Chapter Eleven #2
“He will stay with me tonight,” Jura said as if daring Rowan to contradict her.
Anger showed in his eyes because he knew Jura did not want to spend the night in his bed. He straightened and left the room, pulling Lora with him.
Cilean went to Jura. “I see that things have not changed with you two. I had hoped…”
“There is no use to hope. He is English and he will never learn our ways.”
“Hmmm,” Cilean said. “Before he left he wanted no woman with him, but now he wants two women to guard the backs of the men. It seems that he is learning some of our ways.”
Jura stood, carefully holding Phillip so as not to wake him. “Do you have a place the child and I can sleep? Tomorrow the Irials will meet Brita and everyone will need strength for that.”
Cilean nodded and led her friend to another house where a bed awaited her.
Jura woke in the morning to Rowan roughly shaking her. “I am leaving now to get Brita and the Vatells. As my wife you must be there to see them marry.”
“And see the beginning of their misery,” Jura mumbled, holding on to Phillip as the boy began to wake.
Rowan left her alone while she dressed. Lora came to get Phillip and did not speak to Jura.
As soon as Jura left the stone house, she felt the tension in the air.
There was no one in sight and the village had a strange deserted air about it, as if God had decided to take all the people away with Him to heaven.
Jura took a piece of bread from a table and ate it as she walked toward the river.
What she saw was an eerie sight. All the Irials, freshly washed and in clean clothes, were lined up along the riverbank. No one was speaking, not even a child was crying or a dog barking as they watched the arrival of the Vatell men and women.
The Vatells rode horseback, sometimes double, or came in wagons or little carts.
Jura had seen them crying for nearly a week at the hideous prospect of having to marry the Irials, but there were no tearstained faces now.
The Vatells were also washed, their clothes still damp from cleaning, their hair slicked back from early-morning bathing.
They sat erect on their horses or wagons and they were looking intently at the people standing across the river.
Jura moved forward to stand just at the back of the Irials.
“See the one in the third wagon,” a woman near Jura whispered. “If I were choosing, I would choose him.”
“No,” a younger woman whispered, “the one I want is there on that black horse. See his calves? There is strength in that body.”
Smiling, Jura began to walk along the back of the long row of people. The people were beginning to talk and all the talk was of bedding.
Jura thought the day seemed to be growing warmer than usual.
In fact, little beads of sweat were beginning to form on the back of her neck and on her upper lip.
For some reason, she began to remember vividly that day she had first met Rowan, that day when she had been wearing only her tunic and he had worn only a loincloth.
She had sat on his chest and his hands had traveled up her legs, up toward her breasts. And his mouth had—
“Jura!”
She came out of her daze to turn and look at Cilean. “You are far away,” Cilean said softly. “And who would you choose?”
Jura looked at the people now fording the river.
Rowan rode beside Brita. A few weeks ago she had hated his blond hair and white skin but now he stood out like a single star in a black sky.
He not only had different coloring but he was broader and thicker than the Lanconians.
Once she had thought him fat and ungraceful, but she knew his body to be the product of years of muscle-building exercise and that there was no fat on him.
She also knew how his skin felt under her fingertips.
Cilean’s laugh made Jura blink.
“He may displease you elsewhere but he does not displease you in bed,” Cilean said knowingly.
Jura turned away. “He is a clumsy oaf,” she said, but she felt damp with perspiration. “Has food been prepared for these people? We have had a long march and they are hungry and tired.”
“Yes,” Cilean said, laughing. “They look as hungry as our people. Rowan says the tribes are to spend the day together and near sundown we will choose mates.”
“We?” Jura asked. “You plan to marry tonight too?”
“If I see someone I like. There are a few guardsmen who look interesting, but I want to go with Rowan to Yaine and I do not relish leaving a new husband behind. Come, let’s get these people to work. The morning fires haven’t been lit.”
Jura was glad for the distraction. She did not want Rowan to see her watching him, and when he rode past she was ushering people away from the river and toward the houses.
It was a strange day. Never before had Vatells and Irials spent time together in peace.
There had been conferences between leaders, even, once, it was told, generations ago, the Vatells, the Irials, and the Fearens had united to fight the Huns.
But at the end of the battle the Fearen king’s son had killed the Vatell king’s brother and their victory had turned into a bloody battle among themselves, with the tribes of Lanconia hating one another with renewed rage.
Now there were both tribes together in the Irial village. It was awkward at first, with the Vatells standing in a clump together, watching, a little afraid, not knowing what to do. The Irial women were beginning to cook while the men stood guard behind them protectively.
“This has to stop,” Jura heard Lora say. She was not far away, near Rowan, as always. “Rowan, you must translate for me, my Lanconian isn’t good enough yet. We must get these people together.”
Rowan looked up and met Jura’s eyes. His blue eyes were dark, the lids heavy looking, and Jura could feel her body once again growing warmer.
“Jura will translate for you,” Rowan said.
Lora grimaced. “Perhaps Xante will—”
“Jura will translate for you,” Rowan emphasized.
Jura didn’t like being forced to do her sister-in-law’s bidding, but she knew Lora was right, that something had to be done. She doubted that a useless, soft thing like Lora could help the situation but perhaps she herself could think of something.
An hour later, Jura revised her opinion of Lora.
Lora began organizing and ordering people about with the authority of the toughest captain of the guard.
She sent Vatell women to help the Irial women cook.
She sent Vatell men and Irial men out to get firewood.
And when she saw a handsome young male Vatell and a pretty young female Irial staring at one another, she sent them fishing—without poles or hooks.
“But how will they catch fish?” Jura asked.
Lora looked at her sister-in-law, her eyes twinkling.
Jura began to laugh then leaned toward Lora and said conspiratorially, “That trainee, the one with the red border on her tunic, the one who fought so hard for Rowan, might like that Vatell guard, the one there near Brita.”
“Oh,” Lora said, “the one with the broad shoulders and those legs?”
“I’ve seen better,” Jura replied. “About a three-hour walk up that mountain are some very sweet berries. I think they need collecting.”
Jura smiled happily when she saw the little cat of a trainee go off with the handsome Vatell guard.
After that, Lora and Jura began to relax together.
Jura’s life had been so different from Lora’s.
Jura had spent her time with men, doing men’s things.
She knew how to sharpen a lance blade to a razor-sharp edge but she knew nothing of cooking and running a household.
Whereas Lora had known only the gentler aspects of life, and when her cousins terrorized her, she went to Rowan.
Jura would have removed the skin of any man who tortured her.
Lora was frightened by Jura’s lack of womanly skills and Jura was contemptuous of Lora’s uselessness. But what they began to see that day was how each woman had her own skills. And they were drawn together by the common bond of women everywhere: the need to talk to each other.
As the two worked together, Jura began to enjoy herself. Old Thal would have sneered with contempt if Jura had even mentioned romance, but Lora seemed to glow in the romance of their matchmaking.
“Look at those two,” Lora said. “Perfect together, aren’t they?”
“She is a weaver,” Jura said. “Perhaps we can send them to look at her loom.”
“Oh, yes,” Lora answered. “You are very good at this, Jura. I would never have imagined you to be a matchmaker. Tonight there will be a clear sky and a big moon and all those newly married couples. They will hold hands and walk along the river. It reminds me of my own marriage.”
Jura was staring vacantly into space and thinking that it might be nice to be courted by a man. Daire had given her twenty new arrows when he had asked her to marry him. At this moment she thought she would rather have flowers.
“We’ll have Rowan play his lute and sing tonight,” Lora said. “He knows some beautiful songs.”
“Play? Sing?” Jura said. “Oh, yes, he played for Brita.”
Lora gave her sister-in-law a sharp look. “He has not played his lute for you? He has not sung you love songs in the moonlight?”
“He said once I was prettier than a maid we had seen.”
Lora was quiet for some time as she studied Jura. “Perhaps I have misjudged you. Why did you not want to marry my brother?”
“Cilean was meant to be queen. She will make a better queen than I ever will.”
Lora put her hand on Jura’s arm. “I’m not so sure of that.”
They did not hear the approach of Rowan. “You girls look as if you are enjoying yourselves,” Rowan said in that special, superior way that men have when they are amusing themselves at a woman’s expense.