Lara (42 page)

“You are beautiful, and you smell delicious,” he said, still holding her.

“Of course I am beautiful,” she agreed, looking up into his face, “and I have finally had a bath. But your tub is so tiny. It is no bigger than the one I shared with my stepmother back in the Quarter.”

“I shall have a larger one made for you,” he promised.

“Make it big enough for two,” she suggested softly.

His slow smile reached all the way to his eyes. A hand caressed her buttocks suggestively. “We leave tomorrow for the Gathering,” he told her.

“So Noss has told me,” Lara returned. “I fear I shall shame you, Vartan, for I have but two gowns, and they are more suited to the palace of the Shadow Princes than to the Outlands on an autumn day. I am sorry. Would you prefer I remain behind?”

“Wife, have you not looked in your trunk?” he asked her.

“The little painted one? Aye, I saw Noss storing my things there,” Lara said.

“The large one, Lara,” he replied.

“That is not yours?” She was surprised.

“Nay, it is yours, and it is filled with the garments of a chieftain’s wife,” he said. “My mother and her women sewed quite diligently while we were away in the villages. And I have this for you.” He pulled a wide heavy gold ring from his tunic and pushed it onto the third finger of her left hand, the finger that connected directly to her heart. “I want everyone at the Gathering to know you are my mate, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword.”

Lara looked at the ring in surprise. It was red gold, a very rare ore, and it was simplicity itself. A plain band that when she looked at it brought tears to her eyes.

“The meal is served.” Bera’s voice broke into the moment.

Vartan took her hand in his and, raising it to his lips, kissed it tenderly. Then he led her to the high board where Bera was already seated and awaiting them. She smiled at them both, her own eyes misty.

“Are you content with this then, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword?” she asked.

“It would appear I have no choice, for the deed is done, is it not?” Lara asked Vartan’s mother.

“It is,” Bera agreed amiably, and poured Frine into their goblets. “If he is the man his father was you will not be unhappy.”

Lara actually blushed. She suspected that the son surpassed the father, for she had never known the kind of ecstasy that she had shared with Vartan. “What happened to your husband?” she asked the older woman.

“He was trampled when a bolt of lightning stampeded a small herd of cattle he was overseeing,” Bera replied. “Vartan was ten when it happened, and Adon two. My younger son does not remember his father, more’s the pity.”

“When shall I meet your brother, my lord?” Lara asked her husband.

“He and his wife live down in the village,” Vartan said. “Tomorrow before we begin the trek to the Gathering they will come, for we travel as a family.”

The hall was full that night with Vartan’s men, and as the meal concluded he arose from his place, drawing Lara up with him. Expectant faces turned to look toward the high board, and the room grew very quiet.

“This is my bride,” Vartan told them, “This Lady Lara. Some of you were with me when we found her wandering lost upon the plain. She has accompanied me to the villages, and shown me her wisdom in resolving an unhappy situation at Rivalen. If you honor me, you will pledge your loyalty to her now.”

Immediately the men in the hall arose and cried, “All Hail Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, wife to Vartan, lord of the Fiacre!” And then they came forward one by one to kneel before her as she stood before the high board where Vartan had led her. Each man put his hands into her small ones and pledged his loyalty. Lara thanked each man by the name her husband whispered into her ear.

She was surprised by his actions. In the back of her mind had lingered the thought that perhaps he was saying she was his wife so he might cajole her into sharing her body with him. But now, with each loyalty pledged to her, she saw that he had not been playing a game with her. Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, was truly wife to Vartan of the Fiacre. But what of her destiny? She sensed that there was something yet unfinished. Yet it would seem her destiny was here with the Fiacre for now. Had not Ethne approved of her actions so far? Never had her guardian argued against what had happened. For now all was as it should be. But what of the future?

When the last of the men had pledged to her, Vartan led her back to the high board. “You have done well,” he praised her softly. “Despite your youth you are a woman of stature.”

“In the City I would have had a great bridal celebration,” she teased him. “You have shared a bed with me, and called it a wedding party.”

“It is our way,” he told her.

“Even Pol and Corliss were joined formally in the presence of their fellow villagers,” Lara said.

“But under our laws a man and woman who share a bed for two nights are husband and wife,” he reminded her.

“Did you plan to wed me?” she asked him.

“Aye, I did. But I did not choose to spend months bringing you around, my love, so I took advantage of Fiacre law. You do not seem too angry with me over it.” He gave her a winning grin.

Lara was forced to laugh. Vartan was a very charming man. “I have not decided yet if I am angry at you or not,” she told him.

“I hunger for you again, my love,” he murmured. “I want you naked and crying out with your pleasure beneath me. I want to fill you full with my passion.” He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “Tell me you want that, too?” Vartan pleaded with her.

“Yes!” Lara heard herself say without hesitation. She arose, and giving both Noss and Bera a kiss upon their cheeks she left the high board without another word.

Vartan remained for several more minutes speaking with his captains about the trek that would begin tomorrow. Then he too retreated to the chamber behind the hall. Bera arose, and beckoned Noss to come along to bed. The girl obeyed, smiling shyly at Liam as they passed, which caused the big man to develop a foolish look upon his face as he stared after Noss.

In the morning they departed for the Gathering, and as they traveled along the way they were joined by members of each village. Not all the Fiacre came to the Gathering. It was necessary to leave men behind to defend the villages, and new mothers and the elderly frequently remained behind as well. Vartan’s younger brother, Adon, and his wife, Elin, had come to the hall that morning and pledged their loyalty to Lara, although she sensed it was done out of duty and nothing else.

Adon was a handsome young man with auburn hair, and deeper blue eyes than his sibling. His wife, Elin, was a tall thin girl with a look of discontent about her. She stared at Lara boldly, finally asking, “They say you are faerie. Did you bewitch him?”

Adon had the grace to look embarrassed by his wife’s query, but he did not scold her over it.

“I am half faerie,” Lara replied. “And it was Vartan who bewitched me.”

“Oh.” Elin’s hair was a dirty blond, and she looked enviously at Lara’s beautiful tresses. “How do you get your hair that color?”

“I was born with it. My faerie mother has hair this color,” Lara told her.

“Oh.” Elin said no more.

Taking his brother aside, Adon said, “Is it possible you are enchanted, Vartan? Perhaps the faerie should be killed to protect you, to protect the Fiacre.”

“I am not ensorcelled, brother, and it was I who pursued Lara. Let there be no talk of murder, faerie or otherwise. I should not like to have to kill you. It would distress our good mother.” He clapped the younger man on the back. “Be glad for me, Adon! I am happy. Really, truly happy.”

As Lara stood by her stallion she murmured in Dasras’s ear, “No talking. You will frighten many if you do. We will speak together when I think it prudent. I have warned Noss to caution Sakari as well.”

The stallion nodded his head.

“Did they tell you I am now wed to the lord? He tricked me, but I am content for now, and you will have a warm barn for the winter.” Lara rubbed the animal’s muzzle.

“Good!” Dasras said softly that no one else hear him.

Lara chuckled, and mounted the horse.

They rode a full two days, and in late afternoon of the second day arrived at the Gathering place, which sat on the open plain. Tall columns stood in a circle, within which all discussions concerning the clan families would be held. Each clan family had a separate section in which to set up their camp. The fairgrounds and the place for animals and trading was in the very center of the locus. The Devyn were already there, for it was their task to direct the other clan families. The Fiacre, being the largest of them, was given the choicest site. The men set up their tents and the chieftain’s pavilion. A pen was erected for the cattle to be sold.

Before dark, the Felan arrived driving their sheep. They were followed by the Blathma, who brought milled grain, flowers, tubers and bulbs; and the Gitta, who came with finely milled flour, baskets of beautiful vegetables, pots of jams, conserves and savory relishes. Their encampments were set up, and the clan families began visiting back and forth. Still to come were the Aghy, the horse lords. There was concern among the chieftains as to whether the Tormod and the Piaras would come under the circumstances.

Vartan proudly introduced Lara to his contemporaries and their wives.

“She’s Hetarian,” said Rendor of the Felan.

“She is faerie,” said Floren of the Blathma.

“I am both,” Lara answered them. “I have a destiny that has taken me to the Forest Lords, the Shadow Princes and now to the Outlands.”

“Do you not think it odd she came to you now?” Torin of the Gitta demanded. He glared at Lara suspiciously. “What if she is a spy sent among us?”

“I am no spy,” Lara told him. “I was sold into slavery by my own father almost two years ago. I escaped, and have been wandering ever since. If you doubt my honesty then speak with Kaliq of the Shadow Princes. He knows my tale. You have but to call to him, and he will come.”

“You have gained yourself a most beautiful wife,” Rendor of the Felan said, clapping Vartan on the back heartily. “Welcome, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, wife of Vartan of the Fiacre.”

“I thank you, my lord,” Lara responded prettily, and the suspicions of both Floren of the Blathma, and Torin of the Gitta were allayed. They grinned and kissed the bride vigorously, leaving Lara laughing and covered with blushes at their enthusiasm.

Afterward in the privacy of their pavilion Vartan told his family how his new wife had stood boldly forth before his fellow chieftains, and won them over.

“I hope they do not think your wife
too
bold, Brother Vartan,” Elin murmured, eyes lowered as she embroidered a piece of cloth in an oval frame.

“Our chieftains admire strong women, and a chieftain needs a strong wife,” Bera spoke up. She did not particularly like her younger son’s wife. Elin was a sly girl, and was always encouraging Adon to some new foolishness. Perhaps she would change with the advent of a child, Bera considered hopefully. In the meantime she had a fine daughter-in-law in Lara, and she would not allow anyone to offend her.

“I hardly consider speaking out to defend myself being bold, Elin. You were not there so you are not fit to judge,” Lara said. She already recognized an enemy in Elin.

Elin’s lips pressed together in an expression of disapproval, and she gave her husband an arch look, but she said nothing further.

In midmorning of the following day, the Aghy, led by their chieftain, Roan, arrived with a fine herd of horses. The Aghy were the second largest of the clan families. As soon as their encampment was set up and their animals corralled, Vartan took Lara to meet the Aghy. Roan was as tall as Vartan, with a head of flaming red hair and eyes so deep blue they appeared almost black. His gaze swept over Lara admiringly.

“My bride, Lara,” Vartan said with a grin. “Keep your hands to yourself, Roan of the Aghy. I would hate to cut them off, for how then would you ride your fine horses?”

“I would trap my mare between my thighs, and guide her thusly,” Roan replied wickedly, and he burst into laughter, flinging his arms about Vartan to embrace him.

Vartan was laughing, too. “Welcome to the Gathering, old friend!”

“Any sign of the Tormod or Piaras yet?” Roan asked.

Vartan shook his head. “Nay, not yet, but they do have the farthest distance to come,” and his eyes strayed to the purple mountains beyond the plain.

“We can wait another day or two for them,” Roan said. “The weather is perfect as it always is for the Gathering, and the longer we linger, the more horses I’ll sell,” he chuckled. He swung his gaze to Lara. “Do you ride, Lady?”

“I do,” she said.

“I have a sweet young mare who would suit you admirably,” Roan told her.

Vartan began to chortle, and when Roan looked questioningly at him he said to Lara, “Go and fetch Dasras so that the chieftain of the Aghy may see your mount.”

“At once, my lord,” Lara told him with a grin, and she hurried off. When she returned she was mounted upon the great golden stallion with the creamy mane and tail.

Roan’s mouth dropped open with his surprise. He looked Dasras over with a keen eye. “There is only one place where horses like this are raised. Only the Shadow Princes breed animals so fine. He is magnificent, Vartan.”