The Warrior and the Druidess (14 page)

If Brude could have gotten up, he would have walked over to Tanwen’s

wheelhouse and lay with her, but he was too drunk. Before he fell to sleep, she

was in his last thoughts.
It won’t be long. She’ll be mine at Samhain.

Tanwen smoothed out the wrinkles, brushing her fingers across the, blue, gray, brown, white, crimson and emerald plaid of the woolen skirt. Huctia draped a cloak with the same six colors over the white tunic and pinned it with a gold, leaf-shaped brooch. Both of her guards accompanied her to the hall where Nectan, Brude and Calach awaited her.

She walked over to the Smertae chief. “Greetings. I pray you slept well?” She smiled at Nectan. They needed him.

“Yes, druidess, with a comfortable a pallet and fine ale to ensure good dreams.”

“It is good.” He would be riding out soon. She’d put the horror of her kidnapping aside for the good of the tribe and Caledonia, but in truth she did not trust Nectan any more than she trusted the Romans— not at all. In that, she appreciated the Pict way of holding to oaths more now than ever afore. Calach told her that no man had ever broken an oath after drinking to it in blood. She understood why, since the outcome would be to bleed to death. She unsheathed her dagger and handed it to him. “Chief.”

Calach clutched the two-handled cup beneath Nectan's muscled forearm. Rich blood flowed into the waiting vessel as he scratched his arm with the whetted tip. Tanwen lifted an amphora and poured in a portion of wine. Slowly, she stirred the scarlet mix with the dagger and then handed the cup to Calach. He and Nectan each clasped a handle and drank simultaneously from the same cup. Nectan had sworn allegiance to Calach with the Pictish blood oath which brought the ceremony to a close.

The men followed Tanwen, who was the first to leave the hall and step outside. Nectan walked up to the Caledonii spearman who held the reins to the Smertae’s chief’s horse. Other Caledonii warriors sat on their mounts, herding the small head of cattle.

“May the gods keep you all until we meet again.” Nectan vaulted upon his horse and drove his cattle home with the help of several Caledonii warriors.

“Ally or not, I am glad to see him gone from us.” Brude’s entire body tensed, even his jaw tightened.

“He has food for his people now.” Tanwen crossed her arms against her chest. “We will only have to see him when we call the tribes to war.”

“When I think what he did to you, I want to kill him,” Brude spat out the words and then clenched his teeth.

Brude’s surge of fury hung on the air, and Tanwen cringed against it. “It is best you did not.” She flashed a half smile. “But I
ken
the feeling.”

It was nice to have Brude show his concern for her. Down deep, it pleased her that he wanted Nectan dead. The brute had thrown a tartan over her and dragged her off into the night—another thing to have nightmares over. But she could deal with crazy Pictish tribes if she could just get rid of the Romans.

“Let us think of happier things. Join me today.” Brude reached out and took her hand in his.

“In what?”

His grin spread across his face. “In the hunt.”

“For boar?”

“Yes.” He slid his arm around her shoulder. “I first met you while I was hunting boar.”

“You came bursting out of the woods, fiercer than the beast you hunted.” He’d had that same alluring grin and gleam in his eyes. Brude had worn the same black cowl he had on now over his green tunic. She swept her gaze over his muscular arms, appreciating the blue tattoos covering them, just as she’d done then.

“Come, Tanwen sweet. I’ll lend you a bow and arrows.” He pulled her along with him as they headed to his wheelhouse.

She drew back. “I cannot.” She wanted to go with him. She thought of all the things they could do together in the woods—so much more than hunting. But Samhain was upon them. Nectan had upset the plan of things. She’d been unable prepare for the feast. Her days and nights would be full with work to ready everything for the New Year’s festival. “There is so much to do, I cannot even list it all.”

His smile vanished, and disappointment flashed over his features.

“Brude, I want to go with you, but Samhain…”

“So be it. I will come to your wheelhouse this eve. Until then, take pleasure in preparing for the feast.”

“Enjoy the hunt.” She felt her muscles clench.
How can he not ken all that goes into the Samhain celebration
?

As a yearly tribute to the dead, The New Year’s feast ensured that the gods saw the tribe through the hard winter. It had to be perfect, and it fell on her shoulders—not to mention that she’d never put on a Samhain feast alone. Sulwen and Rhys had always done it and she’d merely helped.

She began to relax, taking deep breaths as she strolled to the pasture where the cattle grazed. Tanwen walked through the heard and selected the cows to slaughter for the fire festival. Then, she headed to the chief’s wheelhouse. “Good morning Ciniatha. Have you chosen nine maidens to cook the feast?”

“Yes. We just came from the garden. Come see.”

Though too busy to take the time to squeeze and smell the fruits and vegetables, Tanwen deemed they looked ripe. The bright red apples appeared sweet and juicy, and the oblong, yellowish, purple-capped turnips were fat and sure to be crisp and filling.

Tanwen’s nose wiggled at the strong smell of the long, green leeks. “You’ve done well. I can tell this is the best of the harvest.” Shen glanced to the corner where two maidens pumped wooden churns.

“Taste this.” Ciniatha held out a spoon of yellow butter.

She dipped her finger in the spoon of butter and popped it in her mouth. It was so creamy and sweet. “It is good enough for the gods.” After licking her finger, she ran her tongue over her lips to get every dab. “Delicious.”

As she inhaled the mellow scent of freshly baked bread, she imagined the taste of a soft warm slice with rich butter. She had to leave before she started eating the food meant for the feast.

“I see all is well here.” She smiled at the chief’s wife. “There will be plenty of bread for the visiting sprits.” Tanwen turned to leave.

Ciniatha called after her. “Did you see Brude today?”

“Yes. He’s hunting boar for the feast.We have no time to spend together. There are feast and battles, but after Samhain there should be more time for us.”

“You have much to do. You are a druid. Rest assured I have the fare for the feast well in hand.” She flashed a sweet smile at Tanwen. “Calach and I welcome you into the family. My son is making a wise choice.”

“My thanks.” She reached out and hugged Ciniatha, though Brude was still on her mind.
He seemed so disappointed about the hunt.
She released her mother –to-be-by-marriage, smiled, and then turned to continue the many tasks she’d set aside for the day. After she ate the evening meal that Huctia cooked over the central fire of her wheelhouse, Tanwen laid on her pallet. Exhausted, she fell into a heavy sleep.

* * * * *

There she was, standing on the hill, enveloped in a flowing, speckled, white cloak held with a gold brooch and she wore gold clasps on her ears as well as a thick gold torque around her neck. He watched as the villagers took the nine sacred woods and built the great fire. He felt like he didn’t know her. Watching her there, he didn’t think of her as Tanwen, but simply as a druidess. A woman yes, but one who spoke for the gods, therefore having more power than the mightiest chief of the land. She didn’t seem the same as the fiery lady he’d slept with and who filled his dreams.

When was the last time she’d wrapped her long legs around his and he’d exploded inside her fiery center? Every night he visited her wheelhouse and Huctia swore Tanwen was asleep, spent from the day’s work. And here the day was upon them, Samhain, the beginning of the New Year. It was a day without time, when the veil was at its thinnest. Boudica herself would come and feast, and so would all his ancestors. He would like a word with Boudica.

The dead queen could walk through the oak door all she wanted, and she could tell her granddaughter anything she wanted, but who he married was up to him. Why was he marrying a druidess? She’d have no time for him. He’d known wedding her was a bad idea. Why did he agree to it? He couldn’t go through with this marriage.

After taking a deep breath, he climbed the hill. Now that the fire was blazing, Tanwen raised her hands above her head and twirled as gray-headed Lossio beat the bodhran. Tanwen chanted.

“The fire sparks.

The veil parts.

Spirits among us.

Bones, ashes, dust

are once again

family and friends.

Ancestors come near,

feast with us here.

Dance and sing

around the stone ring.

Great powers abound.

The Circle comes around.

All hail Samhain.”

Musicians came forth, strumming a harp and playing the Pict triple pipes. Brude meant to tell her they couldn’t wed this eve, but as he neared her, she seemed more like the woman he longed to lie with again. Between thoughts of Tanwen, the roaring bonfire and the music, he forgot his forebodings. He joined in a dance around the flames.

The earth beneath him vibrated to the beat of Lossio’s goatskin drum, the haunting hum of the triple pipes and the ethereal tone of the harp. He was smoke rising from the fire, and the music pushed him high in the air. Mellow warmth swirled in the pit of his belly. Brude spun faster and faster around the blaze. As he leapt in the dance, he turned his gaze toward Tanwen. The nine maidens of the feast and his mother gathered around her as she placed a garland of white swan feathers on her head. The soft, white feathers of a female swan symbolized that their marriage was blessed in this world and the next. The time was upon him. He would wed as soon as the dance ended.

If Boudica wanted this and the gods wanted this, then who was he to say no? He wanted to wed her.

The nine maidens stood by, ready to serve the feast they had been preparing and cooking for days. But first, the weddings. Because he, the son of the chief, was marrying the tribe’s druidess, his nuptials would lead all the others.

Brude gazed at Tanwen. He reached out his hand and wiggled his curled fingers, beckoning her to him.

The train of her gold-bedecked robe trailed on the ground as she strolled toward him. The dancing came to a halt. The crowd formed a half circle around the blaze. The couple stood with one side to the fire and the other to the Caledonii.

Brude gazed at her, his heart hammering and filled with a glowing happiness, drowning in the green depths of her eyes. His mind was numb, his body was hot and his heart was in love. He didn’t realize Lossio had joined them until the elderly druid began reciting the marriage vows.

* * * * *

Her heart beat loudly and rapidly, and her throat tightened, but she forced her voice to repeat the words Lossio uttered, “Man, loved by me, may you bare your heart, soul and body to me.” She felt overcome with heat, and it wasn’t just from the flames. She cupped her hand over her chest, feeling her heart bounce against her hand, trying to leap out.
Do I want this? In one moment I’ll be bound to Brude. I’ll be a wife. Boudica bid me to wed him. The Gods demanded it. It is important to the future of my kith and kin to come. I love Brude.

She wiped a tear away from her eyes with her knuckles. He has come to love me as I had hoped.
Did I ever want to be anyone’s wife? It will interfere with my duties as druidess. Mayhaps I will end up bearing children every year, with no time for druidry.
She felt another tear slide down her cheek. She wasn’t sure why.

A thought vibrated through her mind.
I’m making a mistake.
Then, she gazed at Brude’s beaming smile. Her fears melted away. “By peace and love, I swear to stand heart-to-heart and hand-to-hand. Hearken, all gods and goddesses and spirits round, hear me now confirm this sacred vow.”

With both his hands clasped in Tanwen’s, Brude recited the sacred words, "Oh woman, loved by me, give me your heart, your soul and your body. I swear by peace and love to stand heart-to-heart and hand-to-hand. Hark gods and goddesses, hear me now attest to this sacred vow.”

Lossio touched Brude’s head and then Tanwen’s with a swan feather. “I vow this man and this woman, Brude map Calach map Galanan and Tanwen ferch Wena ferch Boudicca, stand as mates for life like the sacred swans, heart-to-heart and hand-to-hand in air, earth and water in this world and the next.” He then handed the feather to Tanwen, who took it for good luck and as a bridal keepsake.

The second part of Boudica’s biding had been fulfilled. Brude was her husband now. A giddy pleasure filled her. She shifted her gaze to Brude. A sensuous light gleamed in his eyes, which were riveted on her. She felt a tingling in the pit of her stomach. His large hand touched her face and held it. He leaned his face to hers. Their lips joined with an inflow of warmth and melded together. He stroked her neck as his lips twisted against hers. She throbbed as his lips tugged on hers. Brude slipped his tongue between her lips and stroked her mouth. She gasped at the contact. He swirled his tongue. She released a feral moan.

He raised his mouth from hers and gazed into her eyes.

She wanted to let him carry her away right now, but duty called. “I have to wed the other couples.”

“What?” The fire in his eyes turned to ice. “You would leave me the instant I withdraw my mouth from yours in our wedding kiss.”

The anger in his eyes and tone turned her cold. Always resistant to the marriage, again he showed he wasn’t willing to share her. “I am now your wife, but I am still the tribe’s druidess. You must recognize me as both. You have no choice in this.”

He pulled out of her arms. “I
kenned
on our wedding night you would be a wife to me, and not turn into a druidess on duty the very moment we sealed our vows with a kiss.”

“No.” Lossio gently patter shoulder. “You go. I am performing the other marriages.”