He suspected she was only pretending to be asleep, burrowed under both their cloaks and quietly mortified about what they were about to do. It wasn’t easy for him, either; despite the earliness of the hour, people lined the sides of the road, lifting their hands in the gestures of revelation, calling the stars to witness. But he was the lord of this place, and this too was part of his work.
“Your Grace,” said Brother Oleare as they reached the North Gate, flung open to the morning with bare fields rolling beyond. The holy man folded his hands and bowed low, his long beard nearly brushing the cobblestones. “I have everything in readiness. There are no clouds to obscure our view of the stars, and they promise to shine for a while yet.”
“Thank you. Kneel here, wife,” Remin added quickly, arranging his thick bearskin cloak to make a pad for her knees. Even through the black fur he could feel the cobblestones, like chunks of ice, and he hoped the earth of the fields would be a little more forgiving. Ophele arranged the layers of her linen skirt, glanced at his hands, and lifted her own in the same way.
“The stars witness this blessed union.” Brother Oleare raised his voice for the benefit of the villagers clustered nearby.“Remin, His Grace the Duke of Andelin, lord of these lands. Yours is the hand on the plow, tilling the soil, sowing the field. You make an offering of yourself to the land, your flesh, your blood, your sweat, your seed, so that the time of reaping may come, to the nourishment of your people. Do you so offer?”
“I do.”
“Blessed lady.” Brother Oleare turned to Ophele, who looked up at him like a solemn little owl. “Ophele, Princess of the House of Agnephus, Duchess of Andelin. It is a rare blessing that a child of the stars comes to dwell so near the earth. The bond between a lord and his land is like a marriage, and every spring, that bond is renewed. You are the sacred land. You are the Andelin, the bounty of your people. Do not fear the earth. Do not disdain it. You make an offering of yourself as the land offers itself, with your blood, your sweat, your pain, your sacred flesh, to carry and bring forth life. Do you so offer?”
“I do,” she said softly.
“Then on behalf of your people, I ask that you go, that the land will prosper. Go, sacred children, and bless the planting under the eyes of the stars.”
Under the eyes of Tresingale, they rose to remove their cloaks and shoes, handing them off to Magne and Lady Verr. It was uncomfortably cold, their breaths faintly visible, and Remin stood rigidly to keep from shivering as Ophele straightened, her long hair flowing loose around her.
Taking her hand, they walked barefoot through the gates.
The fields stretched before them, dark and bare and still damp from melted snow. Torches shone along the treeline where his soldiers watched, alert for danger.
“I’ll warm you soon enough,” he promised as Ophele began to shiver, and won a small smile.
“You can tell they invented this custom somewhere warm,” she observed, picking her way lightly on tiptoe.
“My parents always blessed the fields, though they don’t keep the custom so much in the western Empire,” Remin replied. “There was magic before Ospret, you know. They used to say that the life of the lord is the life of the land.”
“That sounds like one of those things that seems more profound than it actually is.” Ophele was difficult to impress before sunrise.
Just over the hill and out of sight of town, a tent awaited them, many layers of unbleached linen billowing in the breeze. Remin had checked to make sure it was opaque even with the light of multiple iron stoves glowing within, but the roof was gauzy and insubstantial, open to the stars. Six stoves had been burning constantly for several days to warm the soil in which they must lay. He meant to bless the fields properly, but it could not possibly be a good omen if he and Ophele froze to death.
“Oh, it’swarm.”Ophele sighed with pleasure at the waft of hot air. Moving to the nearest stove, she held out her hands and then glanced up at Remin, a pink flush rising to her ears. “We really have to do this?”
“I hope it will not be too great a hardship to lie with me,” he teased, though now that it had come to it, he wasn’t sure himself. The earth had been turned several times over the last few days and all the stones raked out, but it hardly looked an inviting bed.
With a mental shrug, he crouched and pushed his palms into it, feeling the cold, damp earth. They had grown wheat here last year. Wheat they had milled and cleaned and made into flour, and the flour had become bread, warm and nourishing. Soon, they would sow again. This was a place of fertility. This was a ritual to encourage abundant life.
“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand to Ophele. He hadn’t the least idea what he was doing; there had been very little guidance beyond the act itself, but he meant to take itseriously. If they had to lie down in the dirt and make love, well, Remin would see that they did the thing thoroughly.
Together, they pressed their hands into the soil, a rich crumbling loam that left dark speckles on their skin. It was like swimming in the Brede, the sweeping motions of their hands through the dirt. His fingers brushed hers, and his big hands slid up her bare arms, painting streaks with the moist earth.
“I guess I am meant to be the garden,” she said, examining the marks solemnly, and Remin bent his head to kiss her as he loosened the strings at the shoulders of her gown.
“I have always thought so,” he murmured, laying warm kisses down the side of her neck as he brushed her hair out of the way. The light of the stoves glowed on her fair skin, and in a moment her gown slipped off, baring her beautiful breasts, her pink nipples stiff with cold.
They were going to get dirty. He laid her down on the ground on the cloak of her hair and pushed his own clothes off. Maybe that was even thepoint,to join the lord and lady to the earth of their domain, so they could never grow too far from this most elemental reality. He drew dark stripes over her sides with his hands, caressed the outer curves of her thighs, blending her into this patch of ground. But he left her breasts bare for his mouth, and she shifted beneath him as he bent his head, lapping.
“You too,” she whispered. He felt the grit against his skin as her hands slid over his back, darkening his flesh with the earth. The fluid caress made him shiver. “I bet those people before Ospret did it just like this. Before they ever worried about being lords and ladies.”
“None of that matters here,” he said thickly. He could feel the heated wetness pressed against him between her thighs, and his hips moved automatically to stroke against her, making them both moan.
Even with dirt rasping his knees and blackening his fingernails, all he could think about was her. The earth was cool, even cold in some places, but her mouth was so hot and their tongues coiled together eagerly, breathing hotter, faster.Ahhhh. His hands clutched her, caressed her, feeling the response of her soft body as he roused her, his thighs moving against hers, belly to belly. Her hands plunged into the earth again, stroking his back, his shoulders, feeling the muscles that had worked this soil, to sow and reap in turn.
“Ahhh…Remin,” she breathed as he bit down her throat, her ribs fluttering against him. His hips ground into hers and the feel of her wetness sent a blinding flash of pleasure down the length of his spine. Pressed against her, he could feel her throbbing in a deep, heavy pulse, an irresistible urge.
“Stars, let us make a child,” he whispered, and drew back to put himself at her entrance.
“Yes,” she breathed, her bright eyes glowing.
