The Chieftain Needs an Heir - a Highland ménage novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions) by Jonnet Carmichael Page A
Authors: Jonnet Carmichael
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could see this arched bower's counterpart in the fresco at the beginning of the cycle of procreation. And there was the man's bare shoulder, and his hand atop a woman's hand among the vines.
" And the last Rule of Engagement is this. Any of the three men may choose a woman in her fertile years from the circle to rouse him, for the three men will be without the touch of the Tall Wife holding the arch. And thus will the other women in the circle assist the Tall Wife and the chieftain and the Pushing In of Spend in this Tradition."
Oona slipped the parchment up her sleeve. " And that is the last Rule of Engagement for the First Moon. The Rules for the Second Moon will be told at the Second Moon, should a Second Moon be required. Are there any questions from the…?"
She was interru pted by Mirren before the word 'participants' left her mouth.
"What kind of witch are ye, Oona… putting three men on the one barren wife and my husband among them? This is naught but a bitch in heat and a pack o' hounds upon her!" she spat. "What say ye of such foul Traditions, auld Bard? Address me a' ye like now!"
A collective intake of breath came from the circle, and Ruaridh turned away from his wife. Mirren's insult went beyond the two people she hurled it at. The insult was to all Wisewomen and their roles as midwives, herbalists, nurses to the sick and dying, animal physicians and Keepers of the Traditions. To insult the Bard was even worse, for his role as genealogist, historian, storyteller, poet and Keeper of the Books of Tradition was to miscry the whole clan and the MacKrannan bloodline itself.
The Bard took a moment to calm himself before making reply. And when he did, his words were studied.
"MIRREN, wife wf Ruaridh Mackrannan, I address ye. The Traditions o' Clan MacKrannan are as ancient and honorable as the positions o' Bard and Grandam Wisewoman. The details of each Fertility Tradition are no' of my choosing, nor hers. They are chosen by the bloodline only, and developed by the clansfolk with the bloodline's approval.
" And I address ye to say there is a sore price to be paid for being of the bloodline, and for marrying into it, for the privileges are hard-earned through duties and responsibilities and dangers. When I lie wi' my wife at night I am verra glad to be a common man.
" And I address ye to say just one more word… just ONE MORE WORD out o' ye, and ye will be banished from the clan for the customary three years. Fine ye know that is the minimum penalty for disrespecting the Bard during a Tradition, for all but the Chief himself. Ye've been warned for the last time."
The chamber's energies were now in so much peril that Oona began humming the bees' song and was joined by Hilde and Cecily.
"All ye who are here ," said the Bard, "turn yerselves to be the outer of the circle. The Grandam Wisewoman will decide when to resume the Tradition."
The Grandam Wisewoman gave him their covert hand signal to let him know he'd done the right thing, such wifely encouragement often being necessary when things went wrong.
The Bard made the decision to give the company time to re-focus on the business without having to look at each other. Had he broken the circle to allow chatter and walking around, he'd have been as well cancelling the Tradition altogether for the night. Ruaridh would be obliged to chastise his wife, and the further upset would no' be redeemable.
He was of a mind to let the Chamber of the Green Man work its own magic. From his turned position he looked directly at the second fresco, the goddess newly with child. He worked at gathering his mind back onto the business in front of his face, setting the example for those around him to do likewise. Oona had charted the placements in the circle to place folks opposite each other. He had no doubt that each here would see what they were meant to see now they were unexpectedly faced away, and then have it heavy on
" And the last Rule of Engagement is this. Any of the three men may choose a woman in her fertile years from the circle to rouse him, for the three men will be without the touch of the Tall Wife holding the arch. And thus will the other women in the circle assist the Tall Wife and the chieftain and the Pushing In of Spend in this Tradition."
Oona slipped the parchment up her sleeve. " And that is the last Rule of Engagement for the First Moon. The Rules for the Second Moon will be told at the Second Moon, should a Second Moon be required. Are there any questions from the…?"
She was interru pted by Mirren before the word 'participants' left her mouth.
"What kind of witch are ye, Oona… putting three men on the one barren wife and my husband among them? This is naught but a bitch in heat and a pack o' hounds upon her!" she spat. "What say ye of such foul Traditions, auld Bard? Address me a' ye like now!"
A collective intake of breath came from the circle, and Ruaridh turned away from his wife. Mirren's insult went beyond the two people she hurled it at. The insult was to all Wisewomen and their roles as midwives, herbalists, nurses to the sick and dying, animal physicians and Keepers of the Traditions. To insult the Bard was even worse, for his role as genealogist, historian, storyteller, poet and Keeper of the Books of Tradition was to miscry the whole clan and the MacKrannan bloodline itself.
The Bard took a moment to calm himself before making reply. And when he did, his words were studied.
"MIRREN, wife wf Ruaridh Mackrannan, I address ye. The Traditions o' Clan MacKrannan are as ancient and honorable as the positions o' Bard and Grandam Wisewoman. The details of each Fertility Tradition are no' of my choosing, nor hers. They are chosen by the bloodline only, and developed by the clansfolk with the bloodline's approval.
" And I address ye to say there is a sore price to be paid for being of the bloodline, and for marrying into it, for the privileges are hard-earned through duties and responsibilities and dangers. When I lie wi' my wife at night I am verra glad to be a common man.
" And I address ye to say just one more word… just ONE MORE WORD out o' ye, and ye will be banished from the clan for the customary three years. Fine ye know that is the minimum penalty for disrespecting the Bard during a Tradition, for all but the Chief himself. Ye've been warned for the last time."
The chamber's energies were now in so much peril that Oona began humming the bees' song and was joined by Hilde and Cecily.
"All ye who are here ," said the Bard, "turn yerselves to be the outer of the circle. The Grandam Wisewoman will decide when to resume the Tradition."
The Grandam Wisewoman gave him their covert hand signal to let him know he'd done the right thing, such wifely encouragement often being necessary when things went wrong.
The Bard made the decision to give the company time to re-focus on the business without having to look at each other. Had he broken the circle to allow chatter and walking around, he'd have been as well cancelling the Tradition altogether for the night. Ruaridh would be obliged to chastise his wife, and the further upset would no' be redeemable.
He was of a mind to let the Chamber of the Green Man work its own magic. From his turned position he looked directly at the second fresco, the goddess newly with child. He worked at gathering his mind back onto the business in front of his face, setting the example for those around him to do likewise. Oona had charted the placements in the circle to place folks opposite each other. He had no doubt that each here would see what they were meant to see now they were unexpectedly faced away, and then have it heavy on
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