1. Arianrhod


    Date: 9/14/2015, Categories: Historical, Author: BethanyFrasier, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    Widdlesten Manner. "Jus Primae Noctis. The law of the first night," his Lordship mused aloud, "Since King Gilgamesh of old, have the rights of lords and priests been fairly practiced. A good tradition, no?" "Yes, m'Lord," replied the Vicar, "Young Padrig will receive a worthy bride in fair Arianrhod, if the Abbot returns in time for their marriage. If not, the claim falls to you, Sir Widdlesten. The Church will defer to your honor, should his Eminency be detained." The knight errant's rough-hewn features betrayed no emotion at the vicar's comment, but Lord Bale had already set in motion the very instruments of the Abbot's untimely delay, and he was determined that young Padrig's beautiful bride would be his to deflower on the couple's fast-approaching wedding night. Should the Church be unable to consecrate the young girl's honey-pot, and verify her purity, the next in line for the ordinance of the right of lords, fell to Sir Setheryn, as local magistrate. Since he had first beheld fair Arianrhod as a young girl, he had vowed to himself to take her maidenhood. * * * "So, Gwillem, when's the big day?" the smithy bellowed over the roar of the forge. "The old hag's decreed it be Monday, to honor the moon-goddess, or some such pagan nonsense," Gwillem replied, as he heaved down on the bellows, making the embers glow brightly under the red-hot iron. "Ah, be careful, lad! Callin' Murhwyn a hag'll get ye cursed! That witch is capable of it, ye know!" "Aye, but let her curse me after ...
    my son's married her darlin' Arianrhod!" "Padrig's a lucky boy, Gwillem. Many a man would kill to be in his shoes." The blacksmith lowered his head and lifted his gaze from under his sweat-soaked leather brow-band, as if to warn his apprentice. "Tell me more about that kegelin' game ye saw in Germania, when ye traveled there with the master?" Gwillem changed the subject. "Ya know, we could clear a bowling green in the woods behind the abbey." "And wake the dead in the cemetery, ta boot?" joked the old smith, "Those skittle-pins make the devil's own noise when ye bowl 'em over, lad. But I'll ask his Lordship. He may be in a fair mood, owing to the occasion - 'specially if he gets to deflower the bride!" "But that's the Church's province. The old Abbot won't allow that." "According to Bayard, his Eminence may not be back in time for the wedding night. His Lordship's had his eye on that young maiden for years. Sumthin's up! Told me this mornin', he did. This here clevis we're heating up is from the hitch on the Yeoman's old livery-cart." "Sumthin's up, alright!" Gwillem smirked back, "Sir Setheryn's noble pecker!" The old smith laughed, over the pounding of his hammer. * * * Murhwyn Tilgrynen tucked a thin, wet lath into the collar of the basket she was weaving, and pulled it taut as she looked out her window, craning her neck to see if her daughter was around the house. Meghyn was told to stay close to their little stone cottage today, but she was wont to wonder, especially if ...
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