A Sterkarm Kiss (6 page)

“Please yourself, God Botherer,” Windsor said in his own language. Andrea offered a gift bag to the priest, who pointedly looked away. Lord Brackenhill, perhaps as a sign of graciousness to make up for his priest's boorishness, took the bag himself.

“Be so kind,” Andrea said, “gan your way in and—be at home. This be all for your comfort. Be so good.”

Without another word, or a look, Brackenhill, his sister, his daughter, and his priest went on into the hall, looking about them at the long tables, the flowers and lights.

The Grannams who came behind them were not so reserved. They happily accepted their gift bags and peered into them, exclaiming in pleasure at the little gifts they found inside. They gaped at the tables, at the high roof, at the massed flowers. Whispering to one another, they felt the flowers and argued about whether they were real or not. Others fingered the glittery beads that made up the curtain. Andrea wondered how many of the decorations would be left when the guests departed.

She heard Gareth's headset crackle again. “The Sterkarms,” he said to Windsor.

Andrea's heartbeat quickened. Per was here. She looked around and saw that the Grannam party was well into the hall, admiring the glass and china on the tables. Obviously, they were going to take no part in greeting the Sterkarms.

“Well then, Andrea,” Windsor said. “Try not to screw it up this time.”

But all Andrea could think was: I'll soon be seeing Per!

4

16th Side: The Wedding Ride

“Oh, birds were a-singing in bushes and trees,

And song that they sang was ‘She's easy to please!'”

“Tha'd better hope she will be, Per!”

“Best not drink too much!”

Standing in his stirrups for a moment, Per called back, “Ach, she's nobbut a Grannam! She'll think hersen lucky to get a Sterkarm man!”

There was laughter, and hooting. “Think thasen a man?”

In the first bright morning light the Sterkarm wedding ride trotted along a high moorland track, through bright-green pads of moss and grass, and pink-and-purple heather. On either side of the long column, at its head, and behind, rode armed men wearing helmets blackened with soot and carrying eight-foot lances. A wedding party, with guests dressed in their finest, was a good target for an attack. But brightly colored ribbons fluttered from the lances, and red cockades were bright on the helmets.

Behind the armed men rode two bagpipers, pumping their elbows and playing as they rode along. Toorkild Sterkarm rode behind the pipers, with his wife, Isobel, pillion behind him. Per rode beside him. Behind them came Toorkild's brother, Gobby Per, and riding beside him his eldest son, Little Toorkild, with his young wife pillion. Next came Gobby's­ youngest sons, Wat and Ingram, and then, behind them, various guests from other Sterkarm towers and bastle houses, some of them carrying children on their saddlebows, while others had youngsters riding beside them on ponies.

After them rode such officials of their households as had horses to ride: blacksmiths, head shepherds and cattlemen, and Sweet Milk, Toorkild's right-hand man. In a long raggle-taggle at the back came all those who hadn't horses: small farmers and their wives, maids, shepherds, some carrying children in their arms, or on their shoulders, or leading them by the hand. Gangs of children ran alongside the procession or chased one another through the ferns beside the paths.

The ride was itself a sight worth walking a few miles to see, and people stood waiting along the way. They pointed out Per Sterkarm, the May, not only because he was the bridegroom, but because of the Elvish clothes he wore. “He's been into Elf-Land, him—and come back to tell tale.”

Every horse was decked with ribbons and flowers, while the guests were dressed in their brightest colors. Gold and amber jewelry flashed. Per's two big gazehounds, Swart and Cuddy, loped beside his horse, with wreaths of leaves and flowers twisted around their collars.

The pipers shifted into another tune:

“Oh, canst tha find cuckoo's nest

That's hidden in prickly bush, prickly bush?

Oh, canst tha find cuckoo's nest

That be hidden there?”

With cheers and laughter the ride took up the song and bellowed it out, though the sound was quickly lost in the vast moorland.

“Canst find cuckoo's nest, Per?”

“Scared to put thy hand in that prickly bush?”

Per put back his head and laughed aloud, not because the ancient jokes were good, but because he was in a high mood. He turned his horse out of the procession and rode back along it. No sooner had he done so than Ingram, his youngest cousin, maneuvered his own horse out of the crowd and rode after him. His brothers, Wat and Little Toorkild, looked at each other and smiled. Whatever Per did, Ingram had to do.

Per called out to the procession, “I've put a few cuckoos in a few nests! Shall I name my cuckoos?”

Clods were thrown at him. He kicked up Fowl, his thickset black hob, and rode all the way around the procession, with Ingram, laughing, close behind him, and back to his place at the ride's head. People cheered him as they went by, waving and—if they were women—blowing kisses. Everyone was in a good mood. Because of Per and his wedding day, they were all to enjoy a whole day of eating and drinking, and dancing and music, without work. Much of the food would be Grannam food, too. It would add extra relish to know they were emptying the Grannam larders.

Per could hardly keep a grin from his face. Marriage was not something he'd hankered for, but every man had to marry sooner or later—and this marriage brought with it such wealth and land that it would be worth it. The favor of the Elves, too, was part of the bargain—he would be famous as the Sterkarm who went into Elf-Land and married a Grannam! And, at the day's end, he'd be put to bed with the Grannam girl. Then he could truly show the Grannams who came on top.

Better still, Elf-Windsor might keep his promise and bring along the beautiful Elf-Maid. There was bound to be some time—either before or after he was bedded with his bride—when he could try for the Elf-Maid. She'd liked him when he'd met her in Elf-Land. Courting her on his wedding day would be difficult, but then, that would make it more fun. The Grannams wouldn't see the joke—but that was Grannams for you.

The ride wound its way down a hillside, and the Elf-Palace came into view. The ride slowed as people stared, and those on foot came crowding forward, to stand and jostle as they pointed and exclaimed. Two days before, there had been nothing there except empty hillside. Now, great, domed, bulbous, silvery buildings glittered against the soft greens and tawnies of the moor. Eerie, shimmering, they were like nothing anyone had ever seen before: so strange and beautiful, they even drew attention away from the Elf-Gate that stood near them behind its steel fence.

“Per! Per!” his mother called from her seat behind his father. “Be all buildings like that in Elf-Land?”

Per shook his head. The buildings in Elf-Land had been massive, of expensive stone and brick, the work of giants. Their windows had been huge, with sheets of glass so large and pure and clear, they were like nothing, like air. They hadn't been anything like these. But the works of the Elves were beyond anything. He was struck with wonder that he should be lucky enough to live in the time when the Elves came.

Toorkild filled his big lungs and roared in a bellow that could have been heard on the other side of the valley. “Harken! When we get down there”—he threw out an arm and pointed to the silvery Elf-Buildings below—“there'll be Grannams! I want nobody messing with Grannams!”

There was a silence from his people.

“No jeers, no starting fights! And keep away from their women!”

A great cough of laughter went up from the gathered people.

“Hear that, Per?”

“Keep away from Grannam women!”

Toorkild cursed their stupidity and waved them all forward again. Armed riders and the pipers led the way down the hill with all the crowd of people on foot following. The pipers started a new tune:

“My hob is surefooted and swift,

My sword hangs down at my knee:

I never held back from a fight—

Come who dares and meddle with me!”

It was the Sterkarms' song, and the whole party took it up, shouting out its refrain, clapping its rhythm and cheering, announcing their coming as they rode down toward the Elves' camp. The armed men drew their pistols and fired their one shot into the air, with deafening, startling bangs that made the horses skip, the children cry, and the women squeal.

As they drew near the Elf-Palace, they came among the straggle of small kitchen huts built by the Sterkarm cooks, into the harsh smoke from the turf fires and the smell of cooking. Women and children came from the fires, clapping and cheering as the ride went by—and, ahead, they saw more people gathering before the largest of the glittering palaces. Elves, with their strange hairstyles and stranger clothes, stood among Sterkarms and Grannams too, and all laughed and cheered to see the ride come in.

The leaders of the ride reined their horses in. “No whiff of Richie Grannam!” Toorkild called out, and those near enough to hear him laughed. Richie Grannam would sell his daughter to a Sterkarm, in return for enough Elvish gold, but thought himself too good to greet the Sterkarms as they arrived.

A bustle of dismounting, and horses were given over to servants. Toorkild and Isobel took off their cloaks, handing them to servants, in order to display their best clothes to advantage, and Isobel shook out her skirts before going to Per, to comb his hair again with the comb from her belt. She made him bend his head down for the grooming and checked that his face wasn't smutched.

“Leave him, woman, leave him!” Toorkild said, offering her his arm. “Let's be doing!”

Isobel linked her arm through his, and they marched toward the entrance of the Elf-Palace, followed by Per. Their people, massed behind them, seeing them stroll forward so grandly, raised a cheer of pride, and cheered again when Per looked back at them over his shoulder and grinned.

As they drew nearer to the door—which was arched, like a church door, and decorated all around with fantastically whirling, delicate white-and-gold filigree—Per saw the beautiful Elf-May. She was standing close beside Elf-Windsor, holding a small, shining bag in either hand. In the slightly dimmed light just inside the doorway, she seemed to glow, more beautiful than ever. Her large eyes shone, her red lips were parted, her cheeks were flushed, and her pale-brown hair fell down over her shoulders in long waves. The tight Elvish top she wore, the color of harebells, showed the fine, full curves of her figure and became her well. At the sight of her, Per smiled. He couldn't help it. Life was good, life was fine. He would be Per the May who had a Grannam for a wife and an Elf-May for a mistress.

Andrea, catching sight of the Sterkarms, wanted to jump up and down and wave. Her excitement was such, she could hardly breathe. But she had to remember that, except for Per, they had never seen her before in their lives and would think she was mad. So she clenched her fists around the strings of the little bags, drew in long, deep breaths, and remained outwardly calm. Toorkild, she thought, looked remarkably spruce: His beard and long hair must have been trimmed for the occasion. He was all decked out in blue, with a blue sash slung over one shoulder to support the sword he wore. Isobel, beside him, was small, plump, and pretty in russet, all her hair tucked away beneath an embroidered and beaded cap. They were gaping up at the inflatable, making no attempt to hide their astonishment and admiration.

And behind them, there was Per! She gasped, and felt pure happiness surging up inside her. Her memory of him had been spoiled by her last sight of him, before his uncle had dragged him back through the Tube to his own world. Then his face had been bruised and swollen. Now it was, again, as she'd first known him: unmarked, young, and very handsome.

He wore a bright-red baseball cap, with the word “Texan” printed across the front of it in white letters—a word which, even if he had been able to read it, would have meant nothing whatsoever to him. His jacket was black, of soft suede with a fur collar and a 21st-century zipper; and with it he wore a pair of dark-blue denim jeans. Over them were pulled his thigh-high riding boots. Andrea was disconcerted. In her favorite memories of him, she always saw him in 16th-century clothes—but then he smiled. Her arms and legs twitched as her muscles wanted to run to him. She calmed herself.

Now they were near. Andrea took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Master Toorkild Sterkarm! You be well come! Be so kind, take this gift from us! Mistress Isobel Sterkarm! We be gladdened to see you here! Take this small gift and, be so good, forgive its meanness!”

Isobel and Toorkild, startled to be greeted by name by a woman they had never seen before, looked quickly at each other, as if they feared her knowledge of them might be due to Elf-Work. But they thanked her and accepted the goodie bags before moving on, farther into the tent, toward Windsor. Andrea took no more notice of them. Per was in front of her. She couldn't say anything in greeting, but simply stared at him.

Per was surprised, and then amused, by her wide-eyed stare. Maybe it wasn't only a Grannam woman who'd be glad to get a Sterkarm man! But the pause was becoming awkward. To break it, he took the brightly shining little bag from her hand without its being offered and said, “I be gladdened to see
you,
Mistress!”

She started, and said, “Well come! Well come!”

He winked at her, by way of letting her know that he'd be looking for her later, and moved on. A few paces away, among wreaths and garlands of flowers, Elf-Windsor was standing with his man beside him—the little Elf who turned Windsor's Elf-Words into English and the other way about.

“It be a good day!” Per said, holding out both his hands to Windsor, who had shown him many favors and given him many gifts. “Well come to my wedding and a thousand thanks shall you have!”

Andrea's head jerked round. She stood still, holding out a little gift bag but unable to give it to the Sterkarm who waited for it. Per's wedding?
Per's
wedding? She ought to have seen it. It was amazing enough that Lord Brackenhill should wed his daughter to a Sterkarm at all: He certainly wouldn't throw her away on a lesser one. Per was going to be married to that beautiful Grannam girl.

She felt a gentle tug at the bag in her hand and remembered her job. “Well come! Well come!” she said, and smiled as tears filled her eyes.

Per turned to Gareth. “My good man! Well come to you too! And”—Per glanced over his shoulder at the Elf-May—“a thousand thanks for decking hall with such bonny flowers.”

Windsor, not catching the last of this, inclined his head toward Gareth, who hesitated, though he well understood what Per meant by bonny flowers. “He says a thousand thanks for decorating the hall so beautifully.”

Windsor nodded, shook hands, and said,
“Har ayn god dah”
—have a good day—before turning to the person behind Per—a craggy-faced, bearded, and wicked-looking individual whom he knew to be Gobby Per, the lad's uncle.

Andrea, struggling to greet the endless line of guests who came after Per, found herself peering at them through a blur of tears. Per's smile, his flirtatiousness, and even his tactful manners had brought back, so sharply, such memories of that other time with him that her heart was twisted. But how could he flirt with her like that on his wedding day—especially considering how it would annoy the Grannams? And wasn't it just like him, to flirt with her on his wedding day—especially when it would annoy the Grannams? And she was glad he had.