"Ideal, milord. It makes it an option rather than a mandatory act. And is it to be only the manual arts of husband-pleasing, or...?"
The Chief gestured again to Ishbel to get her quill poised.
"Ye're right, Hessa. Ranald might decide on different with his own wife. Phrase the husband-pleasing as 'manual or oral or other alternative arts, according to the lord's own desire'. Ye never know what the youngsters will dream up."
"And should we put in anything about the wife washing her lord first?"
"Ye saw that I always wash my own hands and cock after I've tended to a bride. Ach, put it in and make it official. Ginny always made sure there was plenty hot water and I see ye have continued with that."
"Three basins minimum, milord," said Hessa. "Milord, we are in total agreement with the wisdom of all ye have said. Ishbel, make sure to credit the Chief with this new rule's devising."
Elinor knew she had made yet another huge mistake, and one which would have consequences for herself as Ranald's wife. She would now have to sit and watch him deflowering brides, tutor the brides herself to rouse him before he breached them, carry out the pumping of his manhood afterwards, and all in front of witnesses. Or worse, for Sir Thommas had just laid it wide open for Ranald to have her do just about anything he wanted.
The Chief would not look at her. He rose from his chair and walked the room, thumbs in his belt either side of the big buckle, very much the head of the clan. He addressed his next remarks to a miniature planetarium bolted to the wall.
"Elinor, ye are a woman with verra little experience of men. It canna be assumed that Ranald will make choice to stay here in his role as chieftain, and considering all ye have said I would no' blame him if he decided ye were unworthy of the effort."
And then he turned and looked directly at her, engaging her eyes and sharing the secret between them.
Elinor felt much better for that. It was as if he were forgiving her without saying it aloud.
"…Go now to Lady Agatha, and tell her everything that has gone on here. And then take heed of whatever she says. Take verra good heed, ye hear?"
The Chief turned to Ishbel. "The notes from last eve, if ye please. My son and myself will discuss this Bride's Right further, afore he must do duty to Ginny."
Lady Agatha was horrified at Elinor's tale, and refused to give the instant advice expected of her.
"Let me think about this," she said cautiously. "Away and sit over there by the window and take the time with yer own thoughts... it'll do ye good this day."
She did not add that keeping quiet would do a lot more good than opening her mouth again. The girl departed to her banishment chair knowing that Agatha was not very pleased with her, which was her full intention.
This girl was the unexpected wife to the chieftain. Come the day, she would be the wife of the Chief of the Name of MacKrannan, a sobering thought, as well she herself knew.
Elinor Keirston had shown many fine qualities of character, and Agatha suspected her son was already a little in love with her. The behaviours she had displayed were obviously intended to get his attention, so Elinor must also be a little in love with her son. Thanks be to the cosmos for that, for the king's decree ensured they were stuck with each other regardless.
All other MacKrannans wed only for love. Elinor's public insults to Ranald would make love a difficult commodity to pursue now. He'd never been a lad any would want to cross, as his new wife had just found out. Treat him right, though, and he'd lay down his life for you and never think it any sacrifice. The lass didn't yet know what a fine man she'd been forced to wed.
And those comments about the manual easing of Sir Thommas afterwards? Born of utter ignorance! Even the method of last eve had been but a stop-gap measure until they were alone, and far better for him to have some immediate ease than to walk the corridor with his parts in a state.
Thommas sometimes returned to their bedchamber and said 'A pretty one, my dear – I nearly spent!' At such times she opened her arms and made sure he did, quickly, and within her own gates. Far more often it happened that Thommas returned after the bride had been plain and ordinary, and that was when he had most need of her.
'A free shag in a fresh hole', as Thommas recalled his fellow lords naming it, would cost him too much to accept. The Chief had honor. He'd only ever spent in his wife since their marriage thirty years past. Even now she expected him home before luncheon for a short visit to their bedchamber, his conjugal requirements being too ardent to restrict to the hours of darkness only. He had needs, and directed them more wisely than many of his kind.
Could Elinor not take it as a compliment that Thommas felt need to spend so soon after the taking of her mock virginity?
The girl had no idea how difficult it was for a man to achieve a hard cock with all and sundry females, some not in the least attractive, and keep it primed until the bride had blissed, however long that took. Nay, the Lord's Right was far from being a treat for a MacKrannan lord, and this new Bride's Right with all its rules was putting even more pressure on them.
Elinor had no family to keep her on the right path, to scold her when she did wrong and praise her when she did right. The MacKrannans must now be that family. The lass had performed her part in the Bride's Right well, after a wobbly start with giving Thommas orders. Lessons learned early saved much heartbreak later.
The clan had a problem here, and it was Ranald must fix it. Once her son had cooled his temper and taken time to think this over, he'd see what needed done. She was quite sure Thommas would be telling Ranald the same thing right this very minute.
Her own task was to prepare Elinor for what lay ahead. Agatha walked to the window seat and laid a hand on the girl's shoulder, patting it a few times as she would a dog.
"Ye know that ye did wrong from the start, Elinor, and it's getting worse. Maybe in more ways than ye realise, if it were all explained to ye. It is Ranald must decide what to do here, for he is your husband and master. I will tell ye that he'll be fair, because he is never anything else. My advice to ye is this. Accept whatever scolding he gives ye, and learn from it, and never hold it against him. It is yer only chance of happiness with my son."
Agatha suspected what the punishment would be, but she had a very good reason for keeping her tongue stilled.
Ranald could have dealt with Elinor's remarks had they come from anyone else. Sticks and stones... hell's pit, they'd hurt far worse than his broken leg and the stab wound. It was well out of character for him to let any lass rile him at all, let alone this badly.
He stomped along the tideline, picking up driftwood and chucking it at rocks until his temper cooled. Watching the sea had always been his tonic during troubled times, and it bothered him that he could find no peace in it now. His mind was in as much turmoil as it had ever been since he arrived home from the Cambel rout.
His rattled state could no' be explained by the king forcing him into marrying Elinor, nor from doubt if he could continue as chieftain. He'd already come to terms with both. They'd changed his life radically and would continue to do so. Both were reminder that he still had a life available for changing, that he was alive to care what another day would bring. The injuries he'd sustained at the Siege of Drumallager had damned near robbed him of that luxury.
Nay, the turmoil was coming from something else, something niggling into his every thought, word and deed.
It was his heart in danger here. Only to himself would he admit that.
He did no' want a life of fighting with Elinor, and nor did she deserve that sentence. All she'd ever done afore arriving here was her duty to others and seen little return for it, and all she faced now was more of the same. She was worth more than that. He'd see that she got it. Far and beyond any sense of responsibility for her, he wanted to make her happy.
First she'd need to bloody well change her attitude. The problem had begun in the bedchamber and that's where he would have to begin the fixing of it. He just wasna sure how to go abou
t it, barring the obvious, and that was no' likely to happen any time soon, given that she had yet to move out the guest chamber.
Elinor needed... tamed. Every word she spoke seemed to be aimed at goading him, and the effects were becoming disastrous. He should never have retaliated like that. And he knew fine he'd do the same and worse if she tried her nonsense again.
She was like a colt until haltered, running about daft and kicking the fences until you bent it to your will for the sake of every horse in the yard. Hell's pit, even the Chief was now following the rules set up for Elinor's sake. It should no' be beneath her to take a hard lesson and wise up.
What bothered him the most, if he was honest with himself, was that Elinor had a fire in her that matched his own. All the passion he'd seen in her that first night had plagued him ever since. If he could just stop her fighting him long enough to direct it back onto its proper road...
His father found him then, and handed him the Wisewomen's notes. They sat together on grassy part of the shoreline until Ranald finished reading. It bothered him something hellish that he'd messed up with Elinor just a week afore the Chief had done so well with her.
"I can see little here that I would no' usually do, save for the oil," he told the Chief. "I was just shaking tired when I did duty to Elinor, and did a condensed version that made me inattentive to the detail. Hindsight tells me she was just desperate to lose her maidenhead. The mistake I made was no' checking if there was one."
"Ye'll do it right every time now, though, with all the new rules and the Wisewomen watching. And ye were utterly exhausted, son. None of this would have happened if I'd no' pushed ye into it that night."
Ranald couldn't let his father take the blame. "Nay, the fault was no' yours. I confess to getting a bit carried away, truth be told, for Elinor had a natural passion in her that I had no' come across afore in a strange bride – ye'll know that bit for yerself now."
He stated the last part as mere fact, but a paternal hand came upon his shoulder as they reflected on the way duty was done.
"Ach, she was easy to bliss, a lass of her age denied for so long. Think naught of it."
The Chief was a big man to deny himself any credit. Ranald knew what a chore it was for his father, yet every bride was treated with respect and went home having learned much. Even Elinor. It was no' his father's fault that Elinor's first bliss had come from the wrong MacKrannan. The circumstance at least made it a lot easier to confide in him, for there could be none better for understanding what being with Elinor was like.
First and foremost, a Chief and his son had to be friends, and that was why Ranald felt he might be able to go on to speak of deeply personal matters with Sir Thommas now.
"Beyond that, there was a… ach, I dinna know… a sort of alchemy going on atween Elinor and myself, right from I first espied her in my bedchamber. Can ye understand such?"
The Chief understood verra well indeed. He and Agatha shared it from the first, and even yet it took but a look from either to set the sizzling in motion. Best their son make identification of such for himself, for it seemed life had sent him his woman by a strange route.
Time would tell if the sizzle was a sustainable commodity for them both and no' just a flash in the pan.
"Aye, it happens. Though I did no' feel such with Elinor, it shows the two of ye have chance of a happy life together if ye get yerselves sorted out."
Ranald filled his chest with the sea air, as if in readiness for the happy life suggested. And then he let his breath out quick and turned to his father, as if blowing away the subject.
"So, I'm to do equal duty in this Bride's Right with ye from now on. Any more advice on it?"
"Son, all that I taught ye is evident in Ishbel's other notes on the brides ye've done duty to in the past. Yer techniques are fine, lad. I'm thinking what I have missed in yer instruction for the Lord's Right has little to do with yer cock at all. It's something ye're obviously doing already, unawares."
Sir Thommas stood up and faced the ocean, legs astride, and the Wisewomen's notes rolled up and shoved through his belt. Ranald joined him and paid heed to the words of advice, for he had great respect for his father's wisdom and experience in all matters.
"Do ye mind just afore yer Lord's Right with Elinor, when I met ye at the harbor?" the Chief asked. "Ye'd arrived home from the Cambel uprising, a galley down but all men safely returned."
"Aye. What of it?"
"Do ye mind seeing Grizelle the fisherman's wife lusting up yer kilt, even with bairns at her tits?"
"Ye noticed that! Did I ever tell ye she blissed twice in her Lord's Right with me, and her blood there on the bedsheet to say virgin? I doubt she's had much fun since, with two bairns in less than two years and another expected. It's her wedding day she's wanting back. Something just for herself."
"A bit of romance, aye, and it is the same for many," said the Chief. "But did ye also see how deep was her curtsy? And how she quietened the other wives around her to do the same? And how her husband Johnny would do aught ye ever asked of him?"
Ranald had missed all that.
"…And yet they act just yer average clansfolk with me, their Chief. It's you has got this from them, Ranald. See, the Lord's Right is more than yer deflowering a bride in a civilized manner. It is an opportunity. Do it well, and it fosters a loyalty that will go far beyond the usual fealty. Ye've been doing this without realising it, I can see. The brides go home believing they have a special bond with ye, after what ye have shared. Dinna underestimate the power of that."
The Chief and the chieftain walked the shoreline, discussing details that had never been recorded on any instruction parchment and never would be.
And they talked much about Elinor, and what must be done to make her fit-for-purpose, and the confidence they had that Agatha would have given her some plain-talking advice by the time they arrived at the luncheon table.
"Son, it is difficult for any woman to find the balance. Even yer mother and myself had a tricky start and I ended up having to condition her into seeing things my way. A Chief canna have a wife in control of anything more than his heart. The clan would see it, and so would all of Scotland eventually. It would make the MacKrannans vulnerable to attack if folks thought any man of the bloodline was no' strong enough to keep his wife in check."
"I feel sorry for Elinor, for all she has lost with her stupidity, and for all she's hurting herself now and no' even realising how far she's pushing the boundaries. I would no' want to take her dignity away as well."
Here was a surprise, thought the Chief. He'd never known his son to be soft on any who crossed him.
"Gallantry is fine, but ye canna let yerself be ridden roughshod. Ye'll never be happy unless your wife is as well, and a wife who is in control of her husband is never happy anyway. Think on that, Ranald, and ye'll find yer answer."
Ranald sat and stared at the sea for a long while after his father left, thinking on what lessons would serve Elinor the best to tame her tongue. Problem was, there were many more folks than himself needing an apology. Some wee 'sorry' in his own ear would never be enough.
His mind kept coming back to just one method – a Tradition he'd read of in the Red Book of MacKrannan Education Traditions on the day afore his wedding, when he was checking up on things he'd need to teach a chieftain's bride coming into the clan, and read it cover to cover afore starting on the next.
He'd make preparation now, while the sun was not yet overhead, for it required a consultation with the Bard, a visit to the Vault to check the full rules in the Red Book, and some fast work by one of the village tradesmen. Archie the Swordmaker would be the most apt, considering what Elinor had deprived his bride Meredith of.
Later that day, the bell rang for Ranald's steward Dougall to be wed to Lady Agatha's maid Ginny. After the feasting, the Wisewomen prepared Ginny for the Tradition of the Bride's Right, still in test phase. The chamber next door had been commandeered as a Husband's Waiting Room and decked out
for the purpose. All was set for the deflowering of a real virgin bride by the chieftain.
It was with a renewed sense of purpose that Ranald picked up his chieftain's bonnet and strode the corridors at the appointed time to knock on the door of the bower.
Ginny was near jumping out the fireside chair in her excitement. Ranald himself and her the bride! All manner of lights and angels sparkled behind her eyes. Years of imaginings she'd spent awaiting her turn, listening to the brides talk of his body and of the things he did to them. And now the Wisewomen had taken it over, she wouldn't get to hear any more while she dressed the brides afterwards. This was her last chance, and this time it was to be herself, and it was Ranald! Ranald!
She loved Dougall to bits, else she would no' have wed him. She had also seen the life of a Chief's wife every day, and oft times considered herself the better off for being a ladymaid instead of a Lady. Just this once with Ranald was all she wanted.
The Wisewomen watching she didna mind. The Lady Elinor in the fourth witness chair she could have done without, but nobody ever got everything, did they, and oooh… there was the door getting chapped now… it must be him!
Ranald strode in wearing his full regalia, complete with chieftain's bonnet and its two eagle feathers, per instructions. He took the bonnet off immediately and held it to his ribs so that the eagle feathers displayed tall and proud beside his head, per instructions,.
"Good eve to ye, milord."
He knew Ginny would be excited, and sure enough she looked as if she'd faint any minute. She forgot that she had no need to curtsy in this bower, so he made full courtly bow back to her.
"Good eve to ye, Ginny."
She swallowed. And swallowed again. And then she forgot what should come next and hoped it was the hospitality bit.
"Will ye take wine with me, milord?"
He rescued the goblets that her wide-armed gesture had knocked over.
"…How about some blaeberries?"
Duty of the Chieftain - a Highland 'Lord's Right of the First Night' novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #3) Page 9