The Duchess's Descendants (Jordinia Book 3)

by C. K. Brooke

  The entire camp had gone silent. Every eye was fixed upon him. Even the children had come forth to listen, little mouths agape. Ludwig swallowed.

  He didn’t know what to think when the chief stood. The man grunted something in his guttural voice, sounding surlier than ever. All remained still as he sat back down.

  Catja got to her feet. “On behalf of the village,” she said to Ludwig, “the chief has requested that you please keep playing.”

  An EVENING PERFORMING FOR AN enraptured audience into the late hours had brought him to an inner state of gratitude and fulfillment. When Ludwig retired, it was among his companions in the soft shelter of a deerskin tent. His blankets were warmer than any he’d ever slept in at home.

  He’d been dreaming soundly when he was unpleasantly awoken to the sound of squabbling outside. He yawned, sitting up, and realized he was the only one remaining in his tent. The man emerged into the morning light, joining his guardsmen who’d gone to watch the spectacle at the center of the village.

  His gut sank to recognize the wavy brown hair and distinguishing voice of the one who stood in the middle of it all. Ludwig hastened past his friends.

  Before he could reach his brother, another tent flap lifted. A petite, curvy figure bounded out, blouse untucked, her dark hair falling out of her otherwise austere bun in tiny rivulets. “What have you done?” demanded a disheveled Professor Lovell.

  Ludwig wanted to know the same. Drew was holding up his hands in defense against the continuous verbal admonishment of an angry Oca woman.

  The woman turned, her expression furious. Oh, God, thought Ludwig ominously, realizing it was the sad, young sister-bride they’d been watching the night before.

  “Professor,” Drew appeared rather proud of himself, “I’m pleased to announce that I’ve just secured this young lady’s freedom. And now, if you’ll please explain that to her, because she doesn’t seem to understand….”

  “What are you talking about?” Catja’s eyes grew enormous behind her spectacles.

  “I was able to convince her flour bag of a husband to trade her to me for a farthing. And then I did the right thing,” he held a hand over his heart with false modesty, “and set her free.”

  The Oca girl began shouting again, shaking a fist at Drew. Catja jumped between them. “A farthing?” the professor exclaimed.

  “Yes!” He laughed. “Can you believe it? He’d never seen the likes of one. Sorry bastard, if only he knew it can’t even buy a stick of licorice where I’m from—”

  “Lord Cosmith!” Catja exploded. “What you’ve done is an abomination! You have ruined this poor girl’s life!”

  “Ruined?” His face screwed up. “Professor, all I did was buy her independence. She’s free now of that dodgy old brute and his wives. Remember—wives, plural? No girl wants that. And she ought to be grateful,” he cast the girl an irate look, “but instead she’s shouting at me.”

  “Because you have shamed her.” Catja held her head between her hands, as if in a mode of crisis. “No Oca wife has ever been bartered away from her husband to be suddenly without a husband at all!”

  The Oca girl’s eyes were welling. Truly, her tears were heartbreaking. Ludwig wished he could do something to comfort her. But he could only stand among the villagers, witnessing the mess his brother had made.

  Andrew finally seemed to apprehend his error. “But, I thought….”

  “You promised not to interfere!” Catja pounded a fist into her hand. “I vouched for you! I assured the chief you would be no trouble!”

  For once in his life, Drew looked penitent. Intimidated, too. Ludwig secretly congratulated the professor. “Well, just tell me how to fix it, and….”

  “The only way to fix this,” growled Catja, “is to marry her.”

  Ludwig’s eyes widened.

  “Whoa, hang on.” Drew held up a hand. “I’m not marrying anyone.”

  The Oca girl spoke rapidly. She made a series of hand gestures, and concluded it all by spitting at Drew’s feet. The man glanced at the dirt by his shoes, bemused.

  “She says she doesn’t want you. She wants….” Catja turned in search of something. For whatever reason, her eyes settled on Ludwig. He was astounded when she pointed at him, drawing everyone’s attention to where he stood. “Him. The one who makes music.”

  Ludwig’s boots were adhered to the ground. He couldn’t move. And if he tried to speak, he would only stammer himself stupid.

  “Vigo.” Drew attempted a charming shrug, but it didn’t hide his desperation. “What say you?”

  When Ludwig couldn’t respond, Drew marched up and pulled him aside. Catja and the girl waited behind while their audience broke into murmurs.

  “I’m in it deep this time,” said Drew grimly. “Please,” he begged, “help me.”

  “No,” said Ludwig firmly. “Absolutely n….”

  “Catja is going to skin me alive and we’ll all be their warriors’ next prey if I don’t repair this.”

  “Then you m-m-marry her!”

  His brother’s face darkened. “You know I’m not the marrying type.” Drew gave his arm a sportive punch. “Come, man, it’s not as if it’ll be a real marriage.”

  “It is, to her!”

  “Excuse me, my lords,” Catja spoke between her teeth, “but you need to make a decision, now.” It didn’t take long for Ludwig to discover the source of her heightened distress. The chief himself, tailed by his massive sons, was moving through the fold.

  “Please, Vigo.” There was no mistaking the urgency in Drew’s whisper. “It’s just for as long as we’re here. Which mightn’t be long at all. A little favor for your favorite little brother.” He grinned. “Just this once! And then I promise, anything you want, whenever you want it.”

  As though Ludwig hadn’t heard it all before.

  “My lords,” hissed Catja.

  The pressure was crushing under the multiplied gazes of the Oca, the sailors and guards approaching, of Catja and Drew. If he had to withstand another moment of it, he might shatter. “F-fine!” Ludwig burst. “If it helps her save face!” He was hardly able to process his own words. “My God, I can’t believe…I’m actually….”

  Catja spoke with the chief, the Oca girl looking determinedly between them. For what it was worth, both women appeared calmer.

  “Right.” The professor collected herself. “He’s decreed that the ceremony will take place tonight.”

  “Ceremony?” Drew hiked an eyebrow.

  “Tonight?” sputtered Ludwig.

  “The chief is kind.” Catja patted the girl’s shoulder. “He ensures she won’t suffer the sun to go down on her shame. And now, it is customary that you kneel before her, and kiss her feet.”

  Ludwig gaped weakly, and Drew gave him a solid shove forward.

  He stepped closer, coming face to face with the young woman. Up close, she was even more beautiful than an angel. Her skin glowed and her amber eyes contained a sparkling universe. For her face alone, he could write a thousand songs.

  Her lips lifted into a satisfied smile as he lowered onto his knees. Her feet were swathed in delicate moccasins. With trembling fingers, he took hold of her perfect ankles and gingerly kissed each foot.

  He rose again. Their eyes connected, and he was startled by her expression. It was as though she saw a dream. No woman had ever regarded him that way before.

  Too soon, it was over. The tribeswomen came and ushered her away, preparing her for the evening’s ceremony. Ludwig was left standing with Catja and Drew, who wrung their wrists beside him. “Great.” He exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. “Now, would anyone please c-c-care to tell me her name?”

  “YOU WHAT?” JOHANNA STARED AT her brother.

  Ludwig poked the ground with a walking stick he’d found.

  “I can’t believe yo
u let Andrew force you into this! You ought to have told him no!”

  “I t-t-tried,” Ludwig attested. “You weren’t there. It was a very t-tight situation.”

  They paced the village’s confines together, passing small fire pits crackling with embers, women stringing beads into their daughters’ hair, and the occasional coughing of an older person. The men had gone into the forest for the day to check on their traps and lay new ones, according to Professor Lovell.

  A pesky ring of gnats circled Johanna’s head, and she batted them away.

  “And anyhow,” Ludwig continued, “I figure it’s an opportunity. After all, what are my…p-p-prospects at home? Kya looks at me as though I’m a god. Where else am I going to find that?”

  “And how do you look at her?” Johanna wanted to know.

  His eyes grew distant. “She’s otherworldly. Un…attainable. And yet,” he seemed stunned by the very thought, “she wants me.”

  Johanna didn’t know what to think. While she wanted to be happy for her brother, she wasn’t entirely sure if the whole arrangement could truly work out. Did he intend to stay married to this woman—permanently?

  Faint laughter carried from the river downhill, where women stood half-submerged in water, washing pottery and clothing. It seemed everyone else was eager to make preparations for the upcoming wedding.

  “I’m sure I can g-get to know her…despite the language barrier,” Ludwig added, more to himself.

  Which one? Johanna wanted to ask. Yours or hers? But she didn’t have the heart to make such a casual joke. Regardless of what Andrew thought, Ludwig was sensitive about his speech. Growing up, it felt like their parents had summoned every doctor in Jordinia, but not one could cure his stutter. And bringing his awareness to it only made it worse.

  They stopped walking. The seamen from the Kelti were heading in their direction. The captain strode beside the commander, followed by the crew. “Lord Cosmith.” The captain bowed to Ludwig. “We’ve just spoken to your brother. With your sanction, we are leaving.”

  “And going where?” asked Johanna, before she could help herself. They were surrounded by water and trees. If there was anywhere to go, there weren’t many paths to get there.

  “We’ll row the lifeboats east along the shore, my lady,” answered the commander, “until we find the stopover.”

  “But that could take weeks,” frowned Ludwig. “And you’ll have nothing for sustenance but fish, if you can find any beneath the ice.”

  The young sailor, with whom Johanna had danced, shrugged. “We’ve a better chance of finding a vessel to take us home from the stopover than we do here.”

  He had a point.

  “As well, we wanted to wish you good luck tonight.” The captain gave Ludwig a knowing grin. “Sorry we can’t stay for the festivities.” His posture straightened. “We shall notify His Majesty what has happened upon our arrival home.”

  “There’s plenty of room in the boats,” hinted Officer Merriweather, surveying both of them.

  Johanna glanced at her brother. If he really wanted to get out of it, this was his only chance. She, on the other hand, needed to stay for at least five more moons.

  Ludwig shook their hands. “I wish you s-safe travels.”

  Johanna watched as the naval men departed, forming an orderly line. A few exchanged farewells with the guardsmen as they passed. They then disappeared into the trees, heading back to the shore where they’d left the boats. “I’m surprised none of the guards want to go with them,” she observed. “Being stuck in this little village isn’t exactly the adventure they signed up for.”

  “They made a pledge to the emperor,” said Ludwig. “As did we.” He watched their procession part from the village. Perhaps he didn’t realize how much it meant to his sister that his statement had included her.

  Johanna and Bram waited TO be summoned outside her tent. The sun had descended and faint drumming resounded by the communal fire. “Almost time to go?” wondered Bram.

  Johanna was about to respond when Professor Lovell appeared, bringing a ring of village women with her. “Good evening, my lady,” the professor greeted her. A handsome middle-aged woman held out two garments made of gray fur. If Johanna had to guess, she’d say they were wolf skin. “We present your tapi for the evening.”

  Johanna received the garments. “What is it?” She fingered the coarse hair, turning the garments over in her hands.

  “It’s ceremonial attire. As you are kin of the groom, by extension, you too are being welcomed into the Oca family,” explained Catja.

  “But I just got here yesterday.” Johanna tried to smile, but it was hardly a joke.

  “It’s worn like this.” Catja held the top over Johanna’s chest, and the skirt at her hips. Johanna looked down, realizing the ensemble would leave her entire stomach bare.

  Her heart lurched. “I am not wearing that.”

  Catja frowned. “But it’s their tradition.”

  “Well, in my country, it’s tradition that women dress modestly,” Johanna pushed the clothing back at her, “not to mention, that the bride and groom actually know each other.”

  The tribeswomen looked confused while the professor’s expression hardened. “We are not in your country,” she replied curtly.

  Johanna tutted as she watched Catja walk off. “Who does that woman think she is?” She glanced up to see Bram wearing an odd look. “What?” she asked him.

  “Nothing.” He shrugged. “You ready, then?”

  Johanna took his arm. “As ready as one can be for her brother’s tribal wedding to a complete stranger, I suppose.”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” smirked Bram, walking with her, “it almost sounds like fun.”

  What was he doing? What was he actually doing? Ludwig perspired as he watched the tribe gather around the fire. The sun had sunk below the horizon, bathing them all in the moon and firelight. It was almost time.

  The tribesmen had draped an impressive bearskin cape over his shoulders and insisted he remove his boots in exchange for something lighter on his feet. Catja had explained that the ground was sacred to the Oca, and they found the mainlanders’ heavy boots damaging to it.

  “Your boots leave tracks,” she’d told him earlier. “They believe one ought not to mark the land everywhere one goes. That’s why the Oca wear thin moccasins.”

  Presently, Ludwig stood where he was told to, in front of the bonfire at the head of the gathering. His fingers ached for his violin, but of course, he hadn’t brought it to the ceremony. He could handle an audience if performing; it was simply a matter of tuning them out while his bow made love to the strings. But participating in a wedding—no less, his own? Well, that was a whole different matter.

  Men jested and chortled. He recognized words in Halvean. His brother was jostling the guards, elbowing them jovially.

  “Vigo!” Drew grinned, strutting forth. “Look how they’ve done me up!” He outspread his arms and turned, like a stage performer showing off his latest costume. The Oca had garbed him in what looked like buckskin pantaloons and a woven tunic. However, being Drew, he was able to sport it in good humor, without looking too ridiculous.

  The sea of villagers parted respectfully for the chief. A necklace of claws clacked around his neck with every lumbering step, and he carried a staff decorated with carvings and threads twisted in colorful designs.

  “You’re doing great, old boy.” Drew swatted his brother’s back.

  “Out of my way, please! Excuse me.” Catja asserted her way between the Jordinians. She was a full head shorter than the guards and easy to miss, if not for her tendency to raise her voice. “All right, places for the bride. She’s on her way.” She steered Ludwig to the chief’s left, and ordered Drew and Johanna to stand behind him.

  The Oca began to intone a disjointed melody as they waited, holding smudge s
ticks that emitted pleasant aromas while the children tossed pine needles to the wind. Catja adjusted Ludwig’s cape, peering up at him. “Kya will arrive alone,” she informed him quietly. “She has no family. Her parents died when she was young. That’s why her first marriage was something of a charity from Elder San and his first wives.”

  She adjusted his long hair to her satisfaction. “Make sure everyone can see your eyes.” Her face was earnest. “I really appreciate you doing this, Lord Cosmith. Kya is a lovely person. I’ve known her most of her life, since she was a little girl. She’s sweet as a gim, but she’s also got fire. I think she’ll suit you for ages to come.”

  Ludwig thought his chest might rattle with the impact of his heartbeat. Was this really happening? Or was he suffering a slow, freezing death in the North Sea after all, and his brain had succumbed to fantasy and delusion?

  The singing grew louder and Catja hurried aside. She joined his siblings behind him. Ludwig watched as a lithe figure, clothed in furs that only covered her chest and hips, with an open bearskin cloak to match his, treaded slowly through the crowd. She kept her gaze peacefully downcast as young women threw pink blossoms at her feet.

  Her limbs were a creamy, smooth-looking brown. Apart from paintings, Ludwig had never seen so much exposed skin on a woman. He swallowed hard. He was glad he wouldn’t have to say anything during the rite, because that would prove impossible.

  When she took her place to the chief’s right, she finally lifted her eyes to her groom. They were the color of honey, dripping for him. Her round cheeks shifted with a tiny grin only he could see. Ludwig did his best to return it.

  A hush enveloped the villagers as the chief commenced a lone chant.

  “He’s saying,” whispered Catja, “O Spirit that unites the great Sky and Earth—”

  Ludwig subtly shook his head at her. “You don’t have to translate,” he murmured. He returned his focus to Kya. He wanted to be present in the experience. He didn’t wish to bother with words.