The snow remained as the winter solstice approached, covering the world in an ermine crust. The water in the troughs outside the fort froze solid and snow drifts solidified into gleaming mountains of ice outside the defensive walls.
Tea found herself looking forward to Mid-Winter Fire. This festival had always been the one she enjoyed the most, for it was when the dark half of the year relinquished to the light half. The morning after the Long Night, the sun would climb just a little higher in the sky and remain a little longer. Light and warmth would creep back into the world.
On the Long Night they celebrated the rebirth of the Oak King, the giver of life who would warm the frozen earth. In the days leading up to the festival, Tea helped bake loaves of sweet bread studded with nuts and damsons, and honey oat-cakes. Men and women journeyed to the woodland north of Dun Ringill and brought home baskets filled with oaken branches.
They also dragged back a large bough of oak, which would burn in the fort’s great hearth. The people of The Winged Isle believed that at this time of the year, the sun stood still for twelve days. During this time they would keep the log lit to conquer the darkness, banish evil spirits, and bring good fortune for the coming year.
The day of the Long Night, Tea accompanied a group of women into the woods to gather drualus, holly, ivy and boughs of pine for Mid-Winter Fire. The nearest woodland was a morning’s walk from the fort, so the group dressed warmly in heavy mantles and fur feet wrappings. They trudged through the deep snow, baskets under the arms. It was a gelid morning, although the sky was clear, and so their voices were full of good cheer.
The bandruí of Dun Ringill accompanied them. Walking a few yards behind Ruith, Tea observed the seer with interest. She was a small, wiry woman with thick greying hair braided into plaits. Despite her advancing years, she held herself straight and proud as she walked.
Inside the trees, the bandruí led them deep into the woods, to the places where drualus grew upon ancient oaks. While the other women went in search of the other seasonal plants, Tea helped Ruith cut the drualus. As she worked, the bandruí murmured words of blessing. Oaks were sacred, and the drualus that grew upon it like a parasite was a symbol of life in the dark winter months.
Ruith stepped back from her task, glancing across at where Tea now held a basket full of evergreen leaves with woody stems, and waxy, white berries.
“It is good to see color in your face and light in your eyes,” the seer said. Her directness took Tea aback. She had not thought Ruith had paid her any attention since her arrival here. Today was the first time the two women had actually spoken.
Seeing her consternation, the bandruí smiled. “I saw you the day you rode in,” she said by way of explanation. “All I remember is an ashen face and wild eyes—you looked formidable. I feared our chief might have his throat slit one night while he slept.”
Tea grimaced. “I considered it.”
“But something prevented you?”
Tea nodded, looking away from Ruith’s intense gaze. “I can’t harm Galan.” She glanced back at the bandruí to see that she was smiling. “He told me that he came to you about me.”
Ruith nodded, her smile fading. “He came looking for answers, but I fear he left me less happy than when he arrived.”
The two women moved over to the second oak in the mossy clearing, and Ruith climbed up to reach the drualus that grew higher up in its branches. She climbed with impressive agility and confidence, bracing herself against two boughs while she began cutting the plant and dropping it down to Tea.
“He told me about his father and my mother,” Tea said eventually. “That Muin had wished to wed my mother all those years ago.”
Ruith looked down at her. “All those years ago … so says the young woman. Seems only yesterday to me.”
Tea tried to smile but failed; she had little sense of humor where the subject of Muin was concerned. “Was he embittered?”
The bandruí sighed. “I remember he returned from that gathering elated at the prospect of having Fina as his wife. A few moons later when he realized she’d wed another he was angry, yet I don’t remember his disappointment lasting long. If he felt resentment, he hid it well.”
Ruith paused here as she turned her attention to her task. When she slid back down to the ground, her expression was introspective. “Muin was very happy with Galaith, Galan’s mother. After her death Muin and I became lovers.”
Tea listened with interest. She was still unconvinced, yet like most folk, she respected a seer’s opinion. Besides, her time here had softened her opinion of Galan’s people. She had treated them all with contempt since her arrival but for the most part they had accepted her. Luana’s death had made something shift within her—had made her see the world differently.
Ruith met Tea’s eye once more, her expression serious. “Muin hated the People of The Wolf, but it was a loathing born of years of feuding, one passed down to him through his father, and his father’s father before that. I never sensed there was more to it than that.”
Their task of gathering drualus complete, the two women started walking back through the trees in the direction of Dun Ringill. The pale winter sun shone down through the skeleton trees although there was hardly any heat in it.
“Do you still hate Galan?” Ruith asked, a twinkle in her eye. “In your place I’d find him very hard to resist.”
The seer’s comment reminded Tea of Luana—of her attempts to make Tea see Galan in a better light. Those honey oatcakes she had packed for them that day had been yet another attempt to thaw the ice between them. The memory of Luana’s kindness, just a short while before her death, made Tea’s throat constrict.
Tea looked away from the bandruí, as if the frozen ground had suddenly become fascinating. “He is hard to resist,” she admitted quietly.
Ruith gave a soft laugh. “You make that sound like such a terrible thing. Do you know how many women can’t abide the sight of their husband?”
Tea glanced up. “How I wish that was the case between us. For the sake of my people, for my parents’ memory, I wanted to despise him.”
The bandruí inclined her head slightly. “It’s for the sake of both our people that Galan wed you—to bring peace to our corner of The Winged Isle. Why do you continue to fight your attraction to him?”
Tea sighed, forcing a wan smile. “I don’t rightly know. I suppose I fear that once I cross that line, there’ll be no going back. Dun Ringill will finally be my home.”
Ruith smiled. “It already is, Tea.” She then reached into her basket and withdrew a sprig of drualus. “I bless this plant with life, love and happiness for you both—wear it in your hair tonight.”
Tea took the drualus, her stomach fluttering in sudden nervousness at what the seer was promising. “Very well,” she murmured. “I shall.”
***
At dusk, the folk of Dun Ringill lit two bonfires of oak just outside the defensive walls. Tea and the other women brought steaming iron pots of spiced cider outdoors to toast the Long Night, and to share the drink with the crops and trees in the fields outside the fort.
The women had done an admirable job of decorating the fort, both inside and out, with holly, ivy, drualus and boughs of pine. The latter filled the interior of the fort with its pungent resin-scent. A great oaken log now burned in the hearth, before it would smolder for the coming days.
Cheeks reddened from being outdoors in the cold, folk packed inside the feasting hall. They took their places at the long tables around the hearth, their chilled fingers wrapped around steaming cups of spiced cider.
Men brought in spit-roasted pigs that had been stuffed with apples, dried damsons and nuts; placing one on each table. There were also roasted turnips, carrots and onions and large tureens of braised kale—all of which were served with fresh loaves of caraway bread.
After she had finished pouring cider for all who sat at the chieftain’s table, Tea took her place next to Galan. It was the first time she had seen him all day, for the preparations for the Long Night had occupied them both. Galan looked dangerously attractive tonight, clad in fine doe-skin breeches, a studded belt and a dark leather vest that left his muscular arms bare. The sight of him made Tea’s pulse quicken.
Meeting her eye, Galan smiled. “It’s a fine feast.”
“You have many good cooks here at Dun Ringill,” she replied with an answering smile. “Deri prepared most of this—I cannot take credit for it.”
Galan carved some pork, placing it upon the dish they shared before spooning out some stuffing. Despite the excitement his very nearness elicited, the aroma of the roast meat and stuffing made Tea’s mouth water. Feasts such as these were special events indeed, and to be savored for there were still many moons of cold weather before them.
At the table opposite, Tea spied Ruith. A revered member of the community, the bandruí was always invited to feasts inside the fort. The seer laughed at something the man next to her said, flicking her braids flirtatiously. Watching her, Tea fought a smile. She liked Ruith’s spirit and zest for life.
She raised her cup to her lips and took a sip of warmed cider before glancing at Galan. He was watching her under lowered lids, a heated look that made her breathing grow shallow.
“You look lovely this evening,” he murmured. “You have drualus in your hair.”
Tea found herself smiling. “Aye—Ruith gave it to me.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Have you been spending time with the bandruí?”
Tea nodded. “We collected drualus together today.” Her smile widened when she saw his discomfort. “What is it?”
“I’ve never been comfortable around the seer,” he admitted, casting a reproachful glance in Ruith’s direction. “She has a look that devours a man.”
Tea laughed, realizing as she did so that it was the first time she had let mirth overtake her since coming to Dun Ringill. “She certainly thinks you’re attractive—she told me so.”
Galan grinned at that. “What else did she say?”
Tea gave him a coy look. “Men shouldn’t know what women say amongst themselves.”
His grey eyes gleamed. “Really? Now I’m curious.”
Tea looked away and pretended to be interested in her meal. However, the heat of Galan’s stare made her feel stripped bare. She took another sip of cider and let its spiced warmth calm her. His nearness made her feel as if she was sitting right next to the burning oaken log in the hearth. His thigh sat just a hair’s breadth from hers on the bench. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt him shift closer, and his leg pressed against hers.
Heart pounding, Tea looked up and helped herself to a piece of roast turnip.
How am I going to get through tonight without bursting into flames?
Across the room, Ruith caught her eye. Perhaps seeing Tea’s struggle to contain her desire for the man sitting next to her, the bandruí winked before favoring her with a wicked smile.