But was the man focussed? Luck if Mirren would speak out again, for Ruaridh would do his part infinitely better with her gone.
He'd missed Niall's first reaction because of starting with Sorcha, so he looked now to the chieftain once the news had settled in. A bit wider about the eyes but still the warrior, accepting orders from the king's messenger and giving orders to the clan's military contingent and getting the job done. Nothing would faze him. For all Niall's eyes were on Sorcha, his mind was focussed on the clan and getting the Heir's Cradle filled. The Wisewomen had done a grand job there.
Big Hector had much the same look of the soldier who would get the job done for the good of his MacKrannan bloodline. The Bard could only see his profile, Hector being next to him in the circle, but he followed his line of vision. Hector was staring at Sorcha, and it was as if he were saying sorry. Fair enough, for Hector's manners were impeccable. As long as he wasna crying off, for he was so perfectly suited to the task that it would a pity for him no' to manage.
On with it, then.
"The Grandam Wisewoman will now give the first set of the Rules of Engagement she has transcribed and summarized from the ancient script."
Oona fetched a parchment from up her commodious sleeve, cleared her throat, and began.
"The First Rule for the First Moon. The husband must Spend in his Tall Wife, for that is the Spend for Pushing In. The second man will then enter the wife and keep Pushing In the Spend until he is ready to spend himself outside of her. Thus it is proven he was virile enough for Pushing in the Spend of the chieftain, and that his potency grew to the utmost size he could muster. The third man likewise to the second."
Sorcha thought the easiest way out would be to curl up and die of the shame. Despicable enough it was to have seven witnesses, and now her longed-for reunion with Niall was going to be a free-for-all. But she'd get through it. Better this than having an 'accident'. Better than being poisoned or being thrown from her horse down a gulley like some other wives in the clan's history – and that kind of remedy would be no different in any other clan, and even worse among the nobility.
Niall's eyes had never left her, yet her eyes stole to the men either side of him.
Ruaridh had the nerve to be red in the face when it was herself would be the one ravaged by three different men. And then she saw that what she'd thought embarrassment was lust… Ruaridh? Where had that come from?
She looked back to her husband quickly and found love in his eyes, and saw his pride in her, just like at their Coupling of the Chieftain after their wedding. She could no' let him down.
Beside him stood Hector, the only man she'd ever known who made her look extremely dainty. She was right glad he would be last… if he managed this Tradition at all, for he was covered in apology and hung his head when she looked his way now.
Easier if it were two strangers. Or would it…? Ruaridh and Hector were at least handsome big men in the peak of physical condition, same as her husband. They even had the same dark hair and eyes. More than once she'd mistaken Ruaridh for his brother at a distance.
There was nothing to be done about this but get it over with. A wife's duty was to fill the Heir's Cradle. She had failed. If this brought her a son, so be it.
"The next Rule of Engagement is this," said Oona, her finger moving down the parchment. "The Tall Wife must have her own bliss three times, for it is the clenching of the wife draws the husband's seed into her womb. The husband may cause his Tall Wife only one bliss, for she must clench twice during the Pushing In."
Sorcha was so overripe for coupling that she just might have her first bliss before anyone touched her. Even the floor carving of the Venus star was tingling her toes and sending tremors through her. The Tradition would be over quickly if it were just Niall. He could bring her a lot more than three blisses in one night… and even the remembrance of his clever ways sent a jolt through her. This Rule could be a worry, for she had no idea if Ruaridh and Hector's skills would be adequate to give her the further two blisses required.
And then Oona made the worry much worse.
"The next Rule of Engagement is this. The husband will Spend facing his wife, for this is his wife. The second man will Push the Spend In from the back, for this is not his wife, and likewise the third man..."
Sorcha realised just how ignorant her husband's ancestors had been. Didn't everyone know that fertility was increased if your husband spent from behind you? Even though she didn't have four legs, she trusted her advisers that nature's ways were the best for breeding. And she saw Ruaridh's face, even redder than before, and suspected Niall's Spend would be well pushed in no matter the position it had come from.
"…And the next Rule of Engagement is this. The Tall Wife will go willingly to the arch and… Ach, we have forgot the arch! Hilde… Cecily… if ye please."
Sorcha heard some clicking sounds behind her. Suddenly the two Wisewoman were passing either side, and an archway appeared over her head and was taken to the centre of the circle. The arch looked familiar. She stole a glance over her shoulder and saw it had indeed come from the fireplace, the one covered in leaves she'd thought just trimming on the surround. The Wisewomen fixed it into place by lifting two carved planets from the floor and clunking the ends firmly down into the slots until the first of the leaves met the floor.
On her left, Sorcha could see this arched bower's counterpart in the fresco at the beginning of the cycle of procreation. And there was the man's bare shoulder, and his hand atop a woman's hand among the vines.
"And the last Rule of Engagement is this. Any of the three men may choose a woman in her fertile years from the circle to rouse him, for the three men will be without the touch of the Tall Wife holding the arch. And thus will the other women in the circle assist the Tall Wife and the chieftain and the Pushing In of Spend in this Tradition."
Oona slipped the parchment up her sleeve. "And that is the last Rule of Engagement for the First Moon. The Rules for the Second Moon will be told at the Second Moon, should a Second Moon be required. Are there any questions from the…?"
She was interrupted by Mirren before the word 'participants' left her mouth.
"What kind of witch are ye, Oona… putting three men on the one barren wife and my husband among them? This is naught but a bitch in heat and a pack o' hounds upon her!" she spat. "What say ye of such foul Traditions, auld Bard? Address me a' ye like now!"
A collective intake of breath came from the circle, and Ruaridh turned away from his wife. Mirren's insult went beyond the two people she hurled it at. The insult was to all Wisewomen and their roles as midwives, herbalists, nurses to the sick and dying, animal physicians and Keepers of the Traditions. To insult the Bard was even worse, for his role as genealogist, historian, storyteller, poet and Keeper of the Books of Tradition was to miscry the whole clan and the MacKrannan bloodline itself.
The Bard took a moment to calm himself before making reply. And when he did, his words were studied.
"MIRREN, wife wf Ruaridh Mackrannan, I address ye. The Traditions o' Clan MacKrannan are as ancient and honorable as the positions o' Bard and Grandam Wisewoman. The details of each Fertility Tradition are no' of my choosing, nor hers. They are chosen by the bloodline only, and developed by the clansfolk with the bloodline's approval.
"And I address ye to say there is a sore price to be paid for being of the bloodline, and for marrying into it, for the privileges are hard-earned through duties and responsibilities and dangers. When I lie wi' my wife at night I am verra glad to be a common man.
"And I address ye to say just one more word… just ONE MORE WORD out o' ye, and ye will be banished from the clan for the customary three years. Fine ye know that is the minimum penalty for disrespecting the Bard during a Tradition, for all but the Chief himself. Ye've been warned for the last time."
The chamber's energies were now in so much peril that Oona began humming the bees' song and was joined by Hilde and Cecily.
"All ye who are here,"
said the Bard, "turn yerselves to be the outer of the circle. The Grandam Wisewoman will decide when to resume the Tradition."
The Grandam Wisewoman gave him their covert hand signal to let him know he'd done the right thing, such wifely encouragement often being necessary when things went wrong.
The Bard made the decision to give the company time to re-focus on the business without having to look at each other. Had he broken the circle to allow chatter and walking around, he'd have been as well cancelling the Tradition altogether for the night. Ruaridh would be obliged to chastise his wife, and the further upset would no' be redeemable.
He was of a mind to let the Chamber of the Green Man work its own magic. From his turned position he looked directly at the second fresco, the goddess newly with child. He worked at gathering his mind back onto the business in front of his face, setting the example for those around him to do likewise. Oona had charted the placements in the circle to place folks opposite each other. He had no doubt that each here would see what they were meant to see now they were unexpectedly faced away, and then have it heavy on their necks when the circle was called in again.
Sorcha stared to the burning logs, trying to find grief for her lost friendship with Mirren, and discovering instead that the flames purified her thoughts of a person who would stop her filling the Heir's Cradle in the traditional way of the clan. The fire's dance in front of her was a help now. In her mind's eye it was in Niall's bedchamber with a chair beside it, and she watched him hold their son in his big hands, and smile at her belly growing with another.
That was her dream. She would do everything in her power to make it come true, and if that meant holding onto the arch while his Spend was pushed further in by Ruaridh and Hector, so be it.
And it crossed her mind that she knew plenty of women at the royal court who would do such a thing just for the fun of it. Her duty was to do nothing at all and yet be blissed three times by three men. A novelty that might never happen again in her whole life. Indeed, if she wanted to clench very strongly during her blisses to pull in the Spend, the more she enjoyed it the better.
She wondered how long it would be before Oona started the remedy. Her toes were still tingling on the Venus Star, and now the heat from the fire was fevering her for Niall's touch.
Niall looked to the fresco of a man's hands holding a babe, and the babe holding the single eagle feather in his wee fist. Trained by his father to quickly interpret any scene he burst in upon, he'd taken in the general theme when first he emerged from the passage. This would be the wee lad who grew to Chief near the end of the paintings' story, and conceived at its beginning at the arch. This would be the babe he saw in his vision of victory. Time was an odd thing. Always ye could look back, and whiles ye got to see forward.
And that damnable Mirren was trying to spoil it for him and Sorcha. A wily minx, she was, flirting with him and his friends. His brother never could see past her buxom tits to her devious ways. It would bother her none for Ruaridh to take part in this – and they had all witnessed Traditions far stranger.
Sorcha had fussed over their two bairns and loved them like the ones she didna have, and Mirren couldna stand to have her own bairns second best when the Heir's Cradle came to be filled. Ruaridh was different, giving him sensible advice on keeping his ballocks cooled and never wearing breeches instead o' his kilt. A good brother. He didna mind him being wi' Sorcha if it helped fill that cradle, and he knew it would take more than a misbehaving wife to put Ruaridh MacKrannan off his stroke.
And that thought took him to Sorcha's daily companion until the preparations for this Tradition. Mirren. If she was willing to risk banishment from the clan to stop Sorcha having bairns, what else had she been up to before this? His gut told him there was more to find beyond the many insults in her words. He'd ask the Wisewomen, the best spies he'd ever had.
Niall took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He must focus now on what would be lying ahead for him… or standing upright for him, according to the Rules. Right glad he was o' the experience his Coupling of the Chieftain Tradition had given him in being witnessed in the act. Right proud he was that Sorcha was no' going to be skittish about his brother and cousin's involvement. A chieftain's wife, ever brave and up for anything. He hungered to Spend inside her. One bliss she could have wi' him? He'd make her clench so tight…
And what in hell's name had the Wisewomen done to her? He'd never seen her bonnier! The fire toasting her lovely backside was no' enough to explain the smoulder coming out her eyes when first he'd espied her this night. Those flaxen locks fairly glinted in the candlelight, and her skin looked as if lit by a thousand more candles inside her. It was a long, long time since he'd seen Sorcha look this happy. And so pleased to see him that his ballocks ached along with his heart.
Niall went deep inside himself, to the silent place of his warrior spirit, and prepared to win for the clan. Their son would be conceived this night. He looked to the fresco of the man's hand holding the babe, and knew the single eagle feather would soon be needed. Victory was right there in front o' him.
Mirren looked to the fresco of MacKrannan Castle. Damned if the Bard would banish her from here!
She had one chance left this night. And it would be a fine way to punish Ruaridh for not defending her. When he asked her to rouse him, she would no' be very good at it – just this once.
Ruaridh looked to the fresco of the MacKrannan village and the cottages and all the clansfolk and felt swamped with responsibility and failure.
What if Niall was killed? After what Mirren had done, the clan would more likely call Hector home to be chieftain – and Ruaridh would be the first to agree with them. For all he'd done right in his life, the one thing he'd done hellishly wrong was to wed Mirren. She was fine wi' him, giving him bairns and playing the good wife but he'd fooled himself too long on how she treated other folk. Was there anyone left for her to insult this day?
To hell with her. She'd made herself the centre o' attention for no good reason. This was nothing to do wi' her. He must put her out his mind and focus on what had to be done for his brother and the clan.
Being told he was to couple wi' Sorcha had near knocked him flat. He could feel his face reddening yet at the news. It was short-lived. He'd remembered being a young untried lad, and their father sending a couple of wenches to teach him and Niall the business. But one of the wenches didna show up, so they'd shared the other atween them.
He'd never minded coming second to Niall in anything until then.
And he remembered describing the feeling in fair detail to his father, who laughed fit to burst and hollered to his mother to come hear about it, and them sending him another two wenches all to himself to make up for it.
Any minute now the Grandam Wisewoman would be reconvening this Tradition and he'd never felt less in the mood. Again his failings overwhelmed him. Even the thought of being inside his fantasy goddess did naught to help. Maybe his wayward thoughts about his brother's wife had come back to bite him. But he had a duty to Niall now, and to Sorcha, and to the clan. His only hope of carrying it out was to use that Rule of having a woman rouse him.
There in front of him was the painting of the clansfolk. Maybe it was a sign.
Hilde looked to the fresco of the arch and wished she were Sorcha, only because Sorcha would have Ruaridh fill her this night. Such thoughts were impure, and would not help this Tradition, but the Chamber of the Green Man was built for such dreams of love. Even the painting of the man's bare shoulder looked a bit like Ruaridh, for she'd seen him many times partly-bared for combat and swimming. It had taken all her willpower and Wisewoman training to focus on the purpose of his cleansing when she saw him naked. Having to wash his manhood with Cecily was a torture. She was sure her tongue was near half out her mouth, and scared he'd see her wanton longing.
It worried her how she would bear watching him couple with Sorcha. But Cecily and Oona both knew where her heart's secret lay, and had promised to compensate for
her third share of Wisewoman work if they saw her distracted.
Humming the bees' song helped. It took her mind to a higher plane where the sun might shine on star-crossed lovers, and Ruaridh was still available, and would want a Wisewoman instead of a Mirren.
And when she came back to herself, she focussed her mind onto the chieftain's wife, and the arch, and the next fresco along where Sorcha was early with child. Despite all the trials to reach this point, Hilde still had a good feeling that this would work out well. Sorcha was just lovely and the time in her bedchamber had flown past. And she liked to think that the time with the Wisewomen had made a difference to Sorcha's life already, far beyond keeping Mirren's seedcakes away.
Hector was so used to frescoes decorating the royal palaces and castles around Scotland that he didn't notice what was in front of him. His mind was back on his job as Captain o' the Queen's Bodyguard – not the guard rotas and suchlike, but in the mind-set of identifying motives and detecting crime.
Sorcha was the queen here this night. Mirren had been out to sabotage this Tradition since the Vault, and maybe before. He'd see what showed in her face when the chieftain made love to his wife. He was good at reading faces. Had to be, in his job.
Was it because Ruaridh would be wi' another woman? Nay. She put up with his wenching. Encouraged it, by all accounts, except when she'd wanted another bairn, and that was no' way to keep a man. There was something she'd said… 'three men on the one barren wife'. A resentment was there – and maybe a fear the Tall Wife remedy would work?
What benefit would it be to Mirren if Sorcha had no bairns? Her own son would become chieftain – and there was a fine motive for a woman whose face showed her bad thoughts from sunrise on. Or worse, for he was trained to imagine the worst just in case, how would she benefit if Sorcha was gone? …Had she a notion for Niall?
The Chieftain Needs an Heir - a Highland ménage novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions) Page 5