She burrowed deeper into his arms. What had just happened to her? She could not believe that she had released herself to him so freely. It was all very confusing, and as her tears subsided she found herself falling asleep once again.

He smiled to himself, his hand still stroking her soft gilt hair. In all his life he had never felt so happy. He would need her in the days ahead. This difficulty with the Piaras and the Tormod clans would not be easily solved, and he worried about the other clan families as well. Throughout the centuries past, they had found that keeping to themselves for most of the year was what kept them from fighting among one another. But if Hetar had been bold enough to invade the Piaras and Tormod territories, what was to prevent them from moving deeper into the Outlands? It was very troubling.

When Lara awoke again Vartan had left her side, and Noss was bustling about the chamber putting her few possessions away in a small painted trunk. “Good morning,” Lara said, smiling at her young friend.

“’Tis more like afternoon.” Noss grinned back. “I had heard he was a mighty lover. He has obviously exhausted you.”

“You know not of what you speak,” Lara replied, irritated.

“They say you are his wife,” Noss answered, not in the least intimidated. “Are you? And how did that happen?”

“They have some law or other that says if you spend two nights with a man you are his wife,” Lara said. “While we were visiting his villages we had no choice but to share a bed, but that is all we did. And we never even got out of our clothing.”

“Until last night,” Noss giggled, holding up Lara’s gown which she had retrieved from the floor of the hall.

“There are hard times coming to the Outlands,” Lara responded. “I shared pleasures with him to soothe him. Then he told me of this law of theirs. But I shall go when my destiny calls me again, Noss, and Vartan knows it.”

“But you are his wife,” Noss repeated.

“I suppose I am, even if I was ignorant of these laws of the Fiacre,” Lara agreed. “I don’t know why our people call them lawless barbarians.”

“Perhaps because Outlanders are not like Hetarians,” Noss suggested.

Lara nodded. Then she said, “I need a bath. I stink of horse, of man, and of woman’s lustful nature. Have you discovered if they have a bathhouse?”

“No,” Noss said.

“Then how do they keep clean?” Lara demanded.

“They bathe in their houses in small round tubs,” Noss replied.

“Then have a tub brought, and hot water, too,” Lara commanded. “It has been too many days since I bathed. My skin is beginning to itch.” She climbed from her bed, heedless of her nudity, and stretched. “Where is Vartan?”

“He has been out since just after sunrise overseeing the last of the winter preparations. We leave for the Gathering in the morning, Bera says. I’ll go get your tub, but cover yourself, for I doubt your husband wants his serving men seeing you in all your halfling glory,” Noss told Lara.

“Halfling? What is a halfling?” Lara asked.

“Half one thing, half another. Bera says you are a halfling. Half faerie, half Hetarian. She is very happy you are Vartan’s wife. She says you are strong where he is weak. She says you will be the making of him for she has always thought he could be a great leader of the Fiacre. They are the largest of the clan families, you know.” Then turning Noss hurried from the bedchamber to fetch a tub for Lara.

Lara looked about for something to cover her nakedness. Opening the little painted trunk where she had seen Noss store her things, she drew out a chemise and slipped it on. Noss was just full of information, Lara mused. Comfortable in safety, she had become friendly and full of gossip. Bera-or was it Liam?-had worked a magic of her own on the girl. Love, it was said, changed people. If she believed in love she might believe that was true.

The tub was brought, and Lara was amused by its small size. Well, it was all they had, and she was grateful to be able to bathe herself. When the tub was filled Lara disrobed again, washing first her body, and then her long hair. Noss had brought her a small hard cake of soap with a faint fragrance of wildflowers. It lathered well, and Lara was grateful for it. Wrapping herself in the drying cloth, she began to towel her golden hair. She sought for her hairbrush, smiling as she pulled Kaliq’s gift from the trunk. It was beautiful. The prince had obviously kept her simple pearwood brush, and replaced it with this gold one with fine boar’s bristles. The top of the brush bore a single heart, and twining around it and down its handle was a vine of delicate flowers.

There were several leaded windows set together in the chamber wall with a window seat built in beneath them. Lara sat before one of the open windows and began to brush out her long hair. As it dried in the gentle breeze of the sunny autumn afternoon, the silken stuff flew like a banner from the window. Riding in from the fields Vartan could see it, and felt a surge of contentment well up within him. His wife, he thought happily. His wife was awaiting him.

Her hair dry, Lara dressed herself in one of her two simple gowns, pale green to match her eyes. Then she went out into the hall as Vartan entered it. He immediately enfolded her in his embrace and kissed her mouth tenderly. Lara smiled up at him. She could not help it, and she realized that she was happy for the first time in a very long while. Not relieved at escaping the Forest Lords, or protected by Kaliq, but deeply happy. Was this what love was? she wondered.

“You are beautiful, and you smell delicious,” he said, still holding her.

“Of course I am beautiful,” she agreed, looking up into his face, “and I have finally had a bath. But your tub is so tiny. It is no bigger than the one I shared with my stepmother back in the Quarter.”

“I shall have a larger one made for you,” he promised.

“Make it big enough for two,” she suggested softly.

His slow smile reached all the way to his eyes. A hand caressed her buttocks suggestively. “We leave tomorrow for the Gathering,” he told her.

“So Noss has told me,” Lara returned. “I fear I shall shame you, Vartan, for I have but two gowns, and they are more suited to the palace of the Shadow Princes than to the Outlands on an autumn day. I am sorry. Would you prefer I remain behind?”

“Wife, have you not looked in your trunk?” he asked her.

“The little painted one? Aye, I saw Noss storing my things there,” Lara said.

“The large one, Lara,” he replied.

“That is not yours?” She was surprised.

“Nay, it is yours, and it is filled with the garments of a chieftain’s wife,” he said. “My mother and her women sewed quite diligently while we were away in the villages. And I have this for you.” He pulled a wide heavy gold ring from his tunic and pushed it onto the third finger of her left hand, the finger that connected directly to her heart. “I want everyone at the Gathering to know you are my mate, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword.”

Lara looked at the ring in surprise. It was red gold, a very rare ore, and it was simplicity itself. A plain band that when she looked at it brought tears to her eyes.

“The meal is served,” Bera’s voice broke into the moment.

Vartan took her hand in his and, raising it to his lips, kissed it tenderly. Then he led her to the high board where Bera was already seated and awaiting them. She smiled at them both, her own eyes misty.

“Are you content with this then, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword?” she asked.

“It would appear I have no choice, for the deed is done, is it not?” Lara asked Vartan’s mother.

“It is,” Bera agreed amiably, and poured Frine into their goblets. “If he is the man his father was you will not be unhappy.”

Lara actually blushed. She suspected that the son surpassed the father, for she had never known the kind of ecstasy that she had shared with Vartan. “What happened to your husband?” she asked the older woman.

“He was trampled when a bolt of lightning stampeded a small herd of cattle he was overseeing,” Bera replied. “Vartan was ten when it happened, and Adon two. My younger son does not remember his father, more’s the pity.”

“When shall I meet your brother, my lord?” Lara asked her husband.

“He and his wife live down in the village,” Vartan said. “Tomorrow before we begin the trek to the Gathering they will come, for we travel as a family.”

The hall was full that night with Vartan’s men, and as the meal concluded he arose from his place, drawing Lara up with him. Expectant faces turned to look toward the high board, and the room grew very quiet.

“This is my bride,” Vartan told them, “This Lady Lara. Some of you were with me when we found her wandering lost upon the plain. She has accompanied me to the villages, and shown me her wisdom in resolving an unhappy situation at Rivalen. If you honor me, you will pledge your loyalty to her now.”

Immediately the men in the hall arose and cried, “All Hail Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, wife to Vartan, lord of the Fiacre!” And then they came forward one by one to kneel before her as she stood before the high board where Vartan had led her. Each man put his hands into her small ones and pledged his loyalty. Lara thanked each man by the name her husband whispered into her ear.

She was surprised by his actions. In the back of her mind had lingered the thought that perhaps he was saying she was his wife so he might cajole her into sharing her body with him. But now, with each loyalty pledged to her, she saw that he had not been playing a game with her. Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, was truly wife to Vartan of the Fiacre. But what of her destiny? She sensed that there was something yet unfinished. Yet it would seem her destiny was here with the Fiacre for now. Had not Ethne approved of her actions so far? Never had her guardian argued against what had happened. For now all was as it should be. But what of the future?

When the last of the men had pledged to her, Vartan led her back to the high board. “You have done well,” he praised her softly. “Despite your youth you are a woman of stature.”

“In the City I would have had a great bridal celebration,” she teased him. “You have shared a bed with me, and called it a wedding party.”

“It is our way,” he told her.

“Even Pol and Corliss were joined formally in the presence of their fellow villagers,” Lara said.

“But under our laws a man and woman who share a bed for two nights are husband and wife,” he reminded her.

“Did you plan to wed me?” she asked him.

“Aye, I did. But I did not choose to spend months bringing you around, my love, so I took advantage of Fiacre law. You do not seem too angry with me over it.” He gave her a winning grin.

Lara was forced to laugh. Vartan was a very charming man. “I have not decided yet if I am angry at you or not,” she told him.

“I hunger for you again, my love,” he murmured. “I want you naked and crying out with your pleasure beneath me. I want to fill you full with my passion.” He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “Tell me you want that, too?” Vartan pleaded with her.

“Yes!” Lara heard herself say without hesitation. She arose, and giving both Noss and Bera a kiss upon their cheek she left the high board without another word.

Vartan remained for several more minutes speaking with his captains about the trek that would begin tomorrow. Then he too retreated to the chamber behind the hall. Bera arose, and beckoned Noss to come along to bed. The girl obeyed, smiling shyly at Liam as they passed, which caused the big man to develop a foolish look upon his face as he stared after Noss.

In the morning they departed for the Gathering, and as they traveled along the way they were joined by members of each village. Not all the Fiacre came to the Gathering. It was necessary to leave men behind to defend the villages, and new mothers and the elderly frequently remained behind as well. Vartan’s younger brother, Adon, and his wife, Elin, had come to the hall that morning and pledged their loyalty to Lara, although she sensed it was done out of duty and nothing else.

Adon was a handsome young man with auburn hair, and deeper blue eyes than his sibling. His wife, Elin, was a tall thin girl with a look of discontent about her. She stared at Lara boldly, finally asking, “They say you are faerie. Did you bewitch him?”

Adon had the grace to look embarrassed by his wife’s query, but he did not scold her over it.

“I am half faerie,” Lara replied. “And it was Vartan who bewitched me.”

“Oh.” Elin’s hair was a dirty blond, and she looked enviously at Lara’s beautiful tresses. “How do you get your hair that color?”