The Village, Ceristen Series #2

Chapter 1

The lilting pipe music whistled bright and clear, diving and swooping in a lively ripple of sound. Light and laughter swung past, young men with maidens on their arms, kicking, whirling, and leaping in the intimate gaiety of the dance.

She sat apart from it, her slender fingers knitting together in her lap. Had Marcus not said he would come?

She saw his teasing face, the infectious smile tilting up the corners of his lips. "Come, sister, why not?"

"You ought to, Fiona." Peony's lovely features settled in lines of affected maturity. "I can hardly attend myself, trying to make this cottage clean and livable as I am; but 'twould be most proper for you to mingle with young people your age, and I can certainly spare your help for an evening."

"Yes, Peony." Her sister was right. "But I–"

"I am so foolish!" Marcus smacked a hand dramatically against his forehead. "If Peony doesn't come you will have no-one to keep you company. But Fiona, that's easily mended: I'll come myself. They can't be starting till the castle work is finished, unless for some queer reason the foreman lets them all off early. So I shall meet you there, if not directly at least soon after you arrive. Perhaps I can convince Bardrick to come as well!"

She gave his expectant face an answering smile. "All right, then."

But Marcus had not come.

Expecting that he would arrive soon, wanting to wait unnoticed for his arrival, she had slipped into the room and seated herself in a dim corner by the wall where no-one seemed to go. Now, longing for company and yet afraid to go out and find it, she remained on her chair and watched the spinning couples, trapped just outside that thrumming web of fellowship.

She ought to go home. But if she moved now, someone would surely see her. Oh, she wanted to be seen, to talk, to be full of Peony's social grace and poise.

I do not know what I want, she admitted to herself. Blinking away the unshed tears, she lowered her eyes from the dancing circle.

~

He shut his eyes to take in the music in its full purity of sound. Softly he hummed with it, his ear picking out the underlying harmony in the rapid flurry of notes.

Then all at once it ended, and Fred looked up as the twirling group fell apart in laughter and shouting and formed a triumphant circle around the glowing bride and groom.

"Long life to Marjorie Delaney!" cried someone, and Fred, with a smile breaking over his face, came forward to accept the cup that Braegon King was holding out to him. He gave it to Marjorie, who drank a brief draught and set it in his hands to do likewise. Then Charles held out his hands in turn, and they repeated the demonstration.

Several girls leaped forward to scatter dried flowers and fir needles over Marjorie's head, who shrank back laughing against Charles. Then they seized the bride's wrists to lead her into yet another dance. She waved her hand in a brief farewell to Fred, who watched her go with a smile on his lips and his heart full of her gladness.

"What better way to welcome you into the village than with marriage festivities for the whole village to attend?" Braegon had exclaimed when Fred mentioned to him his sister's betrothal.

"I do not feel unwelcomed," Fred answered amusedly.

Braegon sputtered and made a dismissive gesture. "That is well, my friend, but how often does the opportunity arise in the middle of winter for celebration? The village would be outraged if we did not!"

"And considering it is the middle of winter, have you a solution for gathering all the town together?" Fred inquired.

"Of course," rejoined Braegon instantly; "the common threshing floor. 'Tis used for any such occasion."