"Really. How very forward-thinking of them."
"Also, illegitimately born children suffer no indignity, as the parents are expected to marry soon anyway, so long as they are not a product of incest within the same lineage. Marriages are exogamous, which means that the husband belongs to another matrilineage than the wife, again, to make sure they are not too closely related, and to ensure the continuation of the tribe.
"The managerial head of the land of the Garo lineage is the husband of the ‘matron’ of the village. The village council is formed by all the adult male members of the village and deals with agricultural issues."
"I see. So the men have some political power, and the women great sexual freedom."
"Just so."
"What about the Khasi?"
Eswara explained, "In the folktales of the Khasi, the earth Ka Blei is the mother of celestial bodies, fire and water. The Sun is her daughter and the Moon her son. Because of his bad behaviour against his sister, the Moon was punished and his face tainted by soot forever.
"The Earth Goddess has a prominent position in the religion of Meghalaya and Assam. She is often revered in the form of the Hindu goddess Durga. A Khasi clan mother is viewed as the worldly equivalent of the Primal Mother, Ka Blei. She is the most important person of the community, its chief and priestess, who administers the clan property.
"The high priestess of the village of Smit is the most powerful shaman in Northeast India, and she selects the dates of important ceremonies and appoints Khasi village chiefs.
"Every young Khasi girl takes part in a ceremonial dance where she absorbs the powers of the earth. The girls dance in a large square protected by young men who wave yak tails to keep the evil spirits away.
"The girls’ postures remain upright, while the only movement in the dance is the rolling of their feet from heel to toe, thus absorbing power from the earth. The forces flow through the spine into their heads. Later in their lives they need these forces to fulfill their role in the society as women and mothers."
"This must be a very small tribe, surely."
Ash replied, "There are over half a million Khasi. The men sometimes complain that they are little better than studs and child-rearers. They do not own land or businesses, and have no right of inheritance."
Ellen was wide-eyed. "Oh my."
"The husband of the youngest daughter moves into the family house. A Khasi child takes the surname of the mother. The men do have some useful duties, however, such as hunters and defenders of the community in case of war. The government administration is solely the responsibility of Khasi men. Important questions and decisions are discussed among all clan members, and most Khasi men feel that their opinions are taken into consideration.
"The elder men of the tribe support the fairer sex. They like the matriarchal system, and say they would not change it. That it is a great tradition favoured by the gods. That all bounty flows from the goddess."
"I see. So the point you were trying to make is that I shouldn’t simply accept blindly everything that we do here in England as the only way to live one’s life."
He nodded. "Precisely."
Ellen contemplated the thought for a moment, and then took his hand and began to massage it.
He gave her a startled look, then grinned. She had learned her lessons well....
Ellen felt her own power as she wandered through the ancient abey at Waltham, part of which dated back to before the Norman Conquest.
She liked the way the people stared at her, so blonde, yet so regal in her sari, escorted by the tall proud man in black and white bearing her colours on his brow. She had worn the bangles she had been given for the Holi celebrations, and jangled as she walked, feeling every inch a wealthy and exotic princess.
"Some of them are actually supposed to be worn on the ankle, the rings on the toes," he pointed out as he heard her jingling and raised one of her hands and arms to admire her ornamants. "Indian brides are noted for sometimes literally being worth their weight in gold."
"Ah, but you said we’re not supposed to aspire to material things. It is a lovely sari, though. Thank you all."
"You’re very welcome. You look gorgeous. Actually, I think you would look fine even in a burlap sack. But I'm sure you prefer the sari. Much less scratchy."
She giggled.
"But come, we need to get out to the start of the race."
They walked to the outskirts of the small market town. Ash was all business as he waited at the starting line to jump onto his mount and gallop the huge field on one large oval which had been marked out with stakes tied with cotton. But he still had enough time to give a reassuring smile to Ellen as he shook his muscles out.
To her surprise he had removed his jacket, kurta and boots, and was clad only in his black pajama, red waist sash, and the Duchess’ hankie around his upper arm.
She had to admit looked even better in black than white, and even better bare…
She felt the heat flood her face when he pointed to his forehead and smiled at her meaningfully. He was going to win this for her. And was pledging... What exactly?
She couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, she felt as though she were poised on the brink of a momentous event.
His rival’s eyes narrowed as he saw what was distracting Ash’s attention. A blonde English mem ? She was most certainly a beauty, he had to give her that, arrayed in a fortune in gold and silk. The sight of her spurred Pradnesh to fury, and he was determined to win more than ever this year, if only to diminish him in the admiring girl's eyes.
Ash leapt into his saddle easily at the signal, but Pradnesh made the race difficult for him by taking an early lead on the inside, and always allowing his horse to drift into Ash’s.
Ash grew more and more frustrated, but told himself to be patient. Pradnesh couldn’t keep riding his mount head over neck around the course, which was at least two and a half miles that he could see.
He also knew his mount well. It was his cousin Eknath’s, pride of his stables. It had a lot of staying power, with the right mastery.
Soon the twenty horse race whittled down to a tight pack of four well in the lead, and Ash was sure as they got half way around and began to head back that Pradnesh’s mount would be blown long before it ever got to the finish line.
He caught sight of Ellen all in blue, and then the ride was effortless. He knew a real sense of peace even as the excitement surged within him.
The horse thundered underneath him powerfully, and he let the beast have its head. It ate up the ground and passed Pradnesh, soaring away from him, so happy to run free, that Ash actually had a hard time pulling him up at the end of the race. He looked back now, and saw that the rest of his rivals were only just now crossing the finish line.
He stared, and saw that Pradnesh was fourth overall, the worst defeat he had ever suffered.
But Ash didn’t care. He had triumphed, and now as he made his way back to his party, he leapt down from the saddle and handed back the hankie to the Duchess. He accepted her kiss on the cheek with a smile, but then Ellen was there, across from him in the crowd. Without thinking, he picked her up and spun her around in his arms until they both laughed.
His lips began to hover over hers, when a sudden shove sent them both flying. As per the spirited young men’s traditions, a mud pit had been prepared at the finish line.
Usually the winner was feted with beer, whisky and food, while the losers made merry in the mud. But Pradnesh was so furious at his loss, and so jealous of Ash's relationship with a woman like Ellen, he had sent them both hurtling in.
Both hit the surface with an almighty splash and came up sputtering.
Ellen guessed in an instant what had happened when she wiped the viscous goo out of her eyes and looked up at the edge of the pit.
She felt a creeping sense of unease. Ash said he did not believe in violence, but he had to be furious, if only because he thought she was insulted, she guess as he flicked back his hair like a dog and
bared his teeth. She was sorry the lovely clothes had been ruined, but perhaps if they were rinsed out quickly they might not be so bad. She had a greater fear of the sari unravelling as she tried to get out of the cloying mud. She couldn’t imagine how awful she must look, but her saving grace was that one corner of her pallav was clean. She wiped her eyes and face quickly, plastered a smile on her face, and then waded over to Ash and did wiped his eyes as well.
"Are you all right?" he asked in an undertone.
"Fine. I’ve had the full holiday experience now," she said, giggling despite herself. "Mud and everything. It's like being a child again. And you were wonderful," she said sincerely as she wiped his eyes tenderly, then his cheek and mouth.
"My darling Ellen, I—"
"Don’t say it. Just kiss me, please?" she said, smiling up at him through the muddy streaks on her cheeks.
Her hands on his muddy bare chest were too thrilling for them both, and he gripped the back of her head, and bent her back into his arms, kissing her blisteringly for an all too brief moment.
Their slippery, muddied bodies glided together, and the whole world spun away as their passions surged.
The cheers of all the young men resounded around the racecourse. In an instant they were all leaping in beside them. Ash shielded Ellen with his body as he struggled to the edge of the pit while they laughed and covered their eyes against splashes. He lifted her by her waist, and sat her on the edge of the trough.
"Damnation, you’re unravelling."
"It’ll be all right. If we can find your mother, she has the rest of your clothes and my dupatta."
Martin had by this time struggled to the side of the pool and offered Ellen a hand up and Ash a hand out. "My, that Pradnesh is a sore loser."
"Aye, but it was fun," Ellen said, laughing breathlessly.
Ash looked over and saw that his rival had not only been thrown into the mud but was now being held under. "Serves him right. But please don't hurt him."
"Come, let’s get you out of here. We can go home for you to change and go on to the dance," Martin said, leading them both in the direction of their carriages.
Streams of muddy water were coming off her sari, and Ellen squelched to the edge of the crowd, holding it up as best she could. Eswara wiped their faces and rung out the yards of material with both hands, and got them into the coach, which fortunately had leather seats.
Ellen laughed about it all the whole way back in the coach, and Ash was glad to see her looking so happy. In fact the more he looked at her, the more he recalled the hug he had given her, her sweet touches. Her flaming kiss.
He checked his forehead. "Have I lost your colours?" he asked softly.
"No, I still see a tiny bit left."
"You can redecorate me later."
"What are we going to wear for the dance now?" Ellen asked as they travelled back.
"A sari, one of the new ones you got, or a gown. I don’t much care. People wear what they like to the ball."
"What will you wear?"
"I shall wear Indian garb. But the lady Bhavya our hostess does not mind."
Ellen’s decision was made for her when she arrived back at the townhouse and discovered her sister lying in wait for her, and clad in the new hyacinth blue gown which Ash had spoke of so highly when he had accompanied her to the couturiere several days before.
"Georgina, what on earth are you doing—"
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."
"A small accident."
"More like a mud bath."
"If you please, I need to get ready for a ball," she said with asperity.
"Don’t let me keep you."
"But that’s my best frock."
"First come, first served," she said with a toss of her head. "And I’ve been most ill served."
"How so?"
"You didn’t tell me you had been keeping company with the sublime Ash Paignton. I saw him squelching up the stairs just now. So how long have you been keeping him a secret?"
"No secret. He's Cousin Martin's step-son. We’re friends."
"Swiving in a stable is an interesting idea of friendship."
Ellen's mouth dropped open. "We never— We were at an open-air festival with the Rakehells and had a small accident, that’s all."
"Hm, you expect me to believe that? All these weeks and he hasn’t tried to futter you yet? You must be doing something wrong."
Ellen’s eyes crackled with fire. "No, it’s because I’m not doing anything wrong that he hasn’t tried to futter me."
Georgina glared at her. "In that case, he’s still fair game. So I’m declaring open season. I guarantee I’ll have that young buck in my snare by the end of the evening."
"No, Georgina, no! You can’t!" Ellen said in a panic.
Her younger sister gave a spiteful smile. "Just watch me. And remember, it’s your fault for not being nicer to me." "No, Georgina, it’s not fair. You have hundreds of beaux. At least allow me one!"
"Hah, so you admit he is a beau!"
"Not really, but I do like him, and you have so many dancing attendance upon you that one more is hardly likely to make any difference--"
"But none of them are as handsome and virile as he." She pulled on her gloves—Ellen's gloves, actually, and picked up her sister's reticule and fan as well. "Do hurry. We have no intention of waiting for you all night."
Ellen’s heart sank. She had to wash her hair free of mud, her best dress and accoutrements were gone...
And worst of all, her sister meant every word she had said. She was after Ash, and few men could resist her once she turned on the charm.
What on earth was Ellen to do now?
Chapter Seventeen
Ellen flew to the bathroom and performed her ablutions in order to get ready for the ball. She hurried as fast as she could, worrying all the while at the mischief Georgina might be up to, now that she had determined to make a play for Ash just to spite her.
Ash wouldn't be taken in, would he….
But how could she possibly compete with her faster, more worldly sister?
With her hair wrapped in a towel to try to wring it dry, she looked at her remaining good evening gown that Georgina had not appropriated for herself, and the saris she had been given.
Gold, or midnight blue? The gold one was especially fine, encrusted with jewels, but she was sure the darker colour was no coincidence. He had been so adamant about her getting that gown in Bath, it was clearly a color he liked.
The sari was shot through with gold thread, heavily embroidered at the hem and all over the pallav. The matching short-sleeved top, the choli, had the same embroidery, gold beading around the scooped neckline, and showed a most daring display of cleavage for her.
She noticed Georgina had padded the top of her hyacinth gown in order to fit into it. She hoped she lost the cotton half way through a lively reel, she thought with an uncharacteristic burst of spite.
Ellen unwrapped her hair, combed it out, and sat as close to the fire as she dared with it spread out down her back to dry while she got dressed carefully. She put on her silk undergarments, and then the choli. She checked that she was holding the sari in the correct direction, and knotted the ends. She wrapped it around her carefully, and then began pleating tightly. This time her sari was not going to unravel if she could help it.
Then she reached for her jewel box, and as she sat drying her hair, donned every single bracelet and ring she had been given, and her own elegant diamond pendoleque earrings and a fine gold choker.
There was not much she could do about her hair, still so damp as it was, so she braided it elaborately, which was easy to do now since it was wet and thus did not curl so much.
She fixed the braids into a lovely crown with some fine gold pins to which she had attached some strings of gold beads, so that every way her head turned, her hairstyle caught the light.
She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to colour them. Taking a tiny bit of darkened candle
grease, she outlined her eyes and brows. A tiny dusting of her coloured gold mica powder from Holi left her looking exotic and mysterious, the sari clinging to her lovely form in shimmering folds.
When she descended the stairs, Georgina’s gasp and furious look told her all she needed to know.
Well, not quite all, for Ash, in all black with a midnight blue vest and sash which matched her sari perfectly, looked at her with such longing it was as though he had shouted his feelings out loud.
He came to the bottom of the stairs and kissed her hand, then put his yellow tilak on her brow once more. He handed her her bag so she could return the favor in red. Then he set down the bags and firmly placed her hand in the crook of his arm in a gesture Georgina could not fail to interpret.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5 Page 53