The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) (26 page)

“Is
that likely? My impression is your family’s well regarded by the people.”

“They
are, and conflicts are unlikely, but who can say once the time comes? To be
sure, my sisters and I were taught our duty from the earliest age.

“I
should tell you we’re fortunate only this part of the custom has remained. In
older times, the consummation of a hetman’s daughter’s marriage would have
multiple witnesses to attest to the bride’s virginity.”

Yozef
tried and failed to envision himself performing on the wedding bed with an
audience. He stayed silent for a minute, while he shifted through pieces of
Caedellium culture.

“Maera
. . . wife . . . ,” he said softly. “You know the customs of my people are
different. However, I’m here, and I know we must follow your customs. I have to
say that all of this makes me uneasy. Since you’re a virgin, I want to be
careful, especially this first night, both not to hurt you and because I care
for you. This is a little too ‘formal.’”

Maera
smiled resignedly. “I’m afraid tonight it
is
formal, as you say. I know
you’re a gentle man. I would never have proposed the marriage otherwise. You’re
also a thoughtful man, more so than anyone I’ve ever met, except possibly a few
medicants or theophists or perhaps my great-grandfather, who died when I was
ten. I think our marriage will be good, and I expect to see that gentleness
from you in the future. That’s not today, though. Today we must do our duty.”

He
sighed. “So what do we do?”

Maera
walked to the bed, stepped out of her embroidered slipper-like shoes, and set
the flower garland on her head on the table next to the bed. She removed pins
from her hair and pulled away the pearl-and-thread netting to let her hair fall
down her back. With her back to him, she slipped off the shoulders of her
wedding dress and let the cloth fall to her feet.

As
much as Yozef wanted this night to be good for Maera, he hadn’t been with a
woman for many months. When it came time to start the procession to the wedding
cottage, stirrings in his groin had begun, and he had had to force his attention
into innocuous paths to avoid a premature erection. Now, seeing her naked form
standing beside the bed, that restraint was nigh impossible. She was slender,
with a definite feminine form, long dark brown hair flowing two-thirds down her
bare back, her narrow waist flaring out to firm hips, lower legs with downy
hairs, and bare feet.

She
turned to face him, her expression calm, nervous, determined, and warm to him,
all at the same time. “Come, husband. This is only our first night. Let us do
what’s necessary. I believe our real marriage will come after today. Today is
for duty to my clan and family.” 

She
smiled as her eyes moved down from his face. “I see that we won’t have to worry
about your being able to perform
your
duty.”  

His
efforts to restrain his physiology had lapsed, and an erection pushed against
his trousers.

Maera
lay on the bed, her head on a single pillow, and motioned for him to come to
her.

Emotions
rolled over Yozef: anticipation of this moment with his new wife, reluctance at
the cold calculations of the event, aversion to the thought of simply and
quickly mounting her, and . . . lust. The battle over emotions raged briefly, and
he later cringed as the last emotion triumphed. It took seconds to shed his
clothes, his manhood standing before him.

Maera
took him all in, especially the proof of his readiness to consummate the
marriage. She swallowed at the sight and, with a firm set to her lips, held out
her arms, drew her knees up, and opened her legs. “Come, husband. I’m your wife,
and it’s time we prove it to the world.” She looked away from him, pointing to
a bowl on a stand next to the bed. “Mother says it may be easier if you use the
scented olive oil.”

He
had smelled flowers, though there were none in the room. He dipped two fingers
into the bowl and applied the oil.

Yozef
would later question himself about the next few minutes, not that Maera ever
did. He might criticize himself, while also recognizing that given the customs
of where he was, his actions were appropriate. It sometimes helped.

He
climbed onto the bed and moved between her legs. When his hand first touched
her leg, she twitched at first, her eyes never leaving his face.

“Tell
me when you are about to . . . do it. I need good lungs full of air for those
outside to hear me.”

This
is about the strangest wedding night I could imagine
, thought Yozef,
fighting to maintain minimal restraint. He knew she was nervous and
apprehensive. About what? For herself at what he was about to do? Or that she
might not put on the appropriate show for the outside audience? This wasn’t how
he imagined a first experience with any woman and definitely not a wife. Yet
somehow it fit Maera. No matter how she felt inside, she would think things out
and plan how to fulfill her role.

Despite
his unease, nature was nature, and the evidence of his readiness to fulfill his
role was evident before both of them. There was no foreplay. He guided himself
to her. Her eyes widened at the first touch and probe. Her breathing quickened
and she tensed, as he eased into position against her. By now, his breaths were
heavy with anticipation, and his blood throbbed.

“Ready,
Maera,” he stated, full-throated. “Here we go.”

She
closed her eyes for the first time and took a deep breath. As she finished
inhaling, he thrust. Her eyes flared open and her scream almost knocked him off
her. Even though he expected a yell, it was still a jolt.

“Sorry,
Maera!”

She
swallowed and took several deep breaths. “It’s all right, husband. I’m all
right,” she said in a strangled voice. “Are you all the way in?”

“No.”

“Then
do so.”

He
thrust a second time and then a third before he was fully inside her. The
second and third screams were progressively less, but he found himself idling
wondering how far the sounds reached. Now that he was fully inserted, his
concern returned. They touched the full length of their bodies, with most of
his weight supported by arms and knees.

“Maera,
are you all right?”

She
managed a small smile. “Only the first one hurt that much. I think my yell was
sufficient for custom. The other two were for you.”

“For
me?” he repeated, astounded.

“I
know my reputation as a cold bitch. Now they will think more highly of you,
since you dominated me.”

It
was one of the weirdest conversations Yozef had ever had. “Somehow I don’t see
anyone dominating you.”

“As
long as
you
realize that, husband, then I can live with whatever the
others think.”

Yozef
felt Maera’s hands on his back, as she embraced him and clasped her legs onto
the backs of his thighs. “Let us complete the consummation. It’ll enhance your
reputation more if they can hear
you
at the end.”

With
those instructions, Yozef slowly withdrew partway, then pushed back. She winced
a little the first time, less with each successive thrust as the pace
quickened. It didn’t take long for him to come with a final firm thrust and an exclamation
he didn’t have to fake.

Yozef
relaxed, breathing heavily, his face buried for the moment in the nape of her neck.
She stroked his back and whispered, “Now we’re husband and wife. May our
marriage bring both of us satisfaction and children.”

He
rose slightly to look her in the face. “I think it will.”

“I
know,” she said. “You’re a good man. Not like Caedelli men, but I think our
marriage will be good for both of us.”

It
wasn’t an expression of love. Maera didn’t express feelings easily, and neither
of them had said the word yet to the other. It would have to do for now. The
marriage was based on respect and advantages. While neither spoke of love, both
hoped to themselves that love would come.

He
withdrew and could see blood on the cloth and a little on them both. Maera rose
from the bed and went to a washbasin and cloth towels on a table nearby. She
wet two towels and used one to clean herself. Yozef was, once again, startled
when she came to the bed where he still lay and, instead of handing him the
other towel, she proceeded to matter-of-factly also clean him. When finished,
she donned one of the two robes hanging on the wall and handed him the other.

“Now
we need to display the wedding bed cloth for the final confirmation of my
virginity and consummation of our marriage.”

Yozef
pulled on his robe, and Maera handed him one end of the wedding cloth she had
pulled from the bed. “We’re to go outside and hang it over the railing for all
to see.”

Yozef
simply went along, as he had since the proposal. They opened the twin doors to
the second-floor balcony and stepped into the evening air. Though the sun had
set over two hours ago, there was more than enough light from a bonfire blazing
thirty feet from the house and a dozen kerosene lanterns lit and hanging from
trees. A cheer went up when the balcony doors opened. As they draped the cloth
over the railing, more appreciative calls rang out, along with a few Yozef
would have considered in extraordinarily bad taste back on Earth. But here, as
before, Maera took it all in stride, clasped his hand, and raised both of their
hands high in a sign of triumph. Another, even louder, cheer rang out, and they
went back inside.

Once
the doors were closed, the voices outside vanished for the first time since
they had arrived at the cottage. She noticed him listening, and when he raised
a questioning eyebrow, she explained, “Custom is that once the consummation is
confirmed, the guests and the family leave the married couple alone for the
rest of the evening. They will now go back to the festivities and let the men
finish getting drunk.”

She
smiled. “Speaking of drink, I wouldn’t mind one right now. Could you pour me
one?” She pointed to another table across the room at a glass decanter of
reddish liquid and two ornate glasses. “The glasses are ours to keep as a
remembrance of this night.” She spoke as if reading from a text, and Yozef
recognized a ritual.

“A
remembrance of this night. The two glasses represent that now we are a pair.
The clearness of the glass represents that everything we are and do should be
open between us, with no lies or deceptions. The red wine represents the
wedding bed blood and my virginity on this night. The sturdy flagon represents
your strength for your wife and children. The intricate design on the glasses
represents my providing care for our children and my husband.”

She
took the glass he offered her. When she started to raise it to her mouth, his
hand without a glass stopped her. “Here are some of the customs of my land.” He
positioned her hand and glass at her eye level, gently clicked the two glasses
together, and then crossed their arms, so each could drink from his or her own glass
with arms crossed.

“To
life!” he exclaimed and brought his glass to his mouth for a swallow.

Maera
did the same and then laughed. “So, do we do this
every
time we drink?”

Yozef
chuckled. “No. The glass touching could be for any occasion; the arms crossed is
only for special times.”

There
was no other furniture in the cottage, except the bed and two tables. The newly
married couple sat on the bed and talked of inconsequential things for the next
hour, accompanied by several more glasses of wine. As usual, it was too sweet
for Yozef’s taste, although the flavor itself was rich and aromatic. When Maera
finally started dozing off or passing out—he wasn’t sure he could tell the
difference at the time himself—he took her glass from her. She simply slumped
down on the bed and was asleep. He covered her with another of the cloths
folded on the table and followed her within seconds.

Maera
awoke first the next morning. The sun was up and coming through the lace
curtains that were another remembrance they would hang somewhere in their
house. She turned in the bed to face her . . . husband. It was an odd feeling,
and she wasn’t sure how she felt about her new state. Traditionally, the
Caedelli man was the master of the family, with the wife obeying, though in
real life it depended on each couple. Sometimes the woman was lucky, and the
man was considerate. In other marriages she knew of, the husband controlled
everything about their lives. She even knew a few cases where the couple had
equal authority in the family, and it was rarer still when the wife ruled.

Maera
couldn’t conceive of being totally controlled by anyone. Even her father, the
hetman of the entire Keelan clan, recognized limitations. Although the family
head, he always listened to her mother, who knew that even when Culich made a
decision his wife didn’t approve of, he took Breda’s wishes and opinions into
consideration. All within limits, of course.

Maera
had made it a plan by the time she was twelve that she wouldn’t marry anyone
she didn’t agree to. She might agree out of duty if necessary, being whose
daughter she was and cognizant of the political realities of her station and
family, but it would ultimately be her decision.