingling had been upon her since late this morn and even the innocent touch of a woman fired her longing for Niall.

  The ceremonial robe was much like the ones the Wisewomen had donned after the green pennant was put in the window. Quite plain, and soft and voluminous, and with Celtic knotwork around its edges and all down the front. It gave no hint of what lay underneath and she wondered aloud to Oona if she should stay naked in bed for Niall's arrival.

  "It is yerself will go to him, milady," said Oona with a smile that lit the room.

  A rhythmic knocking came, so reminiscent of a clarsach tune that it lingered in Sorcha's mind even after the knocking had stopped, stirring her blood like a drumbeat.

  Oona unlocked the door. "Come wi' us now, milady," said Oona. "It is time."

  Hilde and Cecily curtsied to the chieftain's wife and turned to lead the small procession to a room deep beneath the castle.

  In the Vault sat the Bard in the middle of a half-circle of five chairs facing the fire. To his right sat Niall and Hector, their heads high, seeing nothing in the fire save the needs of the clan, keeping their minds' focus on their part in helping by whatever way they would each be called to do.

  To the Bard's left sat Ruaridh, who had entered the Vault in a decent enough state of mind but had since been disturbed by his wife Mirren's inability to stop talking.

  None had been allowed to speak since being fetched here by the Wisewomen. All but one had taken heed of the rule and obeyed the Bard. That same one had yet another complaint.

  "And I have an bellyache also. Have ye a remedy to hand for that, at the least?"

  The Bard looked to Mirren in warning yet again, and looked away again without reply.

  "I said… have ye a remedy for my bellyache?"

  This time the Bard looked to Ruaridh.

  This time Ruaridh took his wife outside none too gently by the arm, and a minor altercation was heard in the corridor before a pattern of knocks came upon the door.

  "Ruaridh MacKrannan and wife – enter," called the Bard.

  The couple resumed their seats and silence reigned. But Ruaridh's face was hot with anger. It did not bode well for his part in this Tradition if he could not regain his focus.

  The Bard heard a distant humming, and was thankful for it. He put three applewood logs on the fire, passed round the mead he'd held back for the moment, and had just sat back in his chair by the time the humming came close and he heard one of the entrances to the Chamber of the Green Man giving way. The company stirred around him in curiosity though their eyes stayed on the fire.

  It was time to tell the clan's history of Fertility Traditions, and what part each would have in this one, and what qualified each of them to be here. But just in case Mirren started up with her nonsense again, he thought it better to rearrange his speeches.

  "MIRREN, wife of Ruaridh MacKrannan the son of the Chief of the Name of MacKrannan – I address ye."

  Mirren preened in self-importance, oblivious to the Bard's intention to shut her up by giving her the first attention.

  "Ye are here only by privilege as the wife of Ruaridh to witness his deed. Ye are forbidden to speak again until the Tradition is complete before the sunrise. This Tradition can be enacted without yer presence. This Tradition will be enacted without yer presence if ye disobey the rules and conventions, and a penalty incurred for yer disturbance."

  Her face turned from dropped-jaw outrage to sour attacking mode and finally to the blankness of incredulity when none present, not even her husband, made the slightest change to their own to defend her.

  "RUARIDH MACKRANNAN, son of the Chief of the Name of MacKrannan and brother of the chieftain Niall – I address ye. Ye are here to do deed in the Tradition called the 'Remedie For Wyfes Too Talle'."

  The Bard was about to explain some things, such as the fundamentals, but decided he'd given quite enough information for the moment and let the silence descend. Oona could do it later.

  Ruaridh would have preferred to hear more, such as a vague idea of the deed expected, but was distracted by Mirren's audible seething beside him. They would no' be going to the kirkyard to bond wi' spirits o' the ancestors at all. An active part in this Tradition? That required focus. 'Wives too tall' had to refer to Sorcha. He stared at the fire and closed his mind to his misbehaving wife, searching for the composure he had known after the Wisewomen's cleansing.

  "HECTOR MACKRANNAN, carnal son of Lucinda the daughter of the deceased Michiel, once Chief of the Name of MacKrannan – I address ye. By calculation of genealogy, ye are the nearest surviving kinsman of the chieftain Niall beyond his brother Ruaridh. Also, ye do fall within the age range preferred for this Tradition. As such, ye are here to do deed in the aforementioned Tradition."

  Hector had already worked out the kinsmanship for himself, for he'd had a few Summonses over the years because of it. What in hell's name was this all about? What deed could himself and Ruaridh be asked to perform that his age would matter?

  Training in the king's army should have made him let the need for reasoning go, for he was so accustomed to carrying out bizarre royal orders that he had learned not to question his superiors' decisions. This was different. His forebodings had served him well since his return and it took work to suppress their rising within him now.

  His mind was completely focussed on the wellbeing of the clan. Whatever the deed was, he would do it – and do it well. Trust was everything with the MacKrannans. He squirmed in his chair a little, it being so small for a man of his height that his knees were near at his shoulders, and his thoughts turned to working out who was the Too Tall Wife. It could only be Niall's wife Sorcha. And since she had not been Summoned to the Vault, there didn't seem much to be done for her except chant the incantations and the like.

  Was it her height they planned to remedy? He squirmed all the more, aware that at eight inches over six feet he was taller than any he knew, and hoping to hell they did no' think he needed remedied himself.

  The Bard broke the silence again and Hector had another piece of the puzzle.

  "NIALL MACKRANNAN, chieftain of Clan MacKrannan, son of the Chief of the Name of MacKrannan – I address ye. Seven and twenty moons have waxed and waned since ye took Sorcha to wife, and no bairns born to her, and upon that marker the Green Book of MacKrannan Fertility Traditions was opened for the first in over a hundred years..."

  It seemed an age to Niall since he had sat in this very seat and heard the same damning words from the Bard. The mead was different this time, though. A purer taste of ambrosia and royal jelly. An effect of heightening the senses rather than dulling the reactions. The warrior in him felt the charge run through his body. The responsibility to the clan, the fealty to his king, the vision of victory now Sorcha with their hoped-for babe. He was ready, whatever the Bard might ask of him.

  Hector listened to the 'no bairns born' being topped with 'Fertility', and the penny dropped with a stupendous clatter. He took his eyes off the fire, stared at the Bard, and tried to work out what the hell was going on here.

  The Bard sat wondering if he had lost track of who knew what, because so many people were directly involved in this Tradition and all in different ways. Hector's reaction to the mention of Fertility bade him realise that no, neither the Wisewomen nor the Summons nor himself had even mentioned the Tradition's main theme. Indeed, the only one arriving at the Vault with some idea that intimacy might be involved was Niall, and all he knew was the remedy's full title

  Should he fix that now? Maybe better to wait until the Wisewomen had Sorcha all ready. Explaining it all twice was the route to confusion.

  The fidgeting and the unasked questions now sparkled around the Vault. More of a fizzing undercurrent of edginess, if truth be t
old. He wished the Wisewomen would bloody well hurry up.

  There was one task would keep the present company occupied a minute and break the tension.

  "This is a barefoot Tradition. All o' ye…"

  And he took off his own boots and hose and laid them under his chair to set the example.

  Sorcha was being toured barefoot around a rather large circular room she had not known existed, and once the door was closed she could hardly see where it was amongst the rich carvings. The Chamber of the Green Man had no windows and the only light came from the blazing fire, surrounded by a grand arch of carved wood trimmed on the outside with leaves and blossoms and berries. The Wisewomen walked her round contrary to the sun's path, which Sorcha thought unusual for them, until she saw that a story in a sweep of frescoes was being shown to her in reverse. At each stage they lit a candle in the holders set into the floor, illuminating the paintings one by one.

  It began with a depiction of the Green Man, pagan god of fertility, foliage pouring from his mouth and all over his face to become his hair and skin. Another candle was lit, and Sorcha saw a handsome MacKrannan Chief, a grandly dressed fellow with the three eagle feathers in his bonnet. The fresco melted into MacKrannan Castle with the sea and the mountains and another candle brought the clansfolk into view, and the village and the outlying cottages and farms, the fields lush with grains and crops and with livestock and their young. Further candles showed the fresco turn into a painting of an infant held lovingly in a man's two hands, and the babe holding a single eagle feather in his own tiny fist.

  The chamber had the feel of a place of ceremony, for above the frescoes Sorcha could see the domed ceiling with highly ornate paintings of sheaves of harvest grains, swirls of fruits flowing from cornucopia, and hives with swarms of bees flying among the stars in the cosmos. The oak floor was a work of art in itself, all carved from varying colors of woods to reflect the scenes in the ceiling, and feature made of a circle of stars.

  The Wisewomen did not speak, concentrating only on lighting candles and watching milady's face as she absorbed the panorama.

  A goddess heavy with child was revealed next, and Sorcha felt a pang of longing at the look of contentment in her smile. Another candle brought the same goddess with the same contented look and a much flatter belly, the placement of her two hands on her robe showing she knew what was to come.

  The last candle had three wicks. Even with the enhanced light, Sorcha strained to make out the subject of the final fresco. It seemed to be part of an arch covered in vines and leaves, and she could see a man's bare shoulder and part of his back… and entangled in the arch's vines was a woman's hand, and the man's hand gently covering it.

  The heady fragrance from so many of Oona's candles all at once was quite dizzying, even in such a large space. The theme of the fresco she'd seen in reverse was obviously the cycle of fertility for the MacKrannans. And here was the beginning, the arch signifying the gateway to procreation. Sorcha felt the gateway calling to her in a faraway siren, and her feminine places ached for Niall. She walked slowly around the frescoes again, in the correct order of time passing sunwise, taking in the whole story at once and walking past the fireplace to the beginning again.

  The arch and the man's hand atop the woman's… Never had she felt readier to join with Niall. This bower of love and fertility would make their coupling all the more beautiful. She looked to the paintings of the goddess with a babe in her womb and knew that their son would be conceived here this night. Her nipples brushed against the inside of the soft robe and a shiver ran through her.

  "Will ye bring the chieftain to me now, Oona? I can wait no longer to be with him."

  "I will. It is time," said Oona, as if enchanted herself. She pointed to a star on the floor, the one nearest the fire. "Venus is yer place to be when he comes. Hilde and Cecily will wait wi' ye."

  The two neophyte Wisewomen led Sorcha to her place in the circle and took their own places on the stars either side of her. Sorcha nearly laughed, but did as she was bid and wiggled her toes on the carved rays, relishing the sensation.

  "Only for now. Niall and myself will hardly have need o' company!" Her gaze swept the room from her prime vantage point. The bonniest of places for their reunion… all it needed now was the bed she was sure the Wisewomen would soon fetch.

  Oona bowed her head to still Sorcha's speaking and when she again looked up, it was very much in her Grandam Wisewoman persona.

  "Sorcha…" It sighed out like a call from the cosmos, and she let the informal address sink into milady's mind before continuing. "Seven and twenty moons have passed since ye wed the chieftain Niall. The next moon is upon us and the Heir's Cradle must be filled. The Wisewomen have prepared ye for a Fertility Tradition. All our Traditions are witnessed."

  Oona walked to the wall and pulled a lever concealed in the carving of mistletoe. A man-sized section swung open to reveal a short passageway cut through solid rock. At the end of the passage, Oona lifted a wooden staff from its hanger and banged on the connecting door to the Vault. And then she went to check on the fire, for it must stay burning without attendance for some time to come. Aye, the huge log of applewood trunk would burn all night, and she bade thanks for its service in the chamber's art and for its duty in what was to come.

  Sorcha wanted to run to Niall when he appeared from the passage after the Bard, but the Wisewomen stilled her. She could only watch as he was placed on a star near directly opposite her, and his brother Ruaridh placed next to him, then Mirren… what were they doing here? And Hector! She hadn't known he was home. Niall and Ruaridh had their heads bent over to come through the passageway, but poor Hector was bent almost double. She'd forgotten how tall he was.

  Oona closed the passageway entrance, and came to stand in on the last vacant star between Mirren and Cecily.

  "The circle is closed," she announced. "None may leave their place, nor speak, unless directed by the Bard."

  Happy though Sorcha was to see Niall again, she could not hide her disappointment. Just a circle meant something like incantations only. She would have to wait even longer to be with him and he looked so fine in a new shirt, so appealing in the way he gazed upon her, so vibrant and clean and ready…

  "ALL HERE, I ADDRESS YE," said the Bard. "We assemble to enact and to witness a Fertility Tradition between Niall, chieftain o' MacKrannan and his wife Sorcha. Upon the seven and twentieth moon with no heir, the Green Book of MacKrannan Fertility Traditions was opened for the first time since Niall's great-great-great-grandmother had need of help. And at that time it was found that the more ancient remedy known as the 'Remedie For Wyfes Too Talle – The Pushyng In Of Spend' was the most effective in her case, other remedies having already been tried. We have seen that Sorcha is tall for a lass, and the Green Book says that in such cases a husband's Spend needs some helping up if it is to reach her womb for seed to take..."

  Dear, dear, thought the Bard. He really should have ensured that Sorcha was told at least the title of the remedy before she arrived. The way she had crossed her legs there and bent over… maybe she was sensitive about her height. And Ruaridh and Hector were looking quite stunned. And Mirren was about to speak unless quick forestalled. He held up a stern finger and she thought the better of it.

  The Bard was obliged to tell the history of each Tradition before its enactment. The trouble with any of the Fertility Traditions was that none had heard the stories beforehand, it being considered unwise to rub the noses of the bloodline in their failings to provide heirs, and such Traditions being so infrequent. He was still no' convinced that hearing the full story behind this one would bring any relief to those who must enact it. The best he had managed was to keep the true details until all were safely in the Chamber of the Green Man and binded to obedience without objection.

  "This Tradition first began many, many centuries ago in the time of the Viking longships coming to our coastlines, when one of their descendants wed Coinneach the Chief and produced no bairns. An
d Coinneach was fond of his Tall Wife, and did no' want to wed another. And although his brothers had many carnal sons atween them, there could be no legitimate son in the Heir's Cradle, for his brothers were not yet wed.

  "So Coinneach assembled his brothers and his Tall Wife at an oak tree in the forest grove, and the Wisewomen instructed the Tall Wife to cling onto the vines of mistletoe and ivy on a certain overhanging branch, and to stay there until bidden otherwise. And Coinneach did hook her gown up on the vines also, and did Spend in her, and his brothers came after him and Pushed In the Spend. And this was repeated until she was got with bairn.

  "Such was Coinneach's delight at the remedy's success that he built the Chamber of the Green Man beside the Vault for all Fertility Traditions to be enacted in comfort and privacy. And thus Coinneach's Tall Wife was honored.

  "And as the years passed, and ignorance turned to knowledge, this remedy was modified and the abundant Rules of Engagement written in the Green Book's pages. And there it is added how effective this remedy was for Niall's great-great-great-grandmother, for she had many bairns in years to come, even after the Chief's brothers were killed in battle and his cousins used for the chore."

  The Bard took a wee pause here, for it was the next bit would affect those around him in the circle, and he must be sure they were paying full attention.

  "The remedy called the Pushyng in of Spend is written for the First Moon as this. The husband will Spend in his wife. And after him a second man who is fresh and unspent will Push the Spend in further. And after him a third man will do likewise. This second man will be Ruaridh. The third man will be Hector."

  He stopped to let the news sink in.

  Looking around the circle to gauge reactions, he saw the two Wisewomen had left their stars to hold Sorcha's hands… or were they holding her up? Sorcha was in shock, but apart from that she was looking well, verra well indeed. Oona's bees and eating habits had worked their wonders. The Bard looked past Oona who already knew all about the remedy, and Mirren he didna care about, and on to Ruaridh. Caught! Flushed, but no displeased. The remedy would save him the bother of going wenching for once.