Chapter Two

England

Her knees ached.

That was a bit surprising, for Prudence was quite accustomed to the long prayer sessions her father insisted upon. Although ‘enjoyed' was likely a better choice of words, for her father was truly devoted.

Still, tonight, her sire was particularly zealous in his evening prayers.

And she dared not move.

Anticipation for the revels tonight was bubbling up inside of her. Every second felt interminable, as her mind teased her with memories of the Samhains she'd celebrated before her father had become a Puritan. Back then, there had been dancing, feasting, and cider. And with luck, tonight, she'd have a chance to experience all that again!

You cannot make the sun move faster…

Her sister elbowed her—she'd missed her part in the end of the evening prayer. Her heart thumped hard. She dreaded seeing the expression on her father's face when she opened her eyes. There was nothing for it, of course. So she took a little breath and opened her eyes, ready to accept her fate.

"You were deep in prayer tonight daughter," her father said.

Prudence could only stare back at him. She didn't want to be dishonest, but… She nodded in agreement.

Thankfully, her father appeared satisfied. He turned to offer his wife his hand. Prudence waited until he'd helped her mother off her knees, before she herself stood.

There was a very strict order in the house.

Her father and mother came first, then her brothers, and finally the daughters of the family. They all filed into the dining room for their meal.

The aroma of supper filled the air.

She studied the simple meal. Puritans believed that keeping life simple was a way of following Christ's example while he had been on earth. Tonight, the fare was extremely bland, as if to prove that her family had abandoned the excesses that other faiths would be indulging in on Samhain.

"There is great reward in avoiding the vice of abundance," her father said softly.

Prudence didn't lament the plainness of the meal. In fact, tonight, she was grateful, very aware that they wouldn't be on the borderlands if they had not been Puritans. And in the borderlands, anything was possible…

These lands between Scotland and England were still wild. In this place, she might escape into the hills and enjoy a little freedom tonight, before the winter forced her to remain inside.

You mean, you might see the man from the well again…

She wouldn't deny that he was all she could think of.

"Remember to stuff up your ears tonight," her mother said as Prudence and her sisters rose from the table. "There will be wickedness carried on the wind from those partaking of pagan rituals. I have put wool in your room."

"Yes, Mother," Modesty said, answering for them all.

Walking slowly back to her room had never been so difficult before. She was driven by the urge to rush as her mind filled with all the merriment ahead of her. Just as their mother had said, a small bundle of newly carded wool sat on the end of one of the beds.

Prudence and Modesty quickly tore at the bedding, pushing and tugging on it, making it appear as if they were under the covers, asleep.

"Perhaps we should stay in," her youngest sister, Temperance suggested. Modesty had invited the girl to go with them, but clearly, Temperance was worried about being caught.

"Stay if you like," Modesty answered. "But I am going."

"As am I," Prudence added.

"Are you not afeared of wickedness?" Temperance asked with wide eyes.

Modesty shared a look with Prudence before she smiled at their youngest sister.

"I remember when your name was Anne," Modesty said.

Temperance smiled. "I liked the name Anne."

"Of course you did," Prudence added. "I much preferred being called Braylin to Prudence."

The light cast by their little tin lantern illuminated the girl. She started to smile, then froze, her lips pressed into a hard line. "Father is firmly resolute that Puritanism will benefit our immortal souls," she stated. "Our brothers are proof that God is pleased with our new faith." Then she sighed in resignation. "We should stay in tonight…stuff up our ears and avoid wickedness. As mother says, to even know the way of wickedness, is to awaken unrest inside a woman."

Wickedness had already been awakened inside of her…

Prudence realized it was true and yet, she had no desire to temper her impulses. In truth, she craved some adventure, feeling as if she might miss out on her own life if she didn't break through the constraints put upon her.

Modesty leaned close to Temperance. "Do as you please, but you shall keep your lips sealed on the matter of what we are doing. No carrying tales."

"But—"

"No arguments," Modesty insisted. "There has been dancing on the hillsides every Samhain for too many years to count. Yet we are all still here in spite of it."

Temperance opened her mouth, as if to argue, then shut it without speaking.

Prudence smiled, feeling like a horse who had been locked inside the barn far too long. All hints of hesitation were gone.

The moors awaited.

And who knew what else?

*

Prudence and Modesty weren't the only ones out in the darkness.

In the time between sunset and moonrise, they made their way across the newly harvested fields. The stocks were cut and dried now, which meant their steps made crunching and brushing sounds.

A shiver touched her nape, but Prudence only smiled. It was Samhain after all. The one night of the year when the worlds of the living and the dead were separated by the thinnest of veils. Just like the seasons of harvest and winter. One was complete abundance, the other, barren.

She wasn't going to think of winter tonight.

Tonight, she'd be Braylin once more.

Ahead of them, they caught the twinkle of the bonfire beckoning to them in the darkness. A dancing spot of orange and yellow in the seemingly endless abyss of blackness.

So welcoming…

It drew them out of the forest, up toward the top of a ridge. By the time they arrived, the fire was huge. Obviously, nobody worried about how much wood was being burnt.

Tonight was about abundance.

A crowd was gathering. In the darkness, she could see a group of men and women cast in the shadows of the flames.

"Put your mask on," Modesty reminded her.

Prudence stopped and pulled out the simple mask she'd hidden inside her partlet. She had searched hard to find enough bits of fabric to complete it, for there was very little material wasted in their meager household. In the end, she'd resorted to utilizing a few leaves to complete it.

Yet she discovered it was worth the effort, because once she tied the mask into place, a sense of freedom enveloped her.

At last.

Prudence hadn't realized how tight she'd been drawn until it was all released. Now, she might enjoy the crisp air on her cheeks and the way the fire warmed her nose before it became chilled. All around them, there was feasting. Everyone had brought something to share. She and her sister quickly sat down on a length of wool fabric which served as a modest table to enjoy the offerings.

"We need a Lord of Misrule!" someone called out.

"Yes!"

"Aye!"

Clapping began as a few men stumbled into the circle closest to the fire. One was drinking from his mug, cider dripping down his beard. He sent those watching a huge smile and tipped his mug again.

The crowd laughed, encouraging his display of gluttony.

The next man danced nimbly into the center of the clearing. Around them, those playing music began to increase the tempo until he fell over his own feet. There was a puff of dirt when he landed, and he raised his arms up. The crowd rewarded him with applause and cheers.

"If ye want to be led astray and engulfed in debauchery, what ye need is…a Laird of Misrule!"

There was a gasp as the newcomer strode out into the center of the firelight. His knees were bare, the bottom of his kilt allowing everyone to see them. Unlike the others, he strode purposely forward and planted himself firmly in front of them.

Prudence felt her body tense.

It was him. The man she'd seen in the well.

Her belly twisted. She set aside the barely tasted cider in her hand, not wanting her wits to be dulled even a bit.

For certain, this man intoxicated her simply by being near.

The rest of the assembled people were happily looking at the newcomer. They craved a celebration that would live in their memories for the length of the cold months ahead. The Scot raised his massive arms up and roared.

There were squeals and then louder laughter than before.

"What ye really need…." the man said, "is a wild…Scottish Laird of Misrule!"

Everyone beat their hands together. A man wearing a woman's dress came up to him, bestowing a crown made of rams' horns, then danced around to everyone's delight.

The newly crowned Laird of Misrule nodded. "This one looks like her father, sure enough!" he laughed.

The man in the dress opened his mouth in feigned surprise. The Scot lifted his foot to give him a playful kick on the backside. "I think I'll be looking elsewhere for my consort, thank ye."

Another man dressed as a woman went up to the Scot, making a mockery of courtly manners as he delivered a mug of ale to the Laird of Misrule.

"Not this one either," the Scot shouted, waving his hands in dismissal. He scanned the crowd and locked gazes with her. "I crave that one."

Prudence's eyes went wide.

Everyone turned to see where their Laird of Misrule was pointing.

Modesty let out a squeak and dove down to flatten herself against the ground, leaving Prudence in sight and the easiest to claim. Men came at her, hooking her arms and legs and lifted her up as though she weighed no more than a child.

The musicians changed to a lively tune often played during weddings.

"Wait…wait," the women cried out. "A bride has to let her hair down!"

Prudence was suddenly on her feet as fingers dug into the pins that held her linen cap in place.

Except for her family, no one had ever seen her hair….

Still, the cap was stripped away, and her long hair freed from the coil she had pinned to the back of her head. Someone was combing it out, as someone else found the ribbons which held her partlet closed beneath her arms. The sturdy piece of wool which covered the square neckline of her dress was taken away, offering a look at the top swells of her breasts.

"Oh really…I should not…" she protested.

It's why you came…isn't it? To be daring and bold…to be Braylin…

She couldn't deny what her inner voice asked. She was guilty of courting this very thing—and it was happening—and yet, she didn't feel guilty at all, but exhilarated and more alive than she had ever been.

Would he be pleased with her?

The group around her was enjoying the moment hugely. They laughed as they turned her around and presented her to their chosen Laird of Misrule.

"Your consort, Laird!"

As they delivered Prudence to him, the merrymakers prostrated themselves in reverence, making a mocking imitation of being the subjects before the laird and his lady. Around them, music filled the air.

His mask didn't cover the bottom of his face. She held her breath, waiting to see what he thought of her, now that her cap and partlet were gone.

Did he think she was pretty? She couldn't tell. But she liked the way he looked at her. There wasn't a hint of meekness about him, and she found herself wanting to act just as bold. She lifted her chin so that their gazes locked. "We meet again," she muttered in a husky tone which surprised her. She was rather certain she had never sounded so daring before.

In the darkness, Prudence couldn't see the color of his eyes, but the mocking smile on his face grew wider when she spoke.

He offered his hand to her.

Just as he had before…

"Are ye brave enough to take my hand tonight lass?" His tone was deep, beckoning to her with a hint of promise.

There would only be this night.

Perhaps. But she hadn't imagined the number of times she'd awakened in the dark hours of the night, thinking about that moment at the well.

She wasn't going to waste this opportunity. Tomorrow would be soon enough for her to become Prudence once more.

"I am," Prudence answered smoothly as she placed her hand in his.