Chapter 8 | Cora

Chapter 8

Cora

A s a little girl, Cora had imagined her wedding. Most girls did, after all. But it had always felt a bit like a dream—something too far off to concern her much at the time. Even when she’d grown old enough to understand the power of a marriage contract, she’d avoided the thought of it. They were at peace. Their lands were prosperous, and their people were content. As far as she knew, there was no need to marry her off, so she simply didn’t worry about it.

There was no ignoring it now. Not with Deirdre pinning her into her mother’s wedding dress. Deirdre had been her mother’s attendant first, but when she’d passed, the cheery, matronly woman had stayed on to help raise Cora. Cora had never kept secrets from Deirdre before. She’d gone to her for everything, from her first kiss and heartbreak to her first monthly cycle. Deirdre’s silence and furrowed brows as she pinned Cora’s dress in place hurt just as much as her father’s anger. She’d hurt them both, and they’d both shown their grief in their own way.

In Deirdre’s eyes, Cora had all but sold her life to a devil. The older, superstitious woman believed Cora had likely written her own death warrant. And what was worse, she’d done it all in secret. She’d said nothing to anyone before running off and offering herself as the sacrificial lamb for her people.

“Stop that wriggling, My Lady, or I’ll stick you well.”

The pins in her mouth muffled Deirdre’s words, and it eased some of the tension in Cora’s heart. It had been a common threat when she’d been young and unable to keep still. Several times, Deirdre had made good on the threat and pricked her sharply.

“My apologies, seanbhean .”

If she hadn’t been watching Deirdre’s face, she would have missed the slight, betraying twitch of her dear friend’s lips. “Watch your tone, Lady, or this old woman’s hands might shake uncontrollably and prick your arse. Old age, you know. Can’t be helped.”

They shared a moment of laughter before it faded away like a sweet summer breeze gone too soon. Deirdre returned to her work, and Cora stared out the window. The room went quiet until Cora whispered, “Do you hate me terribly?”

Deirdre sighed, her hands dropping away from the hem she’d been pinning. When she spoke, she sounded every inch the old woman that she was. “Ah, A stór , I could never hate you. My heart aches for you, child, and for what you’ll face. I wish for anyone else to take your place in this wolf’s den. I love you as my own, Lady. How could I hate you? I only... I only wish you would have told me. That you wouldn’t have had to bear this burden on your own.”

Tears blurred Cora’s vision, and she blinked until they fell down her cheeks unhindered. “I had to, Deirdre. It was... it was the only way.”

“Was it, now? And who told you that?”

“I—” Cora searched for an answer and failed.

“You went and convinced yourself that someone ought to play at being a hero, and you volunteered yourself, my love. And now you’ve made a promise that you must keep. I only fear that you will come to regret it.”

Cora thought of the way Fane had looked at her on the ride back to her father’s home. He’d watched her with those icy eyes, and while she wouldn’t say she felt safe, she was reasonably certain that he wouldn’t murder her on their wedding night. For now, he needed her alive.

He’d said little to her during the journey home, but when he had, it had been—well, not kind, but not cruel or aggressive. He’d been trying, she thought, to put her at ease, and he didn’t have to do that. When not speaking to her, he’d smiled and joked with his men. He hadn’t seemed quite as cold as he had when she’d barged into his tent.

He’d been a right arse when he’d approached her father. His threats had seemed authentic enough, and Cora knew he could make good on them. Who was the real Cillian Fane? The cold, dangerous king of the wildlings? The cruel, biting negotiator who’d agreed to her terms only when they suited him best?

The monster who still haunted her dreams?

Sometimes she thought she’d dreamed it all. She told herself that she must have imagined the beast he’d become at his camp. It was fatigue—nothing more. But then she caught sight of the wolf skin around his neck and remembered everything. She considered telling Deirdre what she’d seen but decided against it. It was her love for the old woman that kept her mouth closed. Deirdre already had her own thoughts about Cillian and his men, and she likely believed the stories about him the way most people believed in angels. They’d say on a Sunday mass that the winged messengers from heaven were real, but it wouldn’t stop them from attacking if they met one on the road.

Deirdre didn’t need to know her fears were accurate. To know the truth about Fane and his luchthonn would only frighten her. Cora forced a smile to her lips and laid a hand on Deirdre’s shoulder. “If I must marry, I want to help those I love the most. Cillian Fane and his men will protect our people. For that, I will go to him with a happy heart. Besides, it could be worse. I could marry some simpering dandy who couldn’t lift a sword without breaking a nail!”

Deirdre covered Cora’s hand with her own. “No, A stór , you’ve chosen someone far more dangerous than that.” She cleared her throat and patted Cora’s hand before turning back to her work. “Still, what’s done is done. You’ve already agreed, and you will honor that agreement. I only pray he sees what a treasure he’s found.”

CORA PRAYED THAT A pretty dress and flowers in her hair would be enough to hide the way her knees shook.

Rare as her childish imaginings of her wedding had been, she still recalled what she’d wished for. She’d pictured a beautiful gown and flowers woven through her hair. A hundred candles filling the great hall with a soft, warm light, and everyone she loved crowding around to wish her well.

Her reality would be quite different. She would wed Cillian Fane outside, in the middle of the night, with only her father for support. Cillian had insisted. Apparently, his people required that all weddings take place under a full moon. Their choices were few. The next full moon was only two days away. Her father suggested waiting until the following month, but Cillian refused.

A day after her conversation with Deirdre, Cora waited at the entrance of her home. She paced back and forth in front of the door, wringing the stems of the bunch of wildflowers one of the kitchen girls had brought her. Her hair hung loose and wild down her back—another one of Cillian’s demands. A woman of her station would often be married with elaborate braids and jewels on her dress. Her husband-to-be had requested a plain dress and for her hair to be left free for their bonding. Her father had tried to argue, but it had done no good. Cillian Fane was nothing if not stubborn, and he’d made his expectations for their farce of a marriage clear. She would come to him like some sort of poor forest fairy under the full moon, and somehow that would satisfy the traditions of his people.

Footsteps behind her distracted her from her thoughts. Her father approached, his face solemn and drawn as though he hadn’t slept in days. Perhaps he hadn’t. God knew she hadn’t slept herself since before she’d sold her soul to the devil.

“Are you well, Da?”

It wasn’t often that she called him that. For propriety’s sake, he required her to refer to him as “Father” or “My Lord.” He hadn’t been “Da” to her since childhood. It seemed appropriate at that moment.

He tried to smile, but only one side of his mouth obeyed. “Aye, A leanbh . You remind me of your mother tonight.”

Cora tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and grimaced. “I’d hope she was a wee bit more excited about her own wedding.”

Her father laughed and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “Oh, I’m sure she was plotting her escape right until the very end.”

Cora’s eyes widened in surprise. “Surely not! I thought you were a love match?”

Her father’s smile turned sad. “I loved your mother from the first moment I saw her. I spotted her at a county fair and knew there would never be another for me. It wasn’t so easy for her, but I’d like to think that by the end, we made each other happy.”

Cora had been young when her mother died, but she still remembered the few times she’d come across her parents locked in an embrace. Her mother had never appeared to be anything but madly in love with her husband, and suddenly, that was all Cora wanted for herself.

Was it too much to hope for when she’d agreed to marry a man like Cillian Fane? Would she ever know love like her parents, or would she be sentenced to a life of icy stares and frightening monsters?

Cora gathered up her courage and kissed her father’s cheek. “You made her happy, Da. I know it. May God bless me enough to know the love of a man like you.”

Tears gathered at the corner of her father’s eyes as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Oh, my darling girl. ‘Tis my only prayer now, that you will know love. What you’ve done... you’ve sacrificed for our people. I pray that somehow, some way, you will not be completely unhappy. “

If it wasn’t a typical prayer for a bride, that was fine. She wasn’t a typical bride. This wouldn’t be a typical wedding.

The bells in the church tower rang, jolting them from their moment of peace. It was time. Her father straightened his back and gave her a hard look. “Chin up, Cora. Hold your head high and show no fear, no matter what you feel. Let him see your strength. You’ve chosen to do a very brave thing for the sake of your people. Do not let him forget that.”

Cora tightened her grip on the wildflowers and nodded, thankful for her father’s presence. He’d seemed so angry before, but now she couldn’t imagine being in this moment without him. She thanked God for whatever clarity he’d found to allow him to forgive her. When he offered her his arm, she took it gratefully.

“I’m ready.”

They left the main hall together, heads held high. She was to meet her future husband outside their gates, which required her to walk past their entire household on her way out. They’d all gathered to watch their lady meet her fate. No doubt some thought it would be her death. Some of the kitchen girls openly cried, tears slipping down their cheeks as they struggled to hold back their sobs. Men and women who’d known her their whole lives crossed themselves and kissed their fingers before raising them toward her. Deirdre stood off to one side, pale and stoic. Cora stopped long enough to kiss the old woman’s cheek before she continued her long march to the gates.

Halfway there, Cora spotted Bran leaning against the stable door. He clutched a pitchfork in his hands, and even from a distance, she could see the way he trembled. The agonized, enraged expression on his face worried her. She’d never even seen Bran frustrated at anyone. He’d always seemed the very picture of calm, but now he looked as wild as the wolves she’d promised herself to. Suddenly, she feared he might do something foolish in his anger.

She leaned toward her father and whispered, “Father, might you have one of your stewards check in on Bran tonight?”

Her father frowned, glancing toward the stables. “Bran? Whatever for?”

“He... not that I ever encouraged it, but he—” Cora trailed off, unsure of how to explain without embarrassing the sweet man.

“Ah. Had designs above his station, I gather. Yes, I’ll send Daniel to talk to him later. Last thing we need is for the lad to go off half-cocked and get himself killed.”

Cora nodded. “Thank you, Father.”

He patted her hand, and they continued their journey toward the gates. When they reached the boundary of her childhood home, the gates opened without a word from either of them. The two night watchmen waved a silent goodbye, and Cora lifted her bouquet to wave back.

Outside of the walls, everything suddenly felt different. She’d managed her nerves well enough before, but outside of the safety of her home, the ramifications of her decision loomed ominously. She thought of the monster she’d seen and the way it had looked at her like she was little more than a rabbit in its path. Would she see the beast again? If she did, would she survive a second meeting?

Finally, she saw her groom and his men. He’d only brought a handful of men with him, along with an elderly man that she assumed was the priest meant to marry them. Every step took her closer, and every moment gave her another chance to question her choice. What would Cillian do if she ran now? Would he chase her? Would he let that awful creature free and run her to ground like the foxes her father’s hounds tracked every fall?

By the time they reached Cillian and his men, Cora thought her heart might pound right through her chest. The only thing keeping her on her path was her father’s steady presence at her side.

Even in the low light, Cora knew the exact moment that he saw her. Bright blue eyes reflected the moon’s light and held her gaze as she approached. She wanted to look away, to hide from him and his damned eyes, but she didn’t. To look away would be to show weakness, and she’d promised her father that she would be strong.

The old man spread his arms in welcome while Cillian and his men glowered like a murder of crows. “Ah, Lord Kilkenny, My Lady, welcome! ‘Tis a fine night, is it not?”

“Would be a better night in a church with actual light to see by. I don’t approve of marrying off my daughter in a farmer’s field, Fane, or in a pauper’s dress as though she comes from nothing. You insult her, Sir, and me.”

Cillian said nothing; he only nodded toward her father and rolled his shoulders beneath the great wolf skin. Cora couldn’t help but be reminded of the forest gods Deirdre used to describe in her stories. Like them, the man before her was wild and untamed, and it was impossible not to recognize the danger of being in his presence.

The old man smiled and shook his head. “On the contrary, Lord Kilkenny. This is the way all luchthonn make their vows. The moon covers all in her light, and we are called to face her without ornamentation because her eyes see all men as they are—not as they dress themselves up to be. The looming trees require no jewels. The mighty river boasts no riches. The beasts of the wood wear no rings or buckles, and yet the moon sees them and shines her light upon them. Why should men think themselves different?”

Before her father could respond, Cillian huffed impatiently. “By the time you’ve finished, it’ll be dawn. Can we get on with it?”

Her father frowned at Cillian’s rudeness, but the old man only laughed. “Pardon him, my lord. Males are always—shall we say—eager at bonding ceremonies. Especially on a full moon!” He winked at Cora conspiratorially and said, “It bodes well for the wedding night to have a fervent groom!”

Cora paled at the mention of her wedding night. She’d grown up near livestock and understood how their young came to be. Poor Deirdre had even explained the basics of the marriage bed when her monthly cycles began. She knew what was expected of her as a wife but hadn’t allowed herself to consider the wedding night when forming and executing her brilliant plan.

The old man beckoned her forward, and she reluctantly released her hold on her father’s arm. She walked to her groom like a criminal headed for the gallows and hoped no one would notice her trembling hands in the low light.

The old man smiled as though he hadn’t noticed the tension in the air. As far as she could tell, he assumed this to be a happy joining, and she hoped it was a good omen that at least one person at her wedding was joyful.

“Gather close, friends, and witness the bonding of the two before you. Cillian Fane and Lady Cora Kilkenny have come forth to be made one before our splendid mother. Her light illuminates the darkness of night, and so shall it light your path as you journey forward together. You have come here without adornment, artifice, or lies, and in that simple truth, you will be joined. Our luminous mother sees all of her children, and by the light of her eyes will your bond be blessed.”

It was unlike any mass Cora had ever attended and utterly different from any wedding ceremony she’d heard either. She’d never thought of the wild wolf-men as having any sort of religion, but both Cillian and his men listened attentively as the old man spoke. Her father shuffled uncomfortably, almost as though he expected God to send a bolt of lightning to strike him down for being a part of such talk.

The old man turned to Cillian and said, “Cillian Fane, as the male, you have the honor and responsibility of protecting your mate and any offspring you may produce with your life. I charge you to love her, provide for her, and carry her burdens as though they are your own. You will offer her the first meat of your kills and the last breath in your body until the day your bones return to the earth. Do you accept this charge?”

Cillian’s voice was firm and clear when he said, “Aye. I accept this charge.”

The old man nodded and turned to Cora. “Cora Kilkenny, as the female, you have the honor and responsibility of protecting your mate and any offspring you may produce with your life. I charge you to love him, support him, and carry his burdens as though they are your own. You will offer him the first meat of your kills and the last breath in your body until the day your bones return to the earth. Do you accept this charge?”

Cora clutched the wildflowers to her chest to keep her hands from shaking. “Aye. I accept this charge.”

Cillian took one of her hands in his own without so much as a glance her way. The old man gestured at their joined hands, then raised his own above them. “A bond is a partnership, my friends. Remember that though male and female have their roles to play, neither is more valuable nor more worthy than the other. As bond-mates, you will walk your life’s path together. Embrace each other’s strengths and allow for weakness. Above all, remember that love is the greatest strength and the greatest gift in the world. May your bonding be blessed, and let nothing separate that which has been brought together.”

It was a beautiful, if strange, speech. Cora was convinced that the old man either did not know of their situation or was touched in the head. He talked of love and partnership as though their marriage was anything more than a bargain they’d made. There had been no talk of love, no romance, and she doubted there would be much of anything resembling respect from her husband. There would be no ‘walking life’s path together.’ They would exist together. If he would keep his word and protect her people, that would be enough.

The old man tied their clasped hands together with a thin leather cord and held them between his own gnarled hands. He smiled at them as though this were some grand celebration rather than her proverbial funeral. “By the light of our glorious mother and the witness of all those present, I proclaim you, Cillian Fane, son of the luchthonn, and you, Lady Cora, daughter of Ossory, to be bond-mates. You must now seal this union with a kiss.”

Cora lifted her face toward her husband. He offered a small smile, and before she could wonder what it meant, he kissed her. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft, and the scratch of his beard wasn’t as uncomfortable as she’d expected. He cupped her cheek with his free hand and held her close. Warmth spread through her body and pooled pleasantly below her belly. She hadn’t expected to enjoy the kiss, but when her husband pulled away, she had the strange thought that she might like it if he did it again.

A cheer went up from Cillian’s men, hailing their leader and his new wife. The old man stepped forward and removed the cord. Cillian took it, stuffed it into a small pouch at his waist, and whistled sharply. One of his men approached with a saddled horse. Before Cora knew what was happening, he’d already lifted her onto the horse and swung himself up behind her. She found her father, pale and solemn, in the small crowd. While the men cheered and hollered, he said nothing. He stood among the other witnesses and glared at her husband. If Cillian noticed her father’s expression, he didn’t react. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her middle, took the horse’s reins in the other, and called out, “I’ll be back soon to discuss the details of our agreement, Lord Kilkenny.”

With that, he dug his heels into their horse and guided it toward the dark woods ahead. Cora looked behind them as best she could, silently bidding her home farewell as cold tears spilled down her cheeks. Not for the first time, she wondered if this had all been a mistake.