by Miles Owens
Lakenna wore a new gray wool dress that Mererid had presented to her before the feast. Even with the plain stitching and no lace, it was the finest Lakenna had ever possessed. Mererid wore a dark yellow dress with a narrow band of ivory lace outlining the bodice. The skirt was wide and flowing. Rhiannon looked stunning in the green linen she had worn at the wool sale. Surprisingly—or maybe not—it was no struggle to get her to wear it tonight.
Tellan stood. He looked distinguished in a high-collar dark blue coat, white shirt, and brown breeches. His black hair was oiled and combed. The happy babble died down into an expectant silence. He turned to his daughter. “Today, Rhiannon de Murdeen en Rogoth, you come of age.” He stopped, eyes misting. “Henceforth you will be addressed as Lady—” He cleared his throat. “You will be addressed as Lady Rhiannon.” His voice thickened. “And that you are. A beautiful and noble young lady with whom I am most pleased.”
Lakenna glanced at Mererid. Her stepmother’s smile was sincere and loving. She handed Tellan a requin, the woven leather band that clan maidens wore encircling their hair and forehead to signify that they were ready for courtship and betrothal.
Tellan’s face was a mixture of emotions as he placed the requin on his daughter’s head. “The man who takes this off, Lady Rhiannon, will be blessed indeed.”
Rhiannon sat misty-eyed while her father and Mererid, then Girard, Llyr, Serous, and the three family heads took turns congratulating her.
That done, the banquet began. Ove shuffled stiffly around, filling bowls.
During the meal Mererid patted her lips with a linen napkin. “Normally, Teacher, the three kinsmen groups here in the Clundy River valley hold a Maiden Pole together. But with the Presentation for Prince Larien upon us, High Lord Maolmin has announced his Erian kinsmen will hold their Maiden Pole the morning of the Presentation. He invites all Dinari to join them. We have not had a clan-wide Pole in years.”
“Remember Loreteller Abel’s daughter, Breanna?” Girard asked. “She was the one who accompanied him at Lachlann. The girl is betrothed to Ryce Pleoh and will be married at the ceremony.” He paused and lifted an eyebrow. “I have heard her bride price is ten gold coins.”
Everyone was stunned. From talks with Vanora, Lakenna knew that two gold coins were normal; five was high. Ten seemed extraordinary for a commoner, even for the daughter of a high-ranking advisor.
“Ten golds,” Mererid said slowly, “would purchase a fancy carriage, four horses to pull it, and still leave coins left over.”
Bowyn Garbhach cleared his throat. “M’lord, after the insult the High Lord has shown by not including Mistress—I mean to say Lady Rhiannon—in those to be presented, me and the other heads are in agreement that we should hold our own Pole as always.”
Murmurs of assent came from all.
“The Rogoth kinsmen will attend the Dinari Maiden Pole and the Presentation,” Tellan stated flatly.
“Most assuredly,” Mererid agreed.
Lakenna glanced at Rhiannon. The young woman’s face held relief—with perhaps a touch of sadness. What was that about?
“But enough of this,” Mererid said determinedly. “Back to our food.”
“Teacher,” Phelan said as he pulled up the bowl of white sauce and spooned on a layer, “after the Maiden Pole is over, you have to hear Lord Baird tell A Serving Maid’s Dilemma, especially if things have been going for a while and he has emptied several tankards.”
Tellan lowered his spoon, opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it. His face was carefully neutral.
Mererid took a sip of hot tea. “Lord Baird can tell any story he wants to his kinsmen. With ours, your father will see that the good lord maintains a proper tongue in his head.” A smile played at the corners of her lips.
Phelan’s expression was guileless. “But Mother, no one enjoys Lord Baird’s stories more than Father. Last time, he laughed so hard he had tears—”
“Phelan,” Tellan growled, though Lakenna noted the twinkle in his eyes, “do you seek to land on my bad side?”
“No, sire.”
“Then attend your bowl while your brother informs Teacher Lakenna of the wonders of our Pole.”
Everyone laughed.
Rhiannon passed the bowl of white sauce. Lakenna hesitated, then put a tiny dab on the tip of her spoon and mixed it thoroughly into her stew.
“It is more than songs and music,” Creag said.
Lakenna took a small bite of stew, then a quick bite of bread. Fire on her tongue caused beads of sweat to pop out on her brow. How could anyone get used to such spices? She reached for the cheese.
“More than anything, the Maiden Pole is when we acknowledge to each other that we are . . . ” Creag’s face reddened. He looked around and then mumbled, “That we are kinsmen.”
“The Maiden Pole is for clan members only,” Mererid said.
“I see,” Lakenna said into the silence.
“A member of another clan can come, but it is rare.”
“Of course.” Lakenna glanced at Vanora, the maiden so besotted with Rahl, who was sitting at the end of the table. All the girl talked about was betrothals and Rahl, and the Maiden Pole and Rahl. And the two gold coins Rahl had saved for her bride price. Even though Bowyn had not given his assent, Lakenna had assumed they would be betrothed at the ceremony and that she would be there to see her two students. Now, strangely, Vanora seemed to be fighting a smile.
Girard said, “But rest assured all Dinari clansmen will be at the Presentation. None would dare miss it.”
Silence reigned once more. Lakenna’s face heated. Should she leave? Surely they were aware that this was making her feel excluded.
Serous, the head herdsmen, was watching her. He seemed to be considering something. Finally he stood and spoke. “I have watched Lakenna Wen since she has come. Everything she has touched is better. She has poured herself into my boys. They read and do sums. Her prayers helped save Lord Tellan and Mistress—Lady Rhiannon from the winged horrors. I stand for Lakenna Wen.”
No, Lakenna breathed inwardly. Not my prayers.
Bowyn Garbhach spoke. “Like Serous, I have watched Lakenna Wen. Vanora learns and grows. At Lakenna’s urging and for the same pay more children will learn in the fall. My family sleeps safer because of her.”
You don’t know. If you did . . .
Bowyn came to his feet. “I stand for Lakenna Wen.”
Jon Luwin, the furniture maker and family head, rose. “I stand for Lakenna Wen.”
“I stand for Lakenna Wen,” said Bar Colemon, the third family head.
Llyr came smoothly to his feet and rumbled, “I stand for Lakenna Wen.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She didn’t understand totally, but she had an idea.
Girard confirmed it. “Lord Tellan, five Rogoth kinsmen, true Dinari all, stand for Lakenna Wen. What say you?”
Tellan rose to his feet. “Do these five stand of their own free will and accord?”
“We do, m’lord.”
“Do any here have ought against Lakenna Wen?” Tellan waited, his eyes searching the pavilion.
Only me. Through tear-filled eyes, Lakenna looked at the five good men. I was tested and found wanting.
Tellan nodded. “I am satisfied.” He turned to her. “Lakenna Wen, the Rogoth kinsmen, and through us, Clan Dinari, offer you a place among us. This is more than attendance at the Pole, Teacher. This is entrance into our clan we offer. If you accept, know that our homes and hearths will be ever open to you. Your enemies will be our enemies. We will stand shoulder to shoulder with you should they attack you in word or deed.” He gestured to the other men standing. “More importantly, by standing for you, these five pledge that should you find yourself unable to repay any obligation, moral or financial, they will take that debt upon themselves.”
She covered her face with her hands. No! Sobs tore through her. I am unworthy of this.
“Lakenna Wen, do you accept our offer?”
I ca
nnot. O dear Eternal, how can I?
“Lakenna Wen, do you accept our offer?”
She opened her mouth to refuse, but it came out, “Yes! Yes. Help me be worthy of this.”
Rhiannon came to her side and took Lakenna’s hands. “Having you as part of my family is the best birthing day gift I can think of.”
Strong arms enveloped her. It was Mererid. “Welcome, sister. Welcome.”
Lakenna buried her face in that good woman’s bosom and wept.
Later, after the congratulations and birthing day celebrations had ended and everyone had left, Lakenna helped Mererid bathe and wash her hair. Afterwards the noble lady put on a dab of perfume after her bath. Lakenna knew what that meant. When she was dressed, they walked as they had done for weeks now.
The moon was half full and cast a silvery light on the stream as it snaked across the valley floor. The current swirled and bubbled around exposed rocks, the sound soothing to Lakenna as she and Mererid walked along the hard-packed dirt trail that followed the twists and turns of the bank.
As usual, conversation was dominated by the coming Rite of Presentation and their united purpose to drag Rhiannon kicking and screaming into womanhood.
“After the wool sale to Gillaon,” Mererid said, “I knew Maolmin would not include Rhiannon among those presented to Prince Larien. An understandable retaliation, but of no lasting import. Clan Dinari is the smallest and poorest of the six clans. In twelve hundred years, no Faber has chosen a Dinari. Accordingly, we are always ‘honored’ by being first. The royal party will only spend one day in Lachlann, our southernmost town of sufficient size, before leaving for the Presentations that will matter.”
She smiled wryly. “One can only imagine the maneuvering and infighting going on among the other clans to choose the most eligible of their maidens. By now, Cullia should have found someone suitable, giving her time to wring as much gold and trade concessions as possible from the girl’s kinsmen group and High Lord before the announcement.”
Lakenna stopped walking. “I thought it would be like when Destin saw Meagarea and the Eternal turned their hearts to each other . . . ” Her words trailed off at the noble lady’s snort.
“Would that it was so. A great story. I never tire of hearing it or seeing it portrayed in skits. We should pray it will happen like that this fall.” She looked up at the star-strewn sky and hugged herself. “But, no. King Balder is invalid with some mysterious aliment and rarely leaves Faber Castle. Cullia rules the Land, and she understands power like no queen in generations. I don’t know all that happened to cause Larien’s betrothal to be broken and this Rite of Presentation declared, but undoubtedly the Sabinis maiden must have had eyes on the throne, which would have threatened Cullia. Rumors had the girl’s father busy making deals for when Balder dies.”
They continued on their walk.
“Prince Larien is said to care little for governing,” Mererid said. “With King Balder’s condition worsening and Larien’s coronation not far off, Cullia’s purpose is to find a complacent girl from a high-ranking family who will look pretty during royal functions, produce a male heir, and leave the ruling of the Land to her. Our purpose,” Mererid finished as they headed back up the ridges to the pavilion, “is to have Rhiannon seen by all, act like the noble young maiden she is, and attract a better match than we could expect otherwise.”
As they passed the stables, Lakenna heard stomping of feet and soft whickers from horses. The lantern light was still shining. Mererid left her and went to say goodnight to Tellan and the boys.
Rhiannon and Ove were already abed when Lakenna eased back inside the pavilion, trying not to stumble over chests or the wash stand. After hanging her blouse and skirt on pegs driven into a tent pole next to her pallet, she slipped into her cotton nightdress and crawled under the light wool blanket.
It was much later when Mererid returned. The noble lady hummed a faint tune as she undressed—for what Lakenna felt sure was the second time that night.
Why am I not undressing for a husband instead of lying here, alone, where an evil beyond my wildest imagining walks on two legs and stalks a young woman?
She was twenty-five! Years beyond the age to be married. Time was slipping away. Would she ever know the pleasure of a warm body next to hers every night? Of his hands upon her and hers upon his? Of a babe suckling at her breast—
Enough! I am still Albane, and I will not harbor these feelings.
Finally, Lakenna tumbled into a restless sleep . . .
In her dream she stood on a plain with Rhiannon behind her. High Lord Maolmin strode out of a misty gray veil and came toward them, huge hands balled into fists. He wore a black cloak that did not swing as he walked. His eyes were terrible, unforgiving, two black orbs pulsing with arrogant power. Behind him the gray mist rolled, concealing weird shapes, waiting, patient and evil. One shape—a winged horror—reared and flapped its long, pointed wings. The mist flowed into eddies and swirls.
Confident in her spiritual authority, she watched Maolmin approach. This should be easy. She was Lakenna Wen, Albane of Albanes. She had been faithful all her life, attending every meeting as a child with her parents, and had been just as faithful as an adult. No one could quote more Holy Writ from memory than she could. No one could equal her in debates on doctrine. Everyone pointed to her as an example of what a virtuous woman should be. Surely demons would flee before her.
She flung out a finger. “You are bound, foul demon!”
The movement of the strange shapes in the mist stopped. She could feel them straining to hear, pensive. But her words had no effect on Maolmin. He came on, unfazed. With every step he loomed larger, more menacing.
Full of righteousness indignation, she thundered, “I bind you! In the Eternal’s name and by the Covenant, you are bound!”
“You can’t bind me!” he hissed. “You are full of sin! The worst kind of sin!”
She reeled, the truth of his accusation a body blow. Words of faith died in her mouth. Her proud notion of herself crumbled into dust, and she wanted to curl into a ball and weep.
Maolmin smirked. He was head and shoulders above her now. Coal black eyes peered down into her very core.
“With Loane, and then the herbs from Old Tanny. You knew it was sin, but you did it anyway. And what is more, you still lust for a man! Let one beckon you to his bed, and you will unpin your hair and scamper eagerly—”
She bolted upright in her pallet, cotton gown damp with sweat. Dry-mouthed, she pulled the thin blanket around her shoulders and got up. She stumbled though the dark interior of the pavilion. She drew back the front flap and walked a few paces into the night.
The moon had set and the stars were thick in the sky. Sweat poured off her. She shrugged off the blanket and let it puddle around her feet.
Her failure was a millstone upon her neck. She was a hypocrite in every Holy Writ session with Rhiannon. She, Lakenna Wen, who for years had eagerly pointed out the barest hint of such in other’s life, was the worst hypocrite imaginable. She, Lakenna Wen, had deliberately committed the most grievous of sins. Not once, but twice.
She fought to keep tears back as the memories came. A fortnight before her expected wedding date, she had gone to meet Loane at their cottage he was constructing. The fireplace was finished, and Loane wanted her opinion on a red oak slab he had found for the mantel. They stood before the hearth, envisioning what it would look like, the smell of wood shavings and wet mortar a pleasing mixture that somehow declared a bright future for the two of them.
It had been so natural when he slid his arm around her waist, and she responded by laying her head on his shoulder, content. Then he turned and pulled her to him, arms strong and pleasing as she was crushed against his chest, his mouth on hers. Although they both knew they should stop, they allowed it to continue. The back part of her mind calculated that with only a fortnight remaining, it would not matter, and so Lakenna gave in to the body hunger she had kept tightly wrapped for years. She ste
pped back from his embrace, unpinned her hair, and it had happened.
Afterward, it was awkward and embarrassing as they silently rearranged clothing and brushed off the dust and wood shavings.
Then, beyond all knowing, a week later Loane was dead of lung fever. Two months after that, Lakenna finally faced what she had been growing more sure of with each passing day. Sleepless nights and nauseated mornings followed, until . . .
Until, with mounting desperation, she made a visit to Old Tanny, the herbalist living on the outskirts of the village, and came back with the root of blue cotash and instructions on how to brew the tea.
Lakenna did so, then stared at the cup—and stared. Eventually, she picked it up, held it in trembling hands for a long moment—and finally drank. It worked like Old Tanny said it would. The other herbal preparations and teas sent for afterwards had worked too, easing the discomfort and other bodily aspects.
But Lakenna had discovered a much deeper stain, one that all the herbs in the world could never take away.
I am Dinari now, but nothing can change what I have done.
Even so, Loane and Old Tanny were behind her. Somehow, with enough effort, she would learn to live with it.
Not so for Maolmin’s second accusation from the dream.
She did still long for a man. She had fought those longings for years—as she had done tonight. But how she yearned for a husband. For companionship, for the security of a home hearth, and, yes, for sexual intimacy. To be sated and hum a happy tune like Mererid had.
Lakenna turned and regarded the pavilion where Rhiannon slept. Of what help to her is a sinner beset by such desires!
She listened to her own heartbeat, which was loud in the stillness of the night. Never had she felt more alone. Her distance from the Eternal seemed a huge chasm.
By day, Lord Tellan and Llyr drilled the warriors at an increased pace, and everyone was confident that, should the Mighty Ones’ creatures come again, the Rogoths would be ready. But what about the other part of the battle? Will I be able to stand in the gap again? How can I pray as I did before?