“Well, yes, but—”
“But, what?”
“But we didn’t want them on our land.” He spoke with resolve, determined to justify his country’s actions. “They were different from us. Brutish, with fur. Spoke in a language we couldn’t understand, a harsh, guttural language.” He slid a glance to Briana again and saw her expression had changed ever so slightly, not so bewildered but perhaps more thoughtful. What was going through her mind? he wondered as he returned his attention to the queen.
“And did they hurt your people, physically, I mean?”
“No, but—”
“Young man, it seems to me you are having difficulty justifying your country’s treatment toward these people. So what happened when they realized they weren’t wanted in Maith Fearann? Did they return to their own country? Go to another?”
Weylyn stared down at his hands, a dawning comprehension replacing his earlier sense of righteousness. “Our king conscripted every available male and marched on the demons. Slaughtered them all, men, women, and children.” Shame washed over him, and at first he couldn’t look at the queen or Briana.
“Ah.” Queen Cinnie sat back in her chair, a look of shocked disgust on her face.
Briana spoke so quietly, at first he didn’t hear her. “And Samhain eve, I suppose, is their way of getting even with us.” She sighed. “I never thought of it that way. Never looked at the situation from their viewpoint.”
Weylyn rallied, still reluctant to concede the discussion. “If we didn’t lock our doors, they would slaughter us all. They are stronger than we are.”
The queen looked his way. “Do you suppose if you could prove to them that you mean no harm now, that you are sorry for what happened in the past, they would leave your people alone?”
“Madam, that is an impossible task. No one would attempt to get near them. We wouldn’t have a chance to speak one word to them.”
“It has been the biggest regret of my life that I have never explained to your people—these visitors we’ve had in the past—how to make peace with the demons.” She paused, frowning. “You see, we had a similar situation in our world, thousands of years ago. Other creatures from another country moved into our land. We, too, feared them because they were different, much taller than we, with white skin and no hair. Without words, we threatened them, committed crimes against them that even now cause me shame. We burned their barns, destroyed their crops. Naturally, they retaliated, kidnapped our children, burned our houses down in the dark of night.” She pressed her hand to her forehead and sighed. “This went on for years, until we had a new king, a much wiser one than the previous king. He was a scholar who had studied many languages. He discovered a language from ages past, a universal language easily understood by all people, throughout all times. Why we had never heard or spoken this language before, I have no idea. Perhaps because we felt so superior to all other creatures and expected them to learn our speech, our ways.”
“A universal language,” Weylyn said, a question in his voice.
“Yes, I will get to that shortly.” She paused. “With no escorts, our king traveled to their capital, and in their language, asked to speak to their ruler. Oh, I’m sure he experienced fear, afraid they would kill him. They did no such thing. Brought before their ruler, he knelt and bowed his head, then looked up at their king and said the words that conveyed that he wanted peace and meant them no harm. At first, they did not accept his words, and he feared he had spoken them incorrectly. But after a long discussion in their own speech, they repeated the same words to him. From then on, we lived together in peace.” Her expression turned sad. “But alas, they died several hundred years ago and are no more.
“All of them?”
She nodded. “A disease known only to them killed them all. And we had no cure else we would have helped them. But for a time, we had a wise king, one who saved their people and ours.”
Weylyn let out a long breath. “If only we knew these words, the ones you spoke of that mean peace.” He shook his head. “But no, it would never work for us. Our king, I fear, is not a peacemaker. Nor one who would have the courage to face these demons. And who would be brave enough to do that?” He sighed. “No, it would never work.”
“One more question,” the queen said. “Surely it is not only your village the demons enter on Samhain. This occurs throughout the kingdom, at all the villages and cities?”
“Madam, I suppose so. We have heard tales from other parts of our country, so I assume it is not only Lochlann they threaten.”
“But if someone would approach these creatures on Samhain eve, perhaps these … demons, as you call them, would carry the word back to their fellow men.”
“Madam, no one knows the words of peace. And who would be willing to face the demons on Samhain?”
“I would, if I knew the words.”
They both threw a glance at Briana, Weylyn with a spurt of alarm. “No, Briana, I will not have you endanger yourself.” Arguments churned in his head. Could he do it? “But none of our people know these words.”
“I shall teach them to you.” The queen spoke with quiet assurance, as if she had made a simple request, rather than asking a near impossible task. “Repeat these words after me. Es urta l gret. En laret nenen set k sarnen.” She waited while they both repeated the words. “I come in peace,” she translated. “My people mean you no harm.”
After a few repetitions, he mastered the words but agonized over Briana. Never in the world would he let her put herself in danger.
Abruptly, the queen stood. “Enough for tonight.”
Time went by more quickly than Briana would have imagined. Their handfasting day arrived, another glorious day with bright sunshine. She wondered if Donoria ever got any rain. Surely it must, for the grass remained a rich green, flowers, trees, and shrubs flourishing. With a mental shake of her head, she disregarded thoughts of the weather, for all she could think about, all she wanted to think about, was that Weylyn would become her husband this day.
The seamstresses having completed her wardrobe, she chose to wear her new light blue dress, the lovely silk with a trace of lavender. The queen lent her a gleaming pearl necklace with matching ear rings. Before leaving for the palace chapel, she took one last look at herself in the full-length mirror. Luxurious and slinky, the dress fell to her ankles and had a silver link belt to enclose the waist. Cut on the bias, it had a lovely swing, and she swayed in front of the mirror to see the effect. Holding her dress up, she admired her new shoes, black leather with a silver buckle, and wondered when she would wear them again.
Weylyn waited for her outside the room, garbed in a deep blue linen tunic and matching trousers, and wearing new black boots, highly polished. His face reflected all the joy she felt but perhaps none of the apprehension, for a trace of anxiety stirred in her stomach. She loved him, oh, how she loved him, but could she make him happy? She retrieved the question stored at the back of her mind since his proposal of marriage—could she please him in bed, innocent as she was? Surely a handsome, virile man such as he must have known many women.
Then he smiled and clasped her hand, and all her misgivings flew, with love-a-plenty to inspire her. “I love you,” he said. “Don’t ever forget that.”
Clad in a long green robe, a red peaked velvet hat atop his head, the priest, Father Vestavius, met them at the bottom of the stairs and led them to the chapel. The queen and ministers waited there, along with their ladies and others Briana had never met. She smiled at them, a smile they returned, for no one ever had gloomy thoughts at a wedding.
A wide red circle occupied much of the floor space at the front of the chapel, behind that stood the altar, where sweet aromas from many flowers floated through the air. Extending from the altar were chairs for the guests, every chair filled. Situated on the wall, above the altar, a large gold circle with pictures of the sun, stars, and moon in the center reflected the sunlight that streamed through the wide window.
Father Ves
tavius indicated for them to enter the circle, he joining them. “Weylyn Quinn and Briana Cashel wish to join together as husband and wife,” he intoned to the gathering. “May the gods and goddesses bless their union.” Lightly grasping Weylyn’s right hand and her left, he tied them together with a red ribbon. “This red ribbon symbolizes their union, the joining of this man and woman,” he explained. He reached for a bowl from the altar and plucked a handful of dried flowers. He motioned for her and Weylyn to bow their heads, since they stood taller than he. Sprinkling petals on their heads, he said, “These flowers symbolize fertility. May this couple have many children.”
Briana’s face warmed and she dared not look at Weylyn, yet she remained overwhelmed by the ceremony, the very strangeness of it—a ritual so different from that of her land.
The priest grasped a long vine from the altar and wrapped it around them at their waists. “And the vine stands for longevity. May their marriage be a long and happy one.”
From a pocket in his black robe, he produced gold chains, and motioning again, he bade them bow their heads so he could slip the chains around their necks. Briana stifled a gasp, was the chain hers to keep? She’d never owned gold in her life.
Father Vestavius bade them bow again and placed his hands on their heads. “Weylyn and Briana, you are now husband and wife.” With quick, practiced hands, he untied the ribbon and the vine, then winked at Weylyn. “You may kiss your wife now.”
Weylyn turned and drew her into his arms as he’d done so many times within the past few days. But this time the kiss was different, sweet and tender. The look in his eyes told her this was only a beginning. She brushed a tear from her eye, too overcome with emotion to speak. If someone had told her one moonphase ago that she would be his wife someday, she would have told that person he was demented.
Weylyn, oh, Weylyn, my love!
Holding hands, she and Weylyn headed for the dining room with the others, where a magnificent feast awaited them.
Queen Cinnie clapped her hands. “Come now! Let us all enjoy the wedding feast. Later, the love birds will have time to themselves,” she said with a teasing look their way. “For now, we will gather together to wish them well.”
Next to Weylyn and too excited to eat much, Briana dabbed at the food, then considered the time and effort the kitchen staff must have spent on all the lovely dishes—the roast duckling in a wine sauce, the trout flavored with lemon and thyme, paper-thin slices of ham, not to mention countless vegetables and a white wine to accompany the dinner. How could she eat all this? But she did, for besides not wanting to hurt the feelings of the kitchen staff, she hated to waste food. She fingered her gold chain, a symbol of her union with Weylyn, and knew greater happiness than she’d ever thought possible. She reminded herself yet again that she’d never known such kindness, such good will, as she and Weylyn had found with these people. Yet all the time she wanted to be alone with her husband.
He leaned her way and spoke in low tones. “Are you thinking the same thing I am?”
Made bold by either the wine or happiness, she placed her hand on his thigh. “I don’t know. What are you thinking?”
He leaned ever closer and placed his hand on her thigh, his fingers creeping upwards. “That I can hardly wait to have you alone.”
“Now, now,” said one of the queen’s ministers across the table. “None of that whispering. Time enough for that later.”
As if caught in a crime, they drew apart. Briana’s face warmed yet again, and it occurred to her that within the past few days, she’d blushed enough to last her for the rest of her life.
After a dinner that must have stretched for hours, two of the staff brought a wedding cake, a three-tiered cake with white icing, while other servants cleared their plates and left dessert plates at her own place. Inwardly, she groaned, convinced she couldn’t eat another bite.
“Now, Briana, you must cut the cake.” Queen Cinnie gestured toward the long knife beside the confection, and Briana rose to do the honors, passing the plates around, the first one to the queen.
At the completion of the meal, Weylyn drew her close again. “Will we have time to ourselves now?” he murmured. Pressing close to his body, loving the feel of him, she wondered the same. Did the queen have anything else planned?
Ah, yes, she did! Dancing! Briana sighed inwardly but kept her smile frozen in place as the many guests headed for the ballroom, a splendid room with several crystal candelabras holding hundreds of candles, and a four-piece band on a marble dais. Unfamiliar with the dances, she and Weylyn stood back to watch the others, until they found the dances were really quite simple, some performed in groups, other dances only for couples. The fairies whirled and dipped and clapped their hands to the light, airy music of the string band. Couples kept their distance from others, careful that their wings wouldn’t tangle. In no time, Briana and Weylyn joined them, loving the feel, the beat of the music, ethereal melodies like nothing she’d ever heard. During dances and between love glances, they exchanged wry looks, she counting the minutes until they could be by themselves, despite her enjoyment of the dancing.
At the queen’s signal, the dancing ended, and Briana wondered what more was to come. A circus, no doubt, with jugglers and clowns! But no, the queen bade one of the ever present servants, Laurella, to show them to their room, while she and the guests wished them a good night.
“Not that you’ll get much sleep.” The Minister of Forests laughed at his own joke, the others joining in.
Embarrassed, Briana found her voice. “Your Majesty,” she said, her gaze covering all the guests, “Weylyn and I thank you for all you’ve done for us, for the beautiful wedding ceremony, such a fine dinner, and the dancing. So much you have done for us, given us. We shall remember these moments for the rest of our lives.”
Weylyn placed his arm around her waist, his body warm and solid. “Allow me to add my gratitude to that of my wife. We both thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”
Queen Cinnie waved her hand. “Think nothing of it. It makes us happy to do these things for you.”
As the servant led them up the stairs, Briana could think of nothing but her new husband, how she loved and wanted him this one man in the world she longed to share her days and nights with for the rest of their lives.
Laurella showed them to their bedchamber, another spacious room, this one with a large canopied bed. “Here are your new clothes.” She indicated the large clothes press in a corner of the chamber. Three candles in crystal holder sat on an oval table next to their bed, and these the servant lit, then curtsied and left them, closing the door behind her.
Alone at last, she faced Weylyn and swallowed, not knowing what to say. But soon, she found there was no need for words, no need for anything but their love. Without quite knowing how it happened, she found herself in bed with him their clothes discarded on a chair.
He reached for her and held her close to his chest, so close she could feel his heart beating. “I thought the evening would never end,” he murmured in her ear.
“Me, too, darling, and yet, they have been so good to us.
“True, true, can’t deny that.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I could spend the rest of my days relating all they have done for us, but I can think of better things to do.”
She smiled in the dim candlelight. She would not reveal her apprehension, for surely he knew she had never traveled this road before. “Better things to do? Like what?”
“Shall I show you?” he asked teasingly.
“Please do.” Her heart beat fast with anticipation, with wanting him, loving him, with waiting for she knew not what.
“Ah, sweetheart.” He kissed her long and deeply, his fingers tracing a path from her breasts to her stomach, when he paused and drew back. “I know this will be the first time for you,” he said in that husky voice she loved. “And I’ll try to be gentle. But oh, if you only knew how I have yearned for you, not just these past few days but for years and years
.”
She pressed a kiss to his lips, then to his throat. “The same for me. I have wanted you for ages.” With a boldness she never dreamed she possessed, she caressed him, her fingers finding his sensitive places, drawing gasps of pleasure from him.
“Briana, my wife!”
He entered her, and despite a twinge of pain, she gloried in his body, every part of him.
“Yes, Weylyn, yes! I love you!”
One by one, the candles flickered out, but their fire—hers and Weylyn’s—lasted throughout the night.
Weylyn awoke the next morning, at first confused by his presence in the large bed. He saw Briana asleep beside him, her long blonde hair tousled, her firm breasts tempting him. With a rush of happiness, it all came back to him—their handfasting ceremony, the dinner and dancing but more than all else, their lovemaking, repeated again and again during the night.
A sweet languor claimed him, a desire to stay in bed and do nothing but make love to his wife. But a niggling obligation plagued his conscience, the knowledge that they couldn’t stay in this country forever. They must return to Maith Fearann and face whatever judgment the druids would mete out, for surely he had failed in his duty, no matter the fog.
When Briana murmured in her sleep and turned onto her side, he dismissed all thoughts of returning, his only desire to take her in his arms and make love again.
She blinked her eyes and looked wildly around, her gaze finally settling on him. She stretched and smiled and without a word, opened her arms to him. They made love once more, a sweet yet passionate lovemaking, this time without the urgency of their first coupling.
Later, while they dressed to go downstairs, he knew he could no longer postpone the nagging obligation that refused to leave his mind. “Briana….”
“I know.” In her linen shift, she slipped her new yellow cotton dress over her head, her voice muffled through the cloth. She straightened the frock around her waist and hips. “We can’t stay here for the rest of our lives. We must return to Maith Fearann.”
In the Witching Hour Page 21