A Toast to Starry Nights (27 page)

I appreciated the grand gift.

My betrothed and Uncle must have spoken
about the finer details when they discussed marriage earlier, before Padraic
revealed it to me in the forest. “Is Padraic satisfied with the dowry?”

“Yes, but he wishes for it to stay in
your hands.”

I took a deep breath, well satisfied
with Padraic's trust in me. “I am ready to wed him.”

Uncle Sean's gaunt face wore a smile. “I
am glad you are wedding for love, and wish your mother could have met your
bridegroom. She would approve.”

“I know, Uncle. I wish she and Da were
here to celebrate with us, such as it is.”

Bride and Moire ran into the house,
calling out my name. “Ona! Ooonnnaaa! Where you be?”

I made for the library's door and opened
it wide. “Here I am. What is wrong?”

The two girls bent their heads together
and revealed a bouquet of wildflowers bound together with ivy.

“Maeve and Mara are weaving you a
circlet! You cannot wed in a mud-stained dress with tangled hair!” Bride
scolded me as only an indignant eight-year old could, her mahogany hair
bouncing around with each scolding she gave. “You have to change, Ona! 'Tis not
proper for you to look like a hoyden. You have a smudge of something on your
cheek! Wash your face, at least, Sister.” She sounded much the way I do when
talking to her and Moire.

I smiled at her childish mothering. “You
are right, poppet.” I turned to smile at Uncle. “I shall tidy myself before
entering the state of matrimony. I shan't be long.”

He must have heard the scolding, as he
smiled back, “Aye, best you do. I will inform Padraic of this turn of event.”

My sisters shooed me up the stairs to
our shared chamber. Moire's shiny golden curls tumbled behind her as she
rummaged deep in a chest containing our clothing. She pulled out a red gown and
a clean linen shift dyed saffron yellow. Bride poured some water from a pitcher
into a ewer and tossed a wash rag into it. She tsked as she began to scrub my
face. “Sister, one could mistake you for being half your age.”

“I would make an awful tall ten year
old, Little Sister.” I smiled at Bride's clucking over my state of being. “So
eager to have me wed, little one?”

“Aye. Your melancholy since Mam and Da
died goes away when Padraic is around. You smile more and Moire and I decided
Padraic would make a good brother. I would have you weep no more in the dead of
night, Ona. You keep us up, though we say naught.”

I looked down, ashamed that my sisters
knew of my mourning. Ashamed that my sadness touched them. “My apologies to you
both. My weeping was not meant to be shared.”

“It is what it is, sister. You are older
than us and have known more sorrow. I do not even recall our mother's face...
just the smell of lavender.”

“Our home had gardens that our mother
was proud of, she worked them herself. Lavender was her favorite flower. It was
the only scent she would allow for soap. ” I snatched the washrag out of
Bride's hand and scrubbed my arms, neck and upper chest. Sorrow engulfed me.
How I wished my parents were here to see me wed. “You have Mother's look about
you. Moire is Father, reborn.”

“And according to Uncle Sean and Maeve,
you and Mara both look like our grandmother. Best you hurry, Sister.” She
snatched the washcloth from my hands and tossed the awaiting shift over my
head. With a yank, she tossed the overdress on, lacing it up the front. With a
hard push so I sat on the bed, Bride yanked a brush through my black hair in an
effort to tame the wildness of my tresses.

My two sisters worked together to plait
my hair and bedeck it with ribbons, gifts from Uncle Sean for Twelfth Night
celebrations.

The door to our chamber eased open
enough for Mara to slip inside and watch with an arched eyebrow. “Come now,
little birds. Time for you each to bathe and ready yourself. Ona, join me in my
chamber, please.” She handed a circlet woven from flowers and ivy, bedecked
with woad-blue ribbons ending in tiny silver bells to Moire. “There, Ona's
crowning glory.”

Moire placed the crown of woven flowers
atop my head and with a dramatic step away, looked at me in awe.

“Tis the first wedding I've been to,
Ona. You make a pretty bride.”

I smiled at the wistful look upon my
sweet sister. “You are too gracious, little one.”

A sharp clap of hands and Mara's pithy
words to my sisters served as a reminder. “Hurry, you frilly imps! Do you wish
to watch your sister wed wearing stained gowns? Weddings wait only for the
bride, not the attendants!”

Moire and Bride each dove into the
clothing chest and rummaged around for gowns to wear. I slipped out unnoticed
and walked arm and arm with Mara to the little room that served as her lair.

Bunches of flowers and herbs were tied
with twine and hung from the rafters of her room. Books littered every flat
place, the leather bindings brought forth sensation of being in Uncle's
library.

Mara was the only child of my eldest
uncle. He wed her off to the younger son of a lord, with the stipulation that
the bridegroom bear his clan name. Iain did so, becoming Lord of Maidenglow
Castle, near the Golden Vale in Munster. When the English king requested
fealty, Iain refused. In retaliation, Henry VIII sent a garrison to “convince”
his lordship that England would indeed have Ireland, piece by piece.

The day Iain hung from the dule tree was
the day Mara escaped to Uncle Sean's with nothing more than two bloodied man at
arms and a bairn in her belly. The ride to escape the English invaders caused
her to miscarry. Bitterness wore at the edges of her soul when it came to those
bastards from across the sea.

After shutting the wooden door, Mara sat
upon her bed and beckoned me to sit next to her.

“What do you know of the marriage bed?”

I blushed. “He puts his seed in my belly
and I will bear a child.”

Mara laughed hard at what I presumed was
my innocence. “There is much more to it than that.” With a mischievous look in
her green eyes, she spoke to me in whispered tones. “There will be pain the
first time. But if he takes his time with you, the pain will be but a moment
long. After that comes the Pleasures.”

“The
Pleasures
?”

“I know you and Padraic have kissed.
Have you touched tongues?”

I was a bit shocked at the blunt honesty
of the topic at hand. “No... never... one can do that?” Despite my bold talk of
being with child while Padraic is at sea, truth was I knew next to nothing of
these Pleasures Mara spoke about with such knowing.

“Oh, one can do a great many things with
their tongue, cousin. And a great many of those things will keep for a
contented husband.” Mara's thick black braid swung over her shoulder as she
tilted her head. “The worm betwixt man’s legs seeks nothing more than a warm
wet place to rest. Give him ample opportunity to rest and your marriage will
bloom.” She punctuated with another wink.

“You kept Iain content in such manners?”

“I kept him
happy
with such
things. A happy husband is less likely to stray.” She looked down at her hands
clutched together on her lap. “You can use your tongue on his neck or below his
belt. Don't be afraid to touch the worm between his legs. The more excited it
gets, the harder it is... and that's a good sign on a bridegroom. That worm
will bury itself in you and plant his seed. If his seed takes, you will quicken
with child. If not, you get to have more fun.” She looked back up at me and
winked. “Tell him to touch your titties, if he hasn't already. It is very
pleasurable.”

“Though you are but three years older
than I, Cousin, you seem to have wisdom of the ages.”

With a wink Mara replied, “Nay, Ona.
Just the wisdom of women.” She reached out and grasped my hand. “Just follow
his lead and if you don't like something, tell him. And if he doesn't listen,
kick him in the shin.”

“Is that why Iain would oft times walk
with a limp?” I could not resist asking.

“Aye. When a woman speaks, man should
listen. Should his ears remain closed, then the next area to assault is the
shin, for certain.” Mara stated her opinion in a very serious tone with an
impish gleam in her eye. After a broad grin and a chuckle at my smile, she
asked me gently if I had any questions.

“Nay. The only thing that truly looms on
my mind is what the dawn brings. Of that, I am fearful.”

Mara's voice lowered to a hush. “I heard
from the watchman that Sir Crispin Landross is gathering garrisons from the
Pale and ride this way. They will raze from Wicklow to Wexford.” Horror echoed
in her worried eyes.

“The Demon Lord of Eskerfell?” A name
that lurked like a black god of destruction. More fearsome than the Morrigan
bent on vengeance.

“Aye. The one and the same.”

I swallowed hard. Tales of his raiding
horrors have reached far and wide in Ireland. It was said he fed babes still at
their mother's breast to his hounds. Enslaved the women and children. Worked
the men nigh unto death building siege engines to employ upon their brethren.
The clergy members he captured were for his amusement. England cared not what
was done, as long as the lands were made the King's dominion.

“Does Uncle still plan on leaving by
evening tomorrow?”

“No, we leave at day break. We make for
the harbor at Wexford. There we flee to France.”

“Padraic plans to sail for the Spanish.”

“Aye, I heard. He is a man of honor,
Cousin. He wishes to forge his own way in life. He could walk the easier path
and flee but that is not in his character.”

“I hope he plants a baby in my belly
tonight. Should I lose him, at least I would have his child.”

“Say no such thing, Ona. I had Iain's
babe in my belly and lost it, too. I have nothing of him now but the ring he
gave me when we said our vows and the memory of a face that is slowly fading
from my mind.”

Mara's melancholy touched me deeply. She
still mourned the loss of both her husband and child, and it was a wound that
went bone deep. “Look at us. First you educate me about the pleasures of the
marriage bed and now we discuss death of husbands. Most thorough, aren't we?”

We laughed at my wry observation. “Aye,
Cousin, we are very thorough. Wear your husband out in the marriage bed-- that
way should he die, it will be with a smile on his face.”

“You are naughty, cousin and I love you
for it.”

“Ah, Ona, you were the sister I never
had. I wish nothing but joy for you.”

We leaned our dark heads together, then
I heard Mara's voice continue, “If you have any questions tomorrow morn about
things, just ask.”

I flushed bright red. “Oh I shall.” With
as much grace as I could muster I murmured, “'Tis time I see Uncle for my
confession. I thank you for sharing your wisdom with me, Mara.”

“Aye, go confess your multitude of sins,
you black-hearted heathen. I must see to myself so I can observe your nuptials.
It'll be nice that you'll stop gazing at Padraic with cow eyes when you think
no one sees.”

I laughed at her teasing. “Oh, I'm
positive my cow eyes will only get more intense. My bridegroom has promised to
make me intoxicated with lust this night to last until I see him again.”

“Should be an interesting stay in Paris
then.”

Again I laughed. “Oh aye, it should be.”

I arose from the bed and left Mara's
room. Down the dark timbered hallway hung with tapestries, to the stone stairs.
On my way down, Padraic walked up. When we reached the same step, he pushed me
back against the wall and sought my lips. He kissed me passionately, in a
manner I was unused to-- he licked my lower lip before sucking it into his
mouth to caress with his own. Instantly my body sang out in joy, but the kiss
ended much too quickly. “A promise of what comes later tonight,” he whispered
against my lips. “I must ready myself. They say it is bad luck to see a bride
before the wedding, but I must say you look exquisite, Ona.”

I gazed into his blue eyes and smiled.
“Surely those imps that control fate will know that us seeing each other before
we wed was not planned or intentional. Surely they will forgive us for such a
small thing.”

A sweet kiss to my brow. “Perhaps. Go
now, Ona, see your Uncle. Plans have changed.”

“Mara told me Crispin Landross rides
this way.”

“Aye. He'll steal a night's march on us
if he can. A runner came with news. We leave for Wexford at dawn. There must be
no one here when the English cross the Slaney river. Two garrisons travel by
ship to Wicklow to join three other garrisons to head here. The English king
wishes to make an example of us all.”

“So we have tonight only, then. You'll
sail for Madrid and I to Paris.”

Padraic's face changed from concerned to
saddened. “Aye. We'll speak of it later. Go, see your Uncle.” And with that,
another kiss to my forehead and he continued up the stone steps.

I made my way to the small family
chapel. It faced south so that the single stained glass window of Jesu raising
Lazarus from the tomb, always shone bright. Uncle sat in the pew, gazing up at
that window. As I neared him, he spoke, his eyes never wavered from the shards
of colored glass.