To Love Again (15 page)

“No!” Cailin said, and then she opened her eyes and looked into his.
“More!”
she demanded.

Wulf Ironfist burst out laughing, but there was no mockery in the sound. It was the laughter of a happy and relieved man. He smoothed her hair from her face and rolled off of her, kissing the tip of her nose as he did so. Then propping himself up against the wall of the bed space, he looked down into her face and said, “I hope you gained as much pleasure from our passion as I did, lambkin.” Then he drew her into the safety of his strong arms.

Cailin nodded, turning her head to look up at him. Her euphoria was abating slightly, but she was not unhappy. “After the pain it was wonderful,” she told him shyly.

“There is only pain the first time,” he promised. “We shall make fine children. The gods have been kind to us, Cailin Drusus. We are well-mated and well-matched, I think.”

“Your seed is fierce,” she said, blushing with the remembrance of how she felt it flooding her with sharp bursts. “Perhaps even now we have begun our first son, Wulf Ironfist,” she finished as they slipped beneath the coverlet again.

He lay his great blond head upon her breasts, and was pleased when she cradled him as protectively as he had her. He had come to the Dobunni seeking land. The gods, in their wisdom, had given him Cailin, and a brand new future.

“If we were in your world,” he said, “and I had asked your father for you, and he had consented, how would our marriage be celebrated?”

“The ceremony would begin at my father’s villa,” Cailin told him. “The house would be decorated with flowers, if there were any, and boughs of greenery, finely spun colored wool, and tapestries. The omens would be taken in the hour of the false dawn, and being auspicious, the guests would begin arriving even before the sunrise. They would come from all the neighboring villas, and from the town of Corinium, too.

“The bride and the groom would come to the atrium, and the ceremony would begin. We would be brought together by a happily married matron who would be our pronuba. She
would join our hands before ten formal witnesses, although actually all our guests would be present.”

“Why ten?” he asked her.

“Ten for the ten original patrician families of Rome,” she answered him, and then continued, “I would then say the ancient words of my consent to our marriage. ‘When—and where—you are Gaius, I then—and there—am Gaia.’ We would then move to the left of the family altar and face it, sitting on stools covered with the skin of sheep sacrificed for the occasion. My father would then offer a cake of spelt to Jupiter. We would eat the cake, while my father prayed aloud to Juno, who is Goddess of Marriage. He would pray to Nodens, and to other gods of the land, both Roman and Celtic. Afterward we would be considered truly wed. There are other forms of the marriage ceremony, but this was the one always used by my family.

“My parents would then host a great feast which would last the entire day. At the end of it pieces of our wedding cake would be distributed to our guests for luck. Then I would be formally escorted to my husband’s home. You would seize me from the shelter of my mother’s arms, and I would take my place in the procession. We would be led by torch bearers, and musicians, and anyone along the way might join in the parade. Indeed, this procession was considered the final stamp of validity to a marriage in the old days.

“It is customary for a bride to be attended by three young boys whose parents are both living. Two would walk next to me and hold my hands, while the third would go before me carrying a branch of hawthorn. Behind me would be carried a spindle and distaff. I would have three coins of silver; one I would offer to the gods of the Crossroads, the second I would give to you, representing my dowry, and the third I would offer to your household gods.”

“And would I do nothing except stride proudly along?” he said.

“Oh, no,” Cailin told him. “You would scatter sesame cakes, nuts, and other sweetmeats among the bystanders. When we reached your house, I would decorate the door
posts with colored wool, and anoint the door with precious oils. Then you would lift me up and carry me across the threshold. It is considered bad luck if a bride’s foot should slip while entering her new home.”

“I would not let you slip,” he promised, and lifting his head up, he kissed her lips. “Is that all?”

“No,” Cailin said with a little laugh. “There is more. As you carried me into the house, I would repeat the same words I had said to you at our marriage ceremony. Then the door would be closed to the crowds outside.”

“And we would be alone at last!” Wulf Ironfist said.

“No,” Cailin answered, giggling. “We would have certain invited guests with us. You would put me upon my feet and offer me fire and water as a token of the life we would share, and as symbols of my duty in our home. There would be wood and kindling already set in the hearth, which I would light with the marriage torch. Then I would toss the torch among our guests. It is considered very lucky to gain possession of a marriage torch.”

“Then our guests would go home, and we would
finally
be alone,” he said. “Am I right, Cailin Drusus?”

She chuckled. “No.”

“No?”
he said in exaggerated tones of outrage.

“I would have to recite a prayer first,” she said.

“A long prayer?” He pretended to look aggrieved.

“Not too long,” she replied, “and afterward the pronuba would lead me to our marriage couch, which would be placed in the center of the atrium on the first night of our marriage. It would always remain in its original position as a symbol of our union.”

“ ‘Tis a long day for a bride and groom,” he said.

“How do the Saxons celebrate their marriages?” she asked him.

“A man buys his wife,” Wulf Ironfist replied. “Of course he usually makes certain first that the maid is of a similar frame of mind. Then he approaches her family—through an intermediary, of course—to see what and how much they will take for the girl. Then the offer is formally made. Perhaps it
is accepted, or perhaps a little more dickering goes on. Once the bride price is agreed upon and exchanged, a feast is held, and afterward the happy couple go home—without their guests, I might add,” he concluded.

Then he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Say your words to me, Cailin Drusus.” His voice was soft, his tone caressing, his manhood beginning to stir once again. “Say your words to me, lambkin. I will be a good husband to you, I swear by all the gods, both yours and mine.”

“When—and where—you are Gaius, I then—and there—am Gaia,” Cailin told him. How odd, she thought. I waited all my life for the right man to say those words to, but never did I think to say them, stark naked, in a bed space in a Dobunni village to a Saxon. Still, Cailin decided she was fortunate. She sensed that Wulf Ironfist was an honorable and a good man. She needed his protection, for without her family she had no one. Ceara and Maeve did the best they could for her, but they had gone away, and she had found herself at the mercy of Berikos and his vicious Catuvellauni wife. It would not happen again. Then she heard the Saxon’s voice, strong and sure, and she looked into his blue eyes.

“I, Wulf Ironfist, son of Orm, take you, Cailin Drusus, for my wife. I will provide for you, and protect you. This I swear by the great god Woden, and by the god Thor, my patron.”

“I will be a good wife to you,” Cailin promised him.

“I know,” he told her. Then he chuckled. “I wonder what your grandfather, and that witch Brigit, will think of this turn of events?”

“He will ask payment of you for me, I am certain. Give him nothing!” Cailin said. “He deserves nothing.”

“That for which we pay nothing is worth nothing, lambkin,” Wulf told her. “I value you above all women. I will give him a fair price of which you need not be ashamed.”

“You are too good,” she said. “How can I repay you for your kindness to me? You might have had a night’s sport, and then sent me away. If you had, however, I know I ought not have been shamed, for it is the Dobunni way, but I would have been shamed in my heart nevertheless.”

A slow, mischievous grin lit his strong, handsome features. “I know just how you may begin your repayment, lambkin,” he said, and he brought her hand to his manroot, which was again in a state of eager readiness. “I intend to exact full payment, lambkin, not just this night, but in the nights to come.”

Her young face took on a seductive look he had not seen before. “It is fair, my husband,” she agreed. “You will hear no complaint from me in this matter. My family always taught me to repay my debts.” Then she pulled his face back to hers, her lips ready and eager for his kisses.

Chapter 5

B
erikos looked at his guest. “You slept well?” he asked. “You have reconsidered our conversation of yesterday?”

“Your granddaughter is a charming companion,” Wulf Ironfist replied, and gulped down a draught of brown ale. “I am honored to have had her first-night rights, Berikos. You have made it plain how much you desire my aid, but I, in turn, still believe your idea is doomed to failure. You cannot turn back time. No one ever has, my friend.”

“I will meet your price,” Berikos said desperately.

“Land?”
The Saxon raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Berikos nodded bleakly.

“You would make a bad neighbor, feeling as you do,” Wulf told the old man. “I would never really be able to trust you … unless.…”

“Unless what?”
Berikos pounced upon the small thread of hope.

“Assign me a portion of land for security now. When I have trained your men, I will exchange it with another Celt living on the Saxon shore,” Wulf Ironfist said. “I will have my land, and the land you give me will belong to another of your race. Perhaps not of your own tribe, but you Celts can work that out amongst you.”

Berikos nodded. “Aye, we can,
and
when the day comes when we drive your people back to the Rhineland, you cannot complain to me, can you? I will have kept my part of our bargain. Good! I agree!”

“Not quite so quickly, my friend,” Wulf Ironfist said. “I want one other thing of you. I think you are most apt to keep
your bargain with me if we are related by blood. Your granddaughter pleases me. I need a wife. Her mixed blood disturbs you, but it does not disturb me. I will pay you a fair bride price for her if you will give me your consent.”

“Under our laws, she must give her consent, too, Wulf Ironfist. If she does, I will be glad to accept a bride price for her,” Berikos answered, “although I should not. You will be doing me a favor by taking Cailin off my hands. My wife Ceara has been nagging me to find her a husband. What will you give me for her?”

The Saxon tossed his companion a coin. It flashed and glittered as it flew through the air. Berikos’s fist closed about it. His eyes widened. He bit the coin as hard as he could, his look one of surprise.

“Gold?
This is a gold coin, Wulf Ironfist. One girl is hardly worth an entire gold coin,” Berikos said slowly. He wanted the Saxon’s gold, but his conscience would never leave him in peace if he weren’t honest. “Besides, the wench has not yet given her consent to the match.”

“She has given her consent,” the younger man told him. “It is a fair price, for it will ensure that you will not take my life when my use to you is over and done with, Berikos of the Dobunni.”

The old man chuckled. “You do not trust anyone, Wulf Ironfist, do you? Well, you are wise not to, for no one can be completely trusted in this world. Very well, I accept your terms, and the girl is now your wife. You may think it a poor bargain when she shows you the rough side of her tongue, but I will not take her back.” He spit in his right hand and held it out to the Saxon, who, spitting in his own right hand, clasped Berikos’s outstretched palm in a firm grip.

“Agreed, Berikos, but I will not regret the bargain, I assure you. Cailin will make me a good wife. Her mother taught her well the duties a woman has to her husband and house.”

“Aye,” the old man responded softly, “Kyna was a good girl.”

“Good morning, and was your night filled with many pleasures?” Brigit tittered, entering the hall. Her sky-blue tunic
dress with its silver embroidery floated about her gracefully as she came, smiling falsely.

“Indeed, lady, my night was a very good one,” Wulf Ironfist answered.

“Wulf has agreed to aid us,” Berikos said, pleased. He explained to his young wife the land transaction involved. “And,” he concluded, “I have given him Cailin as a wife.”

“You have done what?”
Brigit’s eyes widened with shock. This was not at all the way she planned it. She had intended only for the Saxon to roughly violate Cailin and break her spirit. She wanted the girl shamed, and hurt.

“Wulf asked me for Cailin’s hand,” Berikos repeated. “Her tainted blood does not bother him. My granddaughter has agreed.” He held up the coin, saying, “Wulf has given me
this
for the wench’s bride price. It is gold. Your father was content to accept a silver piece and a breeding pair of hunting dogs for you, Brigit.”