Claimed for their Pleasure by L.V. Lane

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jessa

I GO THROUGH the motion of helping my mother with my sibling brats. I am busy tidying their bedding but have half an eye on the table. Greta is full of mischief this morning. But I am tired and not in the mood. She is using her biscuit like a spoon to scoop the porridge, and it is going everywhere. William thinks this is funny. Greta pokes her tongue out at him. He retaliates by scooping a spoonful of porridge and flicking it over Greta.

A great dollop lands on her forehead… and slowly trickles down.

My mother gasps. There is a delay before Greta opens her mouth and emits an ear-splitting wail.

William grins and goes back to eating his porridge.

“William, clear the table,” my mother says as she takes a cloth to wipe a wailing Greta up.

“I’ve not finished yet!” William announces.

“You should have considered that afore you threw it over your sister,” my mother says, lips thinned. “A hungry lad does not toss his food about like an animal. Happen you will be ready to eat like a good boy at lunchtime. Or if there is any more of this nonsense, you will be going hungry until supper, and I’ll be telling your father why.”

I bite back a laugh as William jumps down from the seat and gathers the plates with an enthusiastic clatter. Telling Pa will likely see his bottom tanned.

Greta bewails her lack of breakfast. “You were playing with it,” my mother says. “Lasses who play with their breakfast are not hungry either. I was going to bake some cookies today, but I’m not sure either of you has behaved well enough.”

Great squeals of excitement greet this development, followed by babbled determinations as to their future goodness.

“Okay, chores time, and I will see how good you are after,” my mother says decisively.

Their chores are not very hard. But it gives them a purpose. There is a vegetable plot out the back and chickens for eggs. We have a small flock of wool sheep, which are shorn once a year. My mother makes wonderful woolen blankets that are much coveted by the village. Our summers are long and warm. We mostly wear clothes fashioned from leather or hide. Still, the thick blankets will be adorning everyone’s bed to supplement the pelts in the winter months. There is always something to do and plenty of smaller jobs that the children can help with.

“You look tired,” my mother says.

“I did not sleep very well,” I admit.

“Some of the women will be making balm over in the herb cottage. I said as you and Hazel might be able to help.”

My heart flutters as I realize why we would be making balm. “I will,” I say.

I meet Hazel as she is leaving her home. Sometimes, I find it hard to reconcile that she is a mate to the king. She has no airs and graces, and from the moment she arrived, has made a point of helping in whatever way she can. Long blonde hair that falls nearly to her waist, she is as pretty as she is kind. A few years older than me and yet naive to the ways of the clan, Hazel has become my best friend quicker than I thought possible.

The day passes slowly as we help the women of the clan. Finishing for the day, we pack everything away. I find I do not want to go home where I will crawl into my bedding nook and worry over Brandon. Hazel sees me hesitating. “Do you want to stay with me tonight? I would appreciate not being alone.”

“Okay,” I say, although my eyes dart longingly toward the forest path to the north of the king’s home. A short distance along the trail is the sacred pool. But I am reserved about the suggestion, given it has bad memories for Hazel.

It was the pool where Nola engaged in mischief that saw Hazel tied to the whipping post in the square.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I would like to pray,” I say. “But it must have bad memories for you.”

A shadow passes over her face before her pretty hazel eyes search mine. “My memories of that day are hazy. But perhaps that is for the best. I would like to go there with you, Jessa. I would like to pray, too. I do not think Nola should sully the wonder for me. It was very beautiful and peaceful that I remember. I would love to replace that terrible memory with a better one.”

With a smile and a nod, I hurry to let my mother know I will be visiting the pool before spending the night with Hazel. After, we leave together, walking the small distance from Ralston to where the pool and portal are found.

Hazel stills as we emerge through the trees. Before us is the sacred pool, surrounded by smooth, mossy rocks. A waterfall generates spray and a thrumming sound as it crashes to the pool. To the right of the waterfall is a great shimmering oval that spins and warbles, sparkling blue and golden light.

A portal. A place where the Goddess can hear our prayers.

“Has anyone ever come through?” Hazel asks.

“No,” I say. “My grandma told me it was a lost one. That it goes to nowhere, and that nowhere leads here. But the Goddess listens well. I have prayed here many times.”

I shiver.

Tonight, I feel the weight of all that portal is and could be.

Tonight, I truly feel the Goddess Herselfis here.

Kneeling side by side, we close our eyes and pray.

I speak to the Goddess, little mumbled words of hopes and wishes for the safety of our men. It is darkening, and we should be returning, but my mind is subject to a turmoil that I dare not put into words. What do I presume to hide? The Goddess can surely see into my heart and soul, and nothing can be hidden.

So with my final prayer, I silently entreat Her to keep Gage safe. She helped me heal him for a purpose, and I cannot believe that purpose is for him to die in a war with my clan.

The sun is nearly gone when we return to the king’s hall and home. A pair of the younger warriors were discreetly guarding us as we prayed. It unnerves me that these precautions need to be taken. More armed warriors patrol the village center. One instructs us to close and bolt the hall door for the night.

Hazel and I eat a cold supper.

And then we wait.