″Yah,″ she said, slowly and unwillingly. ″We could spare a lot.″ To Rudi: ″We keep a three-year rotating stockpile.″
″It was two, when I left,″ Ingolf said.
″Ed′s a careful man,″ his sister-in-law said. ″Und it′s easier since we′ve got the stuff for canning and pickling as much as we want now—lots of mason jars and good tight barrels and such. So we′re always running down the older part anyway, as we add new. And the out-farms do the same.″
″Enough, with some hunting,″ Pete said. ″As far as the midlakes. I don′t know much of what comes after, say, Duluth. Just that things get worse the farther east.″
Mathilda broke away from the long kiss. ″Spare my healing ribs, Rudi! And my reputation.″
Rudi ground his teeth silently; she hadn′t objected to his hands for quite some time, and the taste of her was upon his lips, along with that of the Sheriff′s excellent apple brandy, of which he′d had more than she in the long discussion. It was silent now in the guest quarters, past midnight and all others asleep. Mathilda saw the look despite the dim light of the passageway and smiled a little sadly, patting him on the cheek:
″Waiting like this isn′t easy for you, is it, poor lamb? Just you wait until we′re married, and you′ll never regret the witch-girls again!″
″That I won′t!″ he said, catching his breath.
Then he drew back a little, his hands on her shoulders. ″Matti . . .
anamchara
mine . . . are we betrothed? We haven′t said the words.″
Her smile died. ″Yes. Or at least
I
want us to be.″
″And myself also!″
The next kiss was long. He pulled away with difficulty, and remembered Associate custom. From one knee he spoke:
″But some things it′s better to say aloud. Mathilda . . . will you marry me, pagan clansman that I am?″
″Yes!″
She caught his head to her, and after a moment he felt a warm drop on it. When he rose, he touched a finger to the track of a tear.
″Why are you weeping, my heart?″
″Because I′m
happy
, you great gangling idiot! Because I can just be Mathilda and happy for an instant, not the Princess.″
Then she wrinkled her nose at him. ″And yes, I′ve thought about it carefully—the politics as well. If you
weren′t
going to be High King, it would be . . . harder. But I think Mother will approve. And I think the Cardinal-Archbishop will give us a dispensation. That′s just bargaining, though. I want
you
.″
″And me likewise. Now, when? Tomorrow? Perhaps a week? We′ve good Father Ignatius here, after all—and my folk have no problem accepting a Christian marriage as valid. We can have a grand celebration when we′re home, when the war allows . . . but there′s no reason we should be apart the now.″
Her hands fell away from him, and the joy in her face faltered—as if the shadows that lay across them in the dim hallway had entered there.
″Rudi . . . we can′t get married
here
and
now
.″
″Why not?″ he said, and grinned. ″Besides the delightful prospects it raises, it would be better if you were my heir in law.
Someone
must lead our folk in Montival; and modesty aside, you′re the next best choice after me. For some of it, you′re better. I′m not immortal, and we′re in just a
wee
bit of danger, you might say.″
Her eyes fell. ″I . . . I can′t marry without Mother′s permission, Rudi.″ He felt a chill pass over his own happiness. ″As you said, she′ll be happy enough. For one thing, she cares little for the matter of our different faiths—″
Then he cursed himself as she winced; that was
not
something that Mathilda Arminger liked to remember about her mother.
″—and for another, the kingcraft of the thing will delight her. I wouldn′t be surprised if she hadn′t had something of the sort in mind!″
Mathilda nodded. ″She′s mentioned a dynastic marriage before. But . . . I may
think
I′ll get her permission, but I′m not
sure
. . .″
″Matti!″ He wagged a finger at her. ″It′s all our lives we′ve known each other, or nearly. Do you think I can′t tell when you′re making an excuse? And the same for Cardinal Maxwell!″
″Rudi—″ Her voice was half desperate. ″Rudi, if I′m your wife, we′ll have to
sleep
together.″
″And much else!″ Rudi said happily.
″I mean . . . it′s not really a marriage unless it′s consummated!″
″
Acushla
, my thought exactly!″
″You . . . you
man
!″ she said, and punched him on the chest; then winced when it jarred her healing arm. ″You single-minded tomcat! You—″
He took a step back and raised his hands; it wasn′t the first time a woman had said something of the same order to him, but it was a blunt surprise now.
″Matti, darlin′ girl, what′s the matter?″
″What happens, you idiot, when a man and a woman are together?
Babies!
Why do you call your goddess the
Mother
, Rudi? It′s not because she spanks you!″
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Yes, there′s that
geasa, he thought unhappily.
They think it′s wicked to prevent conception. And it′s a strong custom. Matti wouldn′t break it.
It was also a real impediment. They were just about to start a journey through some of the deadliest wilderness in the world, and in midwinter at that. They would certainly have to fight at times. Matti was a warrior of considerable skill—no great champion, but well above average for an Associate of her age and easily as good as, say, Odard. But she couldn′t swing a sword from behind a yard of pregnant belly.
Or ride quickly, or run and hide, or . . .
She saw his hesitation, and followed the blow with a prodding finger. ″And
don′t
tell me about the rhythm method. It′s good enough for home, but it doesn′t
work
all the time.″
To be sure not all methods of sharing pleasure lead to babies. But that would require a great deal of willpower. And that particular method is the crux of a marriage, to one of her faith; without it, there′s no true handfasting, no matter what the rites and ceremonies. It′s the thing that cannot be undone, to them.
″Do you think you′re the only one who′s tempted?″ she said angrily, her voice rising.
She shrugged off his hand as she turned her face to the wall. ″Don′t
tempt
me, Rudi. It′s so . . . it′s so
hard
to keep saying no! I don′t
want
to! But I have to do what′s right.″
″It′s truly sorry I am,″ Rudi said soberly.
Truly sorry, and very bewildered. And wishing you were a follower of the Old Religion, much more so than I ever have before.
She turned back to him and went on more softly: ″Rudi, I can′t chance being pregnant in the wilderness. I just can′t. I′m . . . scared of it. And what if . . . Mother had a very hard time with me. They had to cut! We nearly both died, and that was with all the doctors in the Protectorate on hand, and Mother couldn′t have more children.″
He winced. ″Matti, all that is as true as gold. But we′re going to be on this road a
long
time,″ he said unhappily. ″We′ve been a year and some months already, and we′re only three-quarters of the way! Matti, having the beauty of you there is going to be a torment, that it is. We′re
betrothed
now, not fancy-free.″
And it′s extremely awkward I would feel trying to take back the words. It′s ″yes″ I expected, or perhaps even ″no,″ but not ″yes, in two years!″
″I know,″ she said, and kissed him again. ″It′s hard for me too. We′ll make an offering of the pain, and when we′re married, it will be all the sweeter for the memory.″
He stared at her. ″Ah . . . Matti, I know that makes perfect sense to you, and as the Gods of my people witness, I respect it. There are many paths to the divine and they have their own rules; you can see it shining from Father Ignatius, and he′s not the only Christian I′ve met who was a holy man for all but the blind to see. But I′m
not
a Christian, you know,
anamchara
. My
geasa
are different. Sometimes I don′t think you realize quite how different, for all your time on the Clan′s land. And also a man and a woman are different in that way—″
This time she hit him in the pit of the stomach, where even a very strong man had no protection. The breath came out of him in an
ooof
; he wasn′t really winded enough to be helpless, but he did have to struggle with his half-paralyzed diaphragm for a moment.
″Rudi, I love you dearly, but sometimes you drive me
crazy
!″ she said in a rush. ″We′ll be married in Portland! When we get there! Now go away and come back when you′re . . . you′re
civilized
! Tomorrow! When you haven′t had so much to drink!″
The door closed; it almost slammed. Rudi clenched one big shapely hand into a fist and cocked it back as if he were going to punch it through the plaster-covered planks of the hallway′s wall.
″I drive
you
crazy, woman!″ he snarled—softly. ″Said the crow to the raven, what an exceeding blackness your feathers have!″
There were times when it was best to just walk away from a quarrel, even if you had
just
the telling word on your tongue—for example, the fact that her father had notoriously leapt on anything female that moved, and shaken most that weren′t to see if they were really shamming death, which was where he′d drawn the line. For that matter, Aunt Judy had told him the reason Sandra′s delivery of her daughter had been so hard had probably been that Norman Arminger had contracted a case of Aphrodite′s Measles from one of his numberless concubines.
Now
that
I can never say to her. It would be cruel. And perhaps she does know it, and it accounts for some of all this. I′m still angry enough to chew on nails, that I am!
At the end of the corridor he
did
kick the door; luckily it was a heavy thing of beveled oak planks. The pain in his toe made him want to punch the wall again. He stopped the motion with a slight snort of laughter at himself, and looked at the fingers of his right hand, wiggled them and sighed before making as if to kiss them.
″Not so fair and sweet as Mathilda are you,″ he murmured. ″Nor as dear to my heart, nor does the thought of you torment me with fair longings and warm dreams. But darlings, you′ve never said me no, have you the now?″
He was still trying to curb his thoughts as he took the staircase to his own room three steps at a time, sure-footed as a cat in the darkness.
Discipline your mind, Master Hao said. Easier to do when faced with a deathmongering evil magus than close to the sweet-scented curved warm pleasantness of my Matti!
he thought.
And I am
not
a Christian.
To me
this makes no sense at all!
He wasn′t a sworn virgin either, and hadn′t been a virgin of any sort since that pleasant night in Dun Meillin when he was thirteen; nor had he and Mathilda ever been formally betrothed . . . Until recently, when it just seemed to have sort of
happened
without any particular day at which you could point, and now he′d gone and made it explicit.
Still, with her eyes upon him twenty-four hours a mortal day, this trip had involved more imitation of monkish chastity than he′d ever desired or practiced. When you were the Chief′s son and tall and handsome and had a way with words, he hadn′t needed to, given Mackenzie belief and custom. For that matter, according to the Clan′s way of looking at things, if she didn′t want to lie with him she had no grounds for objecting if he lay with another.
From now on it was going to be far worse, because she
would
object, and most mightily, and by her lights with reason. If they were to be handfasted, he couldn′t just disregard any part of her beliefs he didn′t happen to like.
I don′t know how poor Father Ignatius does it. Or doesn′t do it, so to say. With fidelity
after
we′re handfasted I have no problem whatsoever; Mathilda′s all the woman a man could need, and more. With years of waiting, a great many problems . . . do arise, and arise, and arise, to coin a phrase! And from my time in the Association lands, I
know
a great many Catholic ladies aren′t as stiff-necked about such matters as Mathilda, either. She wouldn′t be the darling she is if she weren′t sincere, but oh, how I could wish it were otherwise!
The guest quarters of the Sheriff′s house were in a part that was all built post-Change, of honest brick and stone and timber; there were plenty of rooms, since a wealthy landholder and leader had to be able to extend hospitality to many. All the travelers who weren′t paired had one to themselves, with empty space besides in between for their gear; his was a story up and around a ninety-degree turn that put him in a different wing. They were all grateful, good friends as they mostly were, privacy and quiet had been in short supply for most of their trip.
He stopped suddenly as he came close; there was a leak of candlelight under the door, and he certainly hadn′t left one lit when he went down to dinner—nobody played carelessly with naked flame, if they had any sense at all.
So someone is waiting for me
, he thought.
Now, isn′t that interesting?
Right now he′d
almost
welcome a fight. There was no sword at his belt, but he did have his dirk; the ten inches of double-edged killing steel slid into his hand, and he approached with a lightness that most found surprising in a man his size. Some had found it a fatal surprise, and not a floorboard creaked as he ghosted along the edge of the wall where that was least likely. He extended one hand to the knob and then paused.
Assassins didn′t usually start to sing as they lay in wait for you, not even very faint and sweet. Like a wisp of melody heard beneath the trees on a spring night that you could scarcely hear and might have imagined. It was a song he recognized too: not precisely a hymn, not quite, but a favorite of his people from their beginnings, and among the witch-folk before.