by Jacky Gray
“You may have no interest, but do you think that might stop her? Do you know nothing? Your father owns the biggest farm in the area, making you the most eligible …”
“… bachelor. Apart from Jarl and Domenyk. Yes, I’d worked that out. But I still don’t see how I’m to blame.”
“Because you enjoy her attention. You’re flattered to think the most beautiful woman in the village could fall in love with you.”
He shook his head, but she ignored it, forging ahead in her anger. “Let me give you a clue; she hasn’t. She’s simply after your inheritance.”
Reason deserted Cal as he took the only course of action available, turning and pulling her into his lap in a fluid movement.
It took her off guard, as did his lips on hers.
Despite her stiff indignation, he sensed she’d been waiting for their first kiss as long as he had.
~*~
The rest of the afternoon swept past Lyrelie so fast she barely grasped what went on. Several scenes filtered through: Freya asking how dare she miss her performance and what happened to her and Cal. Verat nudging Cal’s arm and calling him a rogue. The four of them sharing their food packages in a quiet corner. Magister Ranly worrying about trivia, asking the same questions several times over.
When twilight came, the performers paraded down the sacred avenue behind the Archdruid and his good lady.
Lyrelie gave thanks for Cal being by her side as they watched over the candle-bearers flanking them. The youngsters did their duty with faces as solemn as their excitement would allow.
She joined in the songs and responses automatically as nerves turned her insides liquid. Waiting for her turn, she ran through the dance in her head, not noticing Tol had finished his Beltane dance of the May until Cal nudged her.
As the music began, her numerous rehearsals took over. She became the embodiment of fire, sizzling with heat and passion as she leapt over the flames of the small bonfire. On the last of the three leaps, she stumbled just before taking off, and her dress skimmed the flames. Thankfully, the Gods were with her and the many floating scarves on her dress did not catch fire. Her heart still beat at twice its normal rate as she took her seat.
Cal squeezed her arm with a whispered, “Well done,” before rising for his turn.
His dance took everyone by surprise; even those who’d seen him rehearse. He increased the pace, vitality and ferocity of the complex sequence miming the grain harvest. She couldn’t decide if it was a result of the supercharged boost of healing she’d given as she applied the salve, or simply because he’d been holding back on the rehearsals. Either way, the crowd were equally shocked, delighted and entranced by the daring – and dangerous – dance.
Although she knew the blades were wooden, several of the mothers did not, pulling their little ones out of harm’s way. The applause at the end sounded louder than for any other dance, and the cheering went on for some time as the poor girl doing Herfest had to support the weight of the huge cornucopia horn.
Lyrelie wanted to squeeze his arm, but felt many pairs of eyes upon them, so she contented herself with a wry comment. “I imagine your injuries gave you no problems during the dance, then.”
He chuckled as he replied in a low tone. “Thanks to your healing hands. I would really appreciate them right now, my back is twinging fiercely.”
Glancing round, she manoeuvred herself into a position whereby she could slip her hand inside his straw tabard discreetly, as she channelled the precious energy, directing it toward all the places where he suffered most.
They remained in this tenuous position all the way through the next three dances, and she clapped her free hand against his when applause was required.
Freya’s clever costume alternated between dark and light as she played out the story of the light half of the year turning to darkness. After she completed her transition from light to dark, a shrill howl preceded a dark figure, topped with a wolf’s head. This had not happened in rehearsal, so the other players were caught by surprise, although a glance at Magister Ranly’s expression suggested he had sanctioned it, and was delighted with the effect.
Freya jumped up in apparent dread and the frightening beast pursued her around the circle. Their chase was accompanied by the screams of small children still recovering from their terror of the pumpkin-headed nightmare figure representing Samhain. As the wolf caught her, he engulfed her in his dark cloak, and so the light finally died. The older children holding candles all extinguished them at once, and this grand finale resulted in the biggest cheer.
Cal took advantage of the darkness to hug Lyrelie properly, and she felt many years’ worth of unrequited yearning in his kiss. When they surfaced, the henge appeared empty apart from a giggling, similarly-engaged mound on the ground, which turned out to be Freya and Verat – his wolf-head tossed aside.
A couple of wardens appeared holding lanterns, tasked with ensuring everyone made it over to the village hall for refreshments. Cal tugged her arm and they hurried to take their places. Magister Ranly had planned a repeat performance of the Wheel Dance in the hall.
Lyrelie couldn’t explain what happened to her in the next few days, only that she no longer felt like a one. As though enchanted, she’d become part of a two; unable to function on her own. All day, she’d be doing something ordinary – a simple task she’d performed many times before – when something would bring Cal into her mind. At that point, she’d either sink into a melancholy, wanting to be with him, or burst into song – usually a Yuletide ditty from one of the entertainments.
Her mind filled with fanciful notions as she imagined how he would perform the task, or even better, how they could do it together. It would no longer be a mundane chore, but an enjoyable activity they could perform together with stolen hugs and kisses and plenty of light-hearted teasing. My, did he love to tease her?
The gaiety and frivolities of the season added to the lightness in her heart, and he took advantage of the chilly weather to wrap her up inside his thick sheepskin cloak as they toasted the trees at the Wassailing. All the normal events, like the Clove-gifting and the Barding were so much more fun with him by her side.
Her mood was so good, nothing would lessen it, not even when one of her mother’s patients decided to deliver her babe early and Lyrelie was summoned to assist at the birthing. News of the joyful event did not take long to spread through the village, two births within the same week was a rarity.
“Good morn, dear midwife.” Cal’s mother embraced Senna. “Congratulations on swelling our numbers by two more in this challenging season of severe cold and dangerous ailments.”
Lyrelie hesitated at the invitation to spend the day at their farm. Although she’d known Chalette for as long as she could remember, she’d always seen her as a kindly aunt. Now Lyrelie was walking out with Cal, she imagined the woman would see her very differently.
Her mother seemed enamoured by the idea, and pressed her arm. “Why that sounds wonderful, dear. You must accept, you’ve had a traumatic few days, it would be good for you take a break from the demands of mewling babes.”
Lyrelie hugged her basket closer. She’d mentioned to Cal how her experience with farm animals was limited to a few chickens and Bluebell, the cow they shared with their neighbours. She never imagined it would lead to a formal invitation.
“There’s no need to reply today. I’ve been meaning to invite you for some while, but the harvest demands my full attention, putting all thoughts from my head.”
The pressure of her mother’s gaze made Lyrelie stammer. “O-of c-course. I’d love to come, but I wouldn’t want to be in your way at this busy time.”
“Nonsense. This is the perfect time – Farmon always insists we make use of these twelve scant days to socialise and make merry. We’re all looking forward to spending some time catching up – it’s been a long while since the yard rang with your laughter.” Cal’s mother smiled as she bade them a good morn and went on her way.
~*~
>
Cal had mixed feelings about his mother’s invitation – had she heard the rumours and wanted to see this strumpet for herself? What if his parents hated Lyrelie? Not that they ever could. They’d loved her as a girl, and once they got to know the woman she’d become, they would surely see how sweet and kind and modest … his mind drifted off into a litany of her many virtues. Above all, the compassion which shone out of her soul, making her far more beautiful than all the conventionally pretty girls.
All his concerns vanished the moment she walked through the door, her sunny smile entrancing them as much as her perfect manners and her ability to make everyone feel a little better about themselves just from spending time in her presence. Everything about her brought a lightness of spirit as she flitted from task to task, charming even the doughtiest of milkmaids.
His mother remarked afterward that she was a perfect mix of the best parts of both her parents, and how pleased she was her son had found such a worthy girl to walk out with. His father had been similarly taken with her perpetual questions and willingness to experience every aspect of the job, no matter how mucky.
“Aye, she’ll make a fine farmer’s wife, and her knowledge of the healing will be a great advantage.”
Cal’s cheeks reddened and his mother chided her husband. “You’re talking as though they’ve already jumped the fire – give the poor lad a chance.”
The success of the visit made the subsequent days all the more frustrating as he barely saw Lyrelie. He knew this part of Yule was particularly busy with so many activities primarily involving women. When he bumped into her in the village on her way to vote for the winter queen, she would not meet his gaze, and he felt she couldn’t wait to get away from him.
The following day, he was surprised by the request to help organise a team of volunteers foraging in the woods for herbs, barks and mushrooms. He agreed willingly, hoping to get to the bottom of her behaviour, but she seemed anything but the carefree girl he knew and loved.
Finally, his chance came as the rest returned to the village while they sought an elusive mushroom deeper in the woods. Once he’d ensured the others were out of hearing, he took both her hands, turning her to face him.
“I’m sorry, Cal. I know I haven’t been good company today. Please forgive me.”
“Of course. But I wish you would trust me with what ails you. They say a trouble shared is a trouble halved.”
“Believe me, if it were my trouble, I’d tell you in an instant. But it is not mine, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
“I see. I cannot say much about that, but you must understand how hurt I am that you cannot trust me.”
She covered his mouth with her finger. “I feel terrible about that, but you must trust it is not something I can share with anyone except my mother.”
“Is it about her and Jarl?”
She frowned. “What makes you think so?”
He shrugged. “Instinct. I’ve seen him looking at her the way I look at you. With love and longing.”
“Oh dear. There is no way out of this without lying and that’s the last thing I ever want to do to you.”
He nodded. “All right. You have told me all I need to know, and I understand the need for secrecy. I won’t enquire further.”
“Oh, Cal. You are the best suitor I could ever wish for. Thank you for being so understanding.” She kissed him. “And smart.” Another kiss.
“And incredibly good-looking and kind and generous?”
“All three.”
This time, he kissed her.
~*~
Lyrelie hated keeping the secret of her mother’s handfasting from Cal and couldn’t wait until Twelfth Night was over so people would know. At the Feast of Fools, Lyrelie felt Cal’s eyes upon her, but she had no more clue than he about the fabricated mission. The adults around her had taken great care not to involve her in any discussion of the ambush which had left Jarl at death’s door.
As her grandfather invited everyone to celebrate her mother’s secret handfasting to Jarl, Cal appeared at her side, saying he now understood as he danced her to the table for the extravagant Yule feast.
~*~
Senna took the opportunity to excuse herself from the dancing to return to her table and gulp down some of the reviving brew Lyrelie had organised for each of the tables. After so many days filled with celebrations and too much strong liquor, this cool, refreshing drink was the perfect tonic. And the combination of herbs and spices would help to offset the build-up of toxins from so many rich foods.
She searched for her daughter in the throng. Keeping the handfasting secret had put Lyrelie under considerable strain; not ideal at the start of a new relationship. Now Senna had energy to spare from her own problems, all the clues she’d observed since the season’s start added up to a turbulent courtship. Spotting her daughter dancing with Cal, she smiled, pleased that the young farmer’s pursuit of her daughter finally result in his desired outcome.
In her mind, Cal resonated with identical energy to her best friend’s husband, Alfun – they both shared a gentle, patient humour and a connection to animals.
The match was well made and she looked forward to watching their love blossom in the spring.
2 – Imbolc
Cal flopped his weary body on his cot, thankful for winter’s longer nights. It was, however, a mixed blessing, as it meant they had to cram so much more into the shorter days, barely taking time for a crust of bread and a gulp of ale at the sun’s mid-point. He longed for the leisurely summer days when they never laboured for more than three hours without a break. His father’s extra farm-hands filled each respite, no matter how brief, with fun and laughter.
But most of the itinerant labourers only stayed until the crops had been harvested and processed – around two moons after Lughnasadh. Two men stayed all year round: kinfolk, living in a farm cottage, who did not resonate with much joy. So the massive amount of maintenance work for the village’s largest farm was divided between the four of them for the winter season.
One of the reasons for Farmon’s success lay in his strict policy of allowing every field to lie dormant for at least two years in every five. Which made the ground even more compacted after it had been trampled by animals grazing. Despite the imaginings of non-farmers, the winter moons were not spent idling, but toiling with earth frozen solid or mired in mud.
Moving his position to ease the ache in muscles not used to the intensity of breaking up frozen ground with a plough, Cal thought back to an unhappy visit with southern relatives. His mother came from a long line of townies, brought up in the hustle and bustle of a large city where everyone belonged to families of merchants or manufacturers. His cousins and their friends had no concept of the rigours of farming life.
He remembered being surrounded and outnumbered by a host of sceptical boys trying to impress the only girl among them as they bombarded him with questions about farm life. In the memory in Cal’s head, they all took on the persona of animals, mostly sheep – incapable of original thought, merely regurgitating the opinions of others.
“It sounds peculiar to me, living in the same house with all the animals. I heard the peasants did that centuries ago.” Curly horns marked this ram out as the would-be leader of this flock.
“Eugh.” The girl twitched her pointed nose, bringing out the rodent aspect her face. More mouse than rat. “It sounds dirty. Don’t you get their fleas?” She squeaked as one of the boys tickled her, pretending to be a flea.
Glaring at the filthy dog lying at her feet, Cal thought the creature was far more likely to pass on diseases than the clean animals on the farm. He said nothing.
“It’s no wonder you’re so fat, lazing around all year with nothing to do except drink milk and gorge on the meat.” Definitely a sheep, bleating to impress.
Cal remained silent as another spineless supporter picked up the persecution by self-appointed jury. “Father’s always saying how the farmers moan about their workload, but all they e
ver have to do is wait around while the sun and rain grow the crops and the animals feed themselves.”
Refusing to be upset, Cal presented a stoic patience which seemed to annoy them even more.
“Yeah, they might have to bother themselves to get out of their cots for a couple of days in the autumn when the crops need harvesting, but they usually hire a band of serfs to do the hard work.”
“And pay them naught but a few coins.” He lifted a trotter, giving Cal a sly dig in the arm. “Think about it. Have you ever seen a thin farmer?”
“Never. But plenty of juicy farmer’s wives.” With a suggestive wink, the ram mimed womanly curves with the sole intent of provoking Cal into violence.
Enough was enough.
Cal shot out of his chair, which clattered to the floor. Every craven follower in the room flinched as he rose to his full height, towering over even the tallest. He leaned purposefully toward the one who’d tormented him most, gratified to see fear in his sheep-like eyes as Cal picked up the beaker on the table beside him.
Without a word, Cal left the room, oblivious to the cowardly insults they hurled after him. Thankfully, his family had set off for home shortly after.
A twinge in his shoulder brought him back to the present. Following a tradition passed down through generations, he analysed the dream for the meaning as soon as he regained consciousness. Figuring the sheep were nothing but a metaphor, he focussed instead on his own behaviour during the uncomfortable episode.
His ability to remain calm under duress was not something he’d consciously studied. Rather, it had been instilled over many years working the land, the patience taught by the most skilled of teachers – Mother Nature herself. He’d come to realise that, in any given incident, little could be gained by rushing in with reckless abandon. Even the most harrowing of circumstances would benefit from a momentary pause to assess the stability before taking action which might worsen the situation.