by Alexa Aston
Whereas her teeth now chattered.
“We were born here,” Grania said, “and are used to it. As you see, we are not turning blue.” She grinned at the bumps on Yrsa’s skin as she massaged a creamy white substance from the crock into her hair.
“Rub the cream on your skin,” Mabina said. “’Twill enchant your new husband.”
Yrsa ran fingers trembling from the cold through the sweet-smelling stuff and held them to her nose. The unfamiliar fragrance intoxicated. “W-w-what is this scent? ’Tis lovely.”
“’Tis made from a flower that grows in the valley. We call it loyr, for it loves the shade and is the same pale white as the moon.”
“Quickly now, rinse,” Grania said. “The other women will arrive soon for their baths. We must get you to the chief’s cottage. No one but we and Lady Branwen may see you until ’tis time to go to the cavern.”
Yrsa hastily plunged beneath the falls. This time when she emerged, she sputtered and coughed. She stared in horror at Grania. “The ceremony is held in the c-c-cavern? Why?”
She never wanted to see that dreadful place again, much less wed Elrik there.
“All the folk of Tamescombe wed in the cavern. ’Tis tradition.” She helped Yrsa from the water and rubbed her dry with soft, woolen fabric.
Happy feminine shouts floated on the air.
“The women come.” Mabina wrapped her hair in another cloth and swathed her in a warm robe and slippers. “Hurry. They call to warn of their approach.”
A steady fire in the central pit warmed the chief’s cottage. Yrsa huddled close to the heat while she combed her hair. Once the long tresses dried, Branwen helped her dress in Elrik’s gift of the beautiful gray and blue clothing.
The older woman eyed her. “Why do you smile?”
“When Elrik brought these before he went to bathe, he said he purchased them in the hope I would wear them to our wedding.” She shook her head. “’Tis strange, yet exciting he already thought of marriage when we had met but once.”
Branwen lifted the syrce over her head. “Sometimes, once is all it takes.”
“’Tis truth, what you say. ’Twas so for my mother.”
Elrik’s candid admission had earned him a lingering kiss. Oh, how she wanted him, longed to touch and explore him, to feel his hands upon her. This night was theirs. For the first time, they would share the love of their bodies. Her pulse rioted at the thought. Heat flooded her from head to toe, warming better than any fire. The time left before they could be alone might well seem the longest of her life.
Nightfall loomed before Branwen, Mabina and Grania pronounced her ready. At Mabina’s suggestion, they left off the silver headrail and dressed her hair instead with jeweled combs, gifts from the two girls, and Branwen’s gift of strands of blue and silver beads.
“You were born of the glow of the moon and the light of the sun, Yrsa of Ottham,” Branwen said, her tone nigh reverent. “You will enchant young Elrik. ’Tis time. Your bridegroom awaits, and the feast and your wedding bower are ready.”
“My wedding bower?” Odd that she thought of her coming night with Elrik, but not of where they would spend that time. Foreboding touched her. “Where is this bower?”
“Fear not, child. I am aware the chamber where you stayed when first you arrived frightened you, but you will not recognize it when next you see it. Upon my word, you will find it most pleasing, a bower of warmth, light and privacy fashioned for you and Elrik.”
She closed her eyes and tried not to shudder. Was it not enough she must return to the main cavern?
Mabina and Grania came beside her and each took one of her hands. They lifted torches high and with Branwen in the lead, also carrying a torch, their little procession proceeded to the main path leading to the east end of the valley.
As they slipped like fae through the darkening woods, it seemed to Yrsa that just so must the ancient women of the Norse have made their way through the forest to perform some holy rite—and was not marriage the most ancient and mysterious of rituals?
They approached the porch of stone. Light flooded from the open doors. Laughter, music and snippets of song mingled with the cries of children, loud enough to drown the sweet croon of the waterfall.
Branwen passed through the first door. She paused at the second, her body silhouetted by the light. A soldier leaned from his post at the entrance to take her torch. With a smile as brilliant as the torch’s fire, she glanced over her shoulder to where Yrsa waited. “Here in Tamescombe, no woman is forced to wed against her will. Does your heart truly wish for this, child?”
Yrsa did not hesitate. “He is my destiny, and I his. I have known this as truth from before we met. Yet had I no such knowledge, our time together proved we belong to one another. Aye, I wish it with all my heart.”
“Then come, Yrsa of Ottham, and embrace your fate.”
Yrsa walked into the corridor and halted behind the healer.
Branwen stepped inside the chamber. After but a few steps she stopped, lifted high her arms and waited. As those gathered became aware of her presence, the noise of the crowd subsided. The music continued, but much subdued.
She slowly lowered her arms and stepped aside. “Yrsa of Ottham, come forth.”
Spellbound, Yrsa did not move. Memory painted the cavern as a vast, dreadful place with a terrifying ambience of silent, empty darkness, and her small chamber a cramped, confining part of it. Not so now.
Immense, aye, that description fit. It could accommodate a sprawling keep of four levels. The ruggedly irregular walls gleamed a greenish gray hue, streaked here and there with shades of brown, cream and rusty red.
The people of Tamescombe transformed it into a place of magic that dazzled with beauty, color and song. A myriad torches and cressets of glass banished most of the shadows. Light extended unto the soaring height of the ceiling that resembled naught so much as a jagged patchwork of stone chiseled by the hand of a mad giant. Everywhere, braziers blazed, enhancing the brightness and imparting warmth. Beautiful tapestries of brilliant hues and freshly cut boughs bedecked the walls, the fragrance of the greenery blending with the smells of food and smoke to dispel the odor of age and dust. Nigh the rows of wine and other beverages at the back stood more tables laden with food.
Men and women moved about, bearing brimming drinking vessels. A group of musicians played flutes, pipes, lyres and drums. Children played among the tables. Every person from the valley appeared present, yet without crowding.
A bonfire blazed in the central pit with beyond it, a low dais. Three high-backed wooden chairs rested upon the platform. Beneath the seat of the empty middle chair, someone had placed two silver goblets. The two valley wise men, Oran the bard, whose vision was almost completely obscured by a white film that covered his eyes, and Uckdryd the judge, occupied the two seats on either side.
Yrsa had met the two elders earlier in a rather hasty consultation when they came to the chief’s cottage to discuss the wedding. Until this moment, when she recognized the stringed musical instrument in Oran’s lap, she had not known which was bard and which the judge.
Mabina and Grania removed her cloak and gently urged her forward. Mabina’s voice was soft in her ear. “Do not keep your bridegroom waiting.”
She went without protest. She had naught to fear in this enchanting chamber. But where, among all this splendid grandeur, was Elrik?
Chapter Twelve
Elrik waited with Keir at the entrance to a passage that led to the wedding bower, a chamber off the main cavern.
He still privately shook his head over his earlier argument with Uckdryd, one of the elders. After the promised, rather frigid bath in the lake in which it seemed most of the men and youths in the valley participated, Uckdryd tried to prevent him from donning his clothing.
He lost his tunic, but after a brief tussle to retain possession of his braies, he said, “What do you do, old one?”
“What is it you do, youth? Know you not the ceremony to bind
you to the woman, Yrsa, must be performed by you in the nude?”
He blinked at Uckdryd. Bathing in the waters of the lake felt like swimming in melting ice. Even standing in the sun, his skin dimpled. He wanted to get dressed, and what kind of addlepated idea was it anyway, for a couple to marry without their clothes? He could hardly wait for the first time he saw Yrsa in that state, but he would not tolerate other men seeing her such.
“Naked? You expect us to marry naked?”
“Nay, not the woman. Only you.”
Betek’s guffaws echoed over the lake and across the valley.
By this time blind Oran, assisted by his youthful apprentice, wandered over. “’Tis tradition, youth. So has it been done among our people from the beginning.”
Heat touched Elrik’s cheekbones. Since his childhood, nudity had not embarrassed him, but Yrsa would not understand. “I am not yet of your people, old one. I will not follow this custom.”
His voice flat, Uckdryd protested. “Then I will not marry you. You may leave this valley with or without the woman, but you will not wed without my blessing.”
Betek sniggered.
Elrik threw a glance at his friend that promised future retribution. The lackwit only laughed the harder. Quite willing to throttle the elder and Betek, he started to argue further.
Thankfully, Chief Keir intervened. “Uchdryd, my old friend, we must recognize not all are familiar with our ways, and those who are not of us need not follow our customs.” He gestured to Elrik. “This one has agreed to a ceremony without a priest and the usual blandishments of the Church. ’Tis much he yields in order to wed his Yrsa in our valley. Mayhap we may accept a compromise?”
Uckdryd scowled. “I dislike compromise, and he already agreed to become one of us.” He raised his head as if he sought wisdom from the sky and in his best put-upon manner said, “What concession do you suggest, Keir?”
“That Elrik keep his braies but leave off all else. ’Tis high summer and warm enough he should come to no harm.”
The look he gave Elrik advised no argument.
“I will freeze,” he muttered.
Betek leaned to whisper in his ear. “Think of this night and the fair Yrsa beneath you. Such happy thoughts will keep you warmer than any amount of clothing.”
He growled, but when Uckdryd reluctantly agreed, Oran approved and Keir looked to him for an answer, he set his lips and nodded. He could only imagine Yrsa’s expression when she saw him.
Once he managed to get his braies on, the chief brought him to the wedding bower for his approval. He found it welcoming and applauded the privacy it guaranteed.
Torchlight pervaded the room and braziers chased away the chill, while beeswax candles, a true luxury, imbued the chamber with a scent as of summer. Tapestries of a gently erotic theme lined the walls. A bed with a thick pallet piled with soft bedding and furs created a warm and cozy nest. A silver tray draped with cloth lay on a table drawn close by. Since a jug and two cups sat beside the tray, he judged the cloth to cover food.
Howbeit, quick wrath tempered his liking for the space when Keir admitted Yrsa was confined here by Dugald without benefit of the now attendant comforts.
“This chamber is kept as a bower for special visitors,” Keir explained. “Thus, there is always a dressed pallet available. Dugald first brought Yrsa to this chamber without telling anyone. The guards he passed on the way into the valley assumed he brought her to my cottage, for she appeared unconscious and Branwen is our healer. It vexed my wife he left Yrsa alone in the dark, though he covered her with furs.” He grimaced. “’Tis good Yrsa awakened not until after Branwen had chance to order light and warmth brought into the chamber. In truth, I would not care to awaken alone in the cold dark, not knowing where I was or if ever again I would see light or a human face.” He laid a heavy hand on Elrik’s shoulder. “Have no fear, and I say, and for the sake of the ceremony to come, banish your anger. Once my lady knew yours had arrived, Yrsa lacked for naught.”
Elrik spouted one of the new curses he learned that day in the ancient language of the ancestors.
“Nevertheless, ’tis done,” Keir said, chuckling at his caustic response. “My wife insured she is no worse for the experience, and speaking of, Branwen will soon bring Yrsa to the cavern. We will watch from the passage entrance. You will be able to view her in her finery without her knowledge. ’Twill give you time to bring unruly manly urges under control.”
Not bothering to answer so foolish a charge, Elrik had followed Keir to the end of the passage where they now waited.
After a short interval, Branwen entered the main cavern. She stopped and lifted her arms while the noise of the crowd slowly hushed.
Yrsa stood framed in the doorway behind her. He could not see her well. Branwen announced her, but instead of stepping inside, his love remained in the door as if frozen in place.
A shaft of unease speared his heart. Did she think to change her mind? Then torchlight played more fully upon her face and he caught a glimpse of her expression. She gaped as her gaze roamed the huge chamber.
A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His brave, beautiful Yrsa stood astonished by her initial sight of the cavern.
He understood. When first he stepped inside, the vision overwhelmed him, too. Brabant, a flat land, had a few gently rolling hills in some regions but no high mountains or deep valleys such as had amazed Betek and him these past weeks. It also had no underground chambers that functioned as great halls.
The women behind Yrsa lifted away her cloak and gently prodded her into the cavern.
“Well, my young friend, what think you of my wife’s handiwork?”
He considered Keir’s comment and let his gaze range past Yrsa’s lovely face to the rest of her. The more he looked, the more he decided Keir’s charge about controlling manly urges was not so foolish. Faith, but she fired his blood. Pride and pleasure warred within that she wore the blue garments he purchased especially for her. As she moved, the soft, gauzy fabric clung to her slender form, accentuating the rounded curves of breasts, outlining the delicate undulation of waist and hips and tracing the slim length of leg. The women had arranged her buttercream hair in loose waves that rippled to her waist and then adorned it with combs and beads.
An image assailed him of Yrsa naked upon the soft bed in the chamber behind him with those wondrous, seductive strands fanned about her body. He would gather them in his hands and wrap them around his naked self as he came to her in love and passion.
Heat sizzled through his veins. Urgent desire for her all but buckled his knees.
He must have groaned aloud for Keir chuckled and slapped him so hard between his shoulder blades it almost propelled him out of the passage. “The sight of her was meant to aid you in restraining that lust, boy. See that you keep it reined a little longer, and be grateful Uckdryd agreed to allow the braies. I was not so fortunate.”
The chief dragged him from the passage. “She comes to you. Go.”
Elrik started forward. For the first time, he became aware that every other man in the immense chamber stared at his bride. A snarl formed in his throat, but at that moment, he swung his gaze to her.
She ogled his bare chest and then looked straight into his eyes. Her expression lit. She licked her lips and then she smiled, a gesture so loving and sweet and so full of wanton approval and appreciation he forgot everyone else, for he could see only her, think of naught but her.
They met in front of the dais, their gazes locked, their hands reaching to clasp.
“I know not,” she whispered, the light in her eyes dancing, “why you disavowed nigh all of your clothing, but I am not displeased.”
“Minx. I am supposed to be naked.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth to smother a shocked giggle, but mingled mirth and love blazed from her beautiful gray eyes.
The fragrance of her perfume swirled to envelope him. Had ever there been a single, brief doubt she should become his, it vanished i
n that moment. His heart was forever lost.
Yrsa could not take her gaze from the man by her side. He had scraped his square chin free of whiskers and brushed his golden hair off his forehead where for once, it miraculously stayed put. His nakedness but for a pair of braies in a dark, earthy hue displayed his broad shoulders and powerful form to advantage—a delight to her eyes and a nigh irresistible lure for her hands. Only a few old scars marred his smooth, golden skin. But ’twas the tender light in his gray eyes that captured her heart.
As Branwen slipped by her to mount the dais, she tore her gaze from Elrik.
The chief’s wife sat between Oran and Uckdryd in the chair with the two silver goblets underneath the seat. Mabina and Grania took up stances behind her.
The significance astounded Yrsa.
With Keir, Oran and Uckdryd, Branwen ruled her people. Earlier, along with the chief and the two elders, Branwen had spoken with her about the wedding and the decision to join the valley folk, but she had not then realized the import of the healer’s presence.
Among Normans and Saxons, ’twas almost unheard of that a female should hold official power. Aye, by simple expedient of widowhood or marriage to a weak man they might rule unsanctioned in familial or local situations, as had Eanfled. But to govern one’s people was outrageous, and unbelievable and…utterly inspiring.
Uckdryd rose. The murmuring in the cavern quieted.
Elrik squeezed her hand and her heart started to pound. She glanced at him.
He grinned.
Joy flooded her soul.
“Peace has ruled this valley for generations,” Uckdryd intoned. He sounded as if he sought to fill his voice with the mystery of all ages.
She flicked a glance at Branwen. The healer’s lips twitched.
“May peace find its way in the rest of the world,” Uckdryd continued, “to the hearts of all who dwell upon our beloved earth, for ’tis greatly needed there.
“We of this valley come together this eve to celebrate the joining of a free man and a free woman. In this union, they choose to abandon their separate lives to become as one. They pledge to adhere fast to one another, to bond their souls in love and to join their bodies to bring forth children.