The Peacemaker

“Trust me, dearest. There is no such thing as overly large or too plump breasts.” Mama fluffed the black lace lining the neckline and Bettina couldn’t hold back a giggle.

“That tickled.”

“’Tis a pity you were covered in boar’s blood the first time Lord Njal met you.”

Bettina shot a crooked half-smirk at Mama’s reflection in the looking glass. For some reason, the memory of her future husband’s horrified scowl when he discovered her identity pleased her.

“Boar’s blood, wearing the smith’s ratty breeches and stained tunic. Not to mention the muck from the pigsty on my boots.”

“Lord Njal will not recognize you this eve. You will have him and every man in the great hall salivating.”

“I do not recognize me.” Bettina wished she had Mama’s blue eyes and corn-silk hair, but she took after Papa and had his blue-black locks and dark eyes. “’Tis all for naught. Lord Njal cares only for his beloved treaty. I promise you he will not cast his eyes my way twice.” She fanned her face. “Pray open the shutters, Petalia, and let in some cool air.”

“You look beautiful, my lady.” Petalia climbed on the footstool to open the windows. “Like a princess.”

“The scarlet hue suits you, daughter.”

Mama settled a silver gyrdel at her waist.

Bettina toyed with the delicate metal links of the belt, fingering the carved dove clasp, and settled the hanging lengths so one hung lower than the other. She liked not symmetry and instead relished the wildness of disarray, preferring the beauty in the twists and knots of an ancient oak’s trunk to that of flowers carefully arranged in a pewter vase.

“’Tis exquisite.” Bettina rubbed a thumb over the rounded, clasped hands ending the chain girdle. “I have never seen this piece afore.”

“’Twas your father’s morning gift.”

“Mama, ’tis yours—”

“And my gift to you.” Mama squeezed her shoulder. “I wish you naught but joy in this union. Try to please Lord Njal this eve. Serve him from your trencher, laugh when he is witty, speak softly, and try not to flinch when he touches you. I have told you the all of it. ’Tis not easy to predict if a man will treat you gently or not. You cannot refuse him. And once the vows are said this eve, you are his.”

“Mama, you have told me that over and over.” She grasped her mother’s cold hands and rubbed them between hers. “I know you fear for me. I will not disgrace our name. I will not fight him. I will lie still and let him mount me.” It could not hurt more than being gored by a bull or an arrow in the shoulder.

“’Tis time. Forsooth, I would have this eve and this duty done with.” Bettina squared her shoulders and held her head high. “I am ready.”

There had been no time to do much to decorate the hall, but the cook’s son Luca, and all the keep’s children, had gathered pine and holly berries and made garlands for the high table. The innkeeper’s wife from three villages south had brought two barrels of ale. The boar she had caught the day before would feed the small crowd.

Bettina paused at the top of the staircase and stifled a groan when she spied a dozen neighbors gathered at tables on either side of the dais. She swept a glance around the wide hall, and the knitted muscles in her neck relaxed somewhat when she saw all appeared to be in order. Fresh rushes perfumed the chamber, blue and yellow plumes skipped low o’er the charred logs in the main hearth, and above the murmur of male and female voices she heard the melodious tune of the smith’s flute.

She must not let her mind wander this eve. Tonight she would bind her betrothed to her people.