Chapter 1 #2
“At last we meet, Alina, daughter of Bendigeidfran.” Arthmael had regained the ability to speak, his voice deep, smooth and controlled. “Your father did not exaggerate your beauty or your grace.”
Although his face showed harsh strength, his eyes glowed with warmth.
A small shiver went through her. Perhaps he was not a cold-blooded butcher who kept power by fear and malevolence.
His muscled arms, shown to glorious effect by his short-sleeved tunic, were encircled by gold bands of the finest Celtic craftsmanship. Leather molded his massive chest.
“Arthmael, if you agree, your wedding will take place tomorrow,” her father said.
Alina held herself rigid as Arthmael scanned her body.
His intense gaze tracked upwards from her leather-clad feet half-hidden beneath the hem of her linen dress, past her hips and her waist to linger on her breasts, before moving on to her golden hair, bound in a long plait behind her head, before finally staring into her eyes.
The heat that blazed in his eyes sent a chill through her.
He would not reconsider his proposal.
“I agree.” Arthmael’s words projected around the silent roundhouse, definite, commanding, and binding.
“And Alina, you agree?” her father asked.
No! She gritted her teeth and tried to smile.
A few moons ago at the spring festival, before she met Garamaros, before she had known love, she had agreed.
Now she could not refuse without shaming her family and her clan.
It might mean the withdrawal of support by Arthmael if Dun Limen was attacked.
Not to mention the anger, not only of her father, but also of the whole clan, which supported the alliance.
Her stomach contracted. Her fate was sealed. It was her duty to marry this man.
She dipped her chin and forced herself to nod. Her throat thickened with tears she must not shed.
“Then let us not delay with preparations for the handfast ceremony,” her father said and turned to her mother. “Wife, will you give the orders?”
She signaled to someone at the rear of the roundhouse with a raised finger. “Already begun,” her mother answered with a satisfied smile.
Indeed, everyone but Alina appeared happy with this match.
Here before her was the pinnacle of Celtic manhood, but he stirred her not.
Instead, her heart yearned for a Belgae craftsman with the muscled body of a blacksmith, the deep melodic voice of a minstrel, and a handsome face that charmed all around him.
A man who possessed the artistic skills of the greatest craftsmen of the Celtic world.
A man whose touch ignited her body, who looked at her with hunger and cherished her in a way no one ever had.
“Come, fair Alina, sit beside me.” Arthmael stood and held out his hand.
She closed her eyes, prayed his searching gaze would not read the pain that resided within her, and placed her fingers in his upturned palm. His large, calloused hand closed around hers. Her life would be in his hands forevermore.
A short while later, Rigana arrived and sent a discreet nod to Alina before she was introduced to Arthmael.
Her sister’s eyes were as wide as serving platters as she savored his magnificence close up.
Why could they not change places? But Arthmael barely gave Alina’s brown-haired and homely younger sister a once-over with his all-seeing gaze before returning his fascinated regard to Alina.
Alina fixed her attention on Arthmael and an encouraging smile upon her face as she listened to his tales of life at the massive Mai Dun settlement, which would soon be her new home. As the day progressed, the persistent ache in her heart became echoed by the ache in her cheeks from smiling.
The feasting that would continue late into the night, began in the late afternoon.
In the evening, the rush lights were renewed as entertainments followed the feasting.
Would this celebration never end?
Finally, the raucous bonhomie of her father’s meeting house quieted, and visitors and warriors alike sought their sleeping quarters. Alina took the opportunity to bid Arthmael and her parents a good night then retired to the space at the rear of the hall that she shared with her sister.
By the light that seeped through the curtain in the doorway of the partition dividing the family’s sleeping rooms from the meeting space of the roundhouse, Alina saw Rigana asleep on her pallet. Alina washed, as though readying for bed. Her sister didn’t stir.
Soon afterwards, she heard her parents retire to their sleeping chamber after escorting Arthmael to his separate accommodation. Alina waited more long moments to ensure everyone had settled for the night, then pulled a cloak around her shoulders. She pushed aside the woven curtain.
All was quiet in the room before her.
The serving women lay closest to her chamber. On silent feet, Alina padded around their sleeping forms, then circled the central fireplace headed for the entrance to the roundhouse.
Several of her father’s most trusted warriors usually slept across the doorway to protect the chieftain and his family. Alina could see their bulky forms on the floor. She halted before the first of the line of bodies in her path.
A snore cracked the silence. Alina jerked backwards and clamped her hand over her racing heart. She needed to get out of here now. She stiffened her spine and shuffled forward. The first warrior didn’t move as she stepped over him. She crept forward.
The next body lay on his side making a higher barrier. She eased sideways and stepped over his bent legs. She sighed out a breath.
The last warrior was a mountain of man positioned directly in front of the doorway. She peered down at him.
His chest rose and fell, once, twice, and then an ear-shattering snort exploded as his mouth dropped open. Her heart jerked in her chest. He was the source of the air-shattering snores. The bodies behind Alina stirred in their sleep.
She froze. She was going to be caught. She dared not breath.
Her legs began to tremble.
An eternity later, the warriors settled. She must move now before another snore shattered the calm.
Alina leant over the man and pushed aside the leather curtain hung across the doorway. She lifted one leg and stepped over his bulky form. Shifting her weight, she raised her remaining leg and slipped through the doorway to the outside.
A waning moon lit the night. Alina huddled against the roundhouse wall in the shadow of its overhanging thatched roof. All was silent in the hill fort.
Her heart pounded against her ribs. If she were discovered…how would she explain her sneaking through Dun Limen in the middle of the night?
She did not go out the eastern gate and turn north towards the forest, as she had implied to her sister, but headed instead for the northwest corner of the settlement.
No one appeared out of the darkness to stop her as she crept through the settlement, moving from shadowed roundhouse wall to shadow-shrouded tree.
Within a short time, she reached the workshop that Garamaros and his father had built on their arrival in the settlement some time ago.
A feeble light oozed through the walls of the hut behind it.
Alina crept through the workspace and scratched at the hut’s wooden door.
From inside sounded a low growl from the craftsman’s wolfhound, Lurcher.
The light disappeared, the door opened, and strong hands grasped her, drawing her into the near darkness inside. Into Garamaros’s warm embrace.
Lurcher slipped out through the open doorway, no doubt to sit at guard outside the door, where she had often seen him.
Garamaros backed Alina against the door, shutting out the gloomy night. Alina clung to him. His lips found hers in a searing kiss. Her body lit up with need, made desperate by the threat of their future separation.
She kissed him back with an answering fierceness. She wanted this moment to last forever, but she knew they only had tonight.
He broke their kiss. “Alina, my love.” His voice was breathless. “Why are you here? It’s not safe.”
“It’s safer than the forest. My sister may try to betray us tonight.”
“She would do that?” A frown worried his brow.
“I had to confide in her to get my message to you.”
“Why now?”
“Have you not heard? Arthmael, the high chieftain of the Durotriges, has arrived. I’m to marry him tomorrow.”
“I heard,” he said, his voice tight and grim.
“Can we not flee tonight?” she pleaded.
“I know not where.” His words were flat with desolation.
“To the Belgae, north of here?”
He shook his head. “They would not harbor us, even though I am one of them. We would jeopardize the progress they’ve made in being accepted in the lands they occupy. And every ally of your tribe would seek us. We would be outlaws throughout Albion.”
“Across the sea?”
“To be under the domination of the Romans? We would not be free and I could not risk your safety. My family fled from there. While the Romans rule Gaul, there is no future for we Celts there, except as a subjugated people and payers of taxes to Rome.” His harsh tone revealed his bitterness towards the Romans who had stolen his people’s land.
Alina swallowed against the lump that swelled in her throat. Garamaros was right. There was nowhere to go.
And she had no honorable way to withdraw her consent to the marriage. There was no chance for them. No way to change their fate.
At that moment, Alina finally, truly accepted her irrevocable decision. She must wed Arthmael tomorrow and forsake Garamaros forever. The desperation and hopelessness of the situation hit her with a force that made tears sting her eyes.
He would be lost to her when the morning came.
But until then she was a free woman…free to give her love to whomever she chose.
And she needed Garamaros now. “If there is no hope of a future together, let us make the most of this, our final meeting. Love me, Garamaros. Let us share our love for each other one last time, with every particle of our beings.”