A Husband for Deva

The Wedding

Deva dropped into an automatic curtsey, falling into the rote words of tradition: "Mother, Father, here is Brialach Keireidhe, come to marry me." Beside her, Brialach made a short half-bow of acknowledgment, a prince greeting equals. The Queen's eyebrows shot up.

"It is our pleasure to welcome you to our family," King Hafred said, with a fulsome smile. His hearty tone underscored the fact that he still wouldn't look below Deva's chin.

"Your Majesties, I bring my family's greetings and goodwill. I am honored to make this second joining of our houses." The phrases were expected, even required, but Brialach made them sound genuine.

Everyone turned to look at Deva. My turn to speak, to say that the honor is mine. But she couldn't force herself to say the words. Uncomfortable silence spread like an inappropriate odor.

"Well," said the Queen. She gestured toward the flagstone steps that rose to the upper kitchen. "Since we're all gathered, there's no reason to delay..." With the poise and grace for which she was known, she moved up the steps, her full skirts carrying her like a ship's sails. "Come, my dear ones. Father Angad is waiting to bless your union."

Now?  Deva had known that the marriage was to take place that day, but she'd somehow thought there'd be more time — for what, she wasn't sure. To talk to Brialach? To get to know this semi-stranger she was about to wed? To make peace with the idea of marrying without being loved, even though she'd known all her life that love wasn't likely?

Around her, the wedding guests proceeded to the upper kitchen, toward the traditional wedding arch built at an angle into the northwest corner. It was just a timber archway carved with the words 'In Faithful Love, Blessed by the Lord of Light', a threshold opening onto a passage behind.

Looking down at her uncertainly, Brialach took her arm to lead her up the steps. She shook him off. "Let me take this last walk alone, at least," she bit out.

"Mae mahri,"  he murmured, which sounded like an apology.

Determined to go with courage, she strode up the steps, chin up and shoulders squared. She could feel him keeping pace beside her. Ahead, the guests parted to open an aisle to the wedding arch for them. It should have been decorated with white and gold ribbons, with garlands of snow-cherry blossoms.

She stopped. Froze.

Waiting next to Father Angad, the Queen laughed gently, her polished social laugh. "Ah, wedding jitters. It's normal for a bride to hesitate when the moment is at hand. Come now, Deva."

"No."

Did I just say that aloud?  The horrified gasps and goggle-eyed stares confirmed it. No? As in, no wedding?  She turned to see Brialach looking down at her, his eyes surprised and wounded at her rejection of him.

"Am I to understand that you do not wish to be married today?" Father Angad asked, in the pensive, almost quavering voice that always seemed so much at odds with his high position and noble robes. From his tone, he might have been asking if she would take a cup of chocolate with him or wished to borrow a book from his library.

The Queen snorted, a quite inelegant sound. "Don't be ridiculous. She will come to the arch and say her vows, at once."

Deva planted her feet and crossed her arms. She drew in a breath, thought about where the involuntary refusal had come from. "It's not that I don't want to be married. But I won't do it out of shame. I won't be dragged to the arch and bound for life to someone who doesn't want me, just because I have a baby inside me — yes! I said it; I have a baby growing inside me. You can all look at my belly now." She stroked her hands over her midsection, pulling her smock tight to show off the curve of it.

Someone coughed.

And then Brialach's big hands covered hers, pale and freckled and strong, and he lowered himself to one knee in front of her, looking up. "But I do want you, mae orchadhe. I have not forgotten one moment of what we've known together." Their eyes locked, and she felt a flash of memory, of his face in ecstasy, his bare shoulders taut as he held himself over her. Electricity surged between them, so intense that the gold bandhi  in his hair sparkled with magic energy.

"I... I haven't forgotten either."

"Good. Then let us be married now, not for shame but for the future, for a chance to know each other outside of the bedroom, to let love grow between us. Will you have me?"

Tears threatened to spill over. "I will." And that was her vow right there, never mind the ones they would speak under the arch. No shame, just the future they could make.

Brialach stood. "Hear me. I claim the child as mine. I am the father of Princess Deva's baby. Let no person say otherwise, who does not wish for death."

Father Angad cleared his throat, a wry smile splitting his silver beard. "In that case, my lord, we shall hope that she's willing to wed you."

"Yes," said Deva. "Yes."

Brialach offered her his arm, and this time she took it, allowing him to draw her toward the wedding arch where generations of brides had stood.

As they reached it, Ashlen stepped up and handed Deva a cluster of snow-cherry blossoms trailing white and gold ribbons, whispering, "You're a bride, sister. Hal and I thought you should have these."

Later, Deva could never remember saying her official wedding vows under the arch. She only remembered looking down at the flowers in her hands. You're a bride.  And then everyone was clapping, and someone handed her a cup of spiced cider for toasts, and her father the King raised his cup and wished them a fruitful marriage, which struck her as rather funny under the circumstances.

Then her mother was nodding meaningfully toward the passageway behind the arch, and a sudden shyness came over Deva. Before, she'd thought Brialach nothing but a daydream. Here and now, he was solidly real and overwhelmingly male, and she was expected to lead him upstairs to bed, whale belly and all.

___________

♥ How's that for finding her courage? And how do you like Brialach now?

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