Until Then

The shepherd was a superstitious sort, and he had passed that sensibility to his daughter. It was agreeable to the both of them to wait a year to hold the wedding in the most auspicious month possible, under the Steed’s steady watch in the night sky.

A good time for investments, Niall was reminded as final preparations were made. He had spent much of the previous month – the best time to embark on a journey, the shepherd told him – paying visits to Maura and the salary officer to settle an amount she could use to pay for the building of a new house.

The house was to become the arm of a longer structure - a wall encircling the mountain village, aimed to deter marauders and petty bandits by threatening invaders with the promise of assured retribution. No one would escape the wrath of a mercenary who had accrued so much wealth as to build towers of stone.

While Niall was not present in the village, which would be most of the time, sentries would defend from the tower and report any issues to the Dalachite capitol. Word would reach Niall soon enough, and he was to be granted leave to deal with the aftermath.

A perk, the Shepherd told him, only available to mercenaries in his position.

On the agreed upon day, Niall rose before the sun from his cot in the barracks and made ready to travel.

The countryside passed in a gentle green blur beyond his window. Spring arrived late to the mountainside, allowing a warm breeze rather than the sweltering heat he would have expected farther south.

When he stepped from the carriage, the shepherd bade him kneel in the mud and laid a thin wreath of yarrow and heather upon his brow.

The leaves poked at his forehead, but Niall made no move to adjust them. It was a day of duty and respects paid; he would be moderately free to care about his own comfort again once the marriage rites were concluded.

He ate at a long table in a chair beside Maura, who made no overtures of friendliness towards him during the long meal. She didn’t so much as glance his way.

This troubled him very little, as he had nothing to say to her and had been dreading being expected to make conversation. It did, however, strike him as rude and uncooperative.

He didn’t care for the prospect of being the only one in their partnership who made efforts of peacemaking. Nor did he like the possibility of being blamed for an unhappy union and having those complaints brought before the Shepherd or a council.

Careful not to roll his eyes, Niall leaned mildly closer to Maura and uttered what he was sure was not an extraneous inquiry. “Is the food to your liking?” he asked, keeping his gaze on the plate of lamb in front of him.

She said nothing for a moment. “No,” she said in a thin voice in between bites of meat. “I’d rather not have had another lamb slaughtered for something like this.”

“Was it not your decision what the courses would be?”

“You know my father insists on these things. The whole mountain is this way.” She took another dutiful bite to clear her plate. “But who am I to curse my own marriage with a careless menu? We do things for a reason.”

Niall, partial to lamb but not an avid eater of any particular meal, finished off every morsel on his plate before motioning for the next course.

The horse was a magnificent creature, sturdy in the legs and elegant in bearing. Long lashes blinked curiously as Niall went forth to greet him.

“He’s the finest beast I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Maura said, sounding awestruck.

They moved to stand under a crumbling stone arch as dusk fell over the cliff side.

Niall gazed skyward as one by one, the stars that made up the Steed appeared above them. First was the beast’s head, held high and proud as its strong back slowly became visible.

Many hours later, when they were finally alone, the new house seemed both too quiet and too full. Niall was not sure how he could feel that way, given that he was more than used to sleeping amid a dozen warriors or more when he had not the space to pitch a tent of his own.

In the tall main room, there was just himself and Maura sitting on opposite stools, silent as the fire crackled low in the hearth.

Somewhere in the kitchen, a trio of servants were either preparing for sleep or pretending to. They were to leave the newlyweds alone for the rest of the evening unless requested otherwise, as tradition dictated.

Bawdy assumptions were of course joked about, but as the festivities wore on, Niall felt more and more that the time alone was often spent by arranged pairs getting to know one another’s minds. So much of the day, they’d been assailed by attendants and guests who wished to converse or wish them well. There had been no time to think, no space to breathe or get accustomed to what would be.

As they sat quietly in the newly built house, it sank in for Niall that he truly could no longer plan ahead on his terms alone.

His whole life, he had known he did not live and act for his own satisfaction. His existence was one of sworn fealty, of duty. He was but one thread in a tapestry. Without adhering to the weaver’s design, what might have been a great piece of artistry and storytelling was just a mess of color.

He and his fellow warriors, be they soldiers indentured to the crown or mercenaries like himself, all of them did as duty demanded of them. To do otherwise was a betrayal to the whole.

But in his personal affairs, few as those may have been up to this point, he’d been allowed to keep only himself to please. The Shepherd had made few demands of him.

With the marriage, Niall felt he had been split in two, made to share his autonomy with another. Maura now had as much say in his life as he had.

He supposed that went both ways. Not that the equality was of much consolation; he’d rather each of them had kept total control of their respective time.

Maura was the first to speak this time.

She regarded him dolefully from across the table. “Did you set aside an attachment for this?”

“An attachment?” he asked. “By which you mean a companion?”

“If you want to call it that.”

Niall couldn’t consider any of his acquaintances companions, particularly not of that caliber. “I had no such figure in my life.” He raised his gaze to meet hers. “Did you?”

Maura’s expression remained placid and shell-like. “There was someone I was fond of.”

No jealousy stirred in him as he’d heard sometimes did for others in situations like this. In fact, he felt next to nothing about her admission, other than the mildest respect for one who had put aside fondness for duty.

He could not, however, understand what she hoped to achieve by starting the conversation this way.

“Did you mean to suggest we might turn a blind eye to one another, should we have trouble setting someone aside?”

Her stare traveled flatly to the table. “No. I can’t see how that would work out in a small village like this. I merely thought to understand your circumstances.”

Niall could not avoid the subject any longer. “You don’t seem to find me agreeable as a spouse.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure neither of us would have consented to wed if we found the other repugnant beyond forgiveness. You’re not a brute. Is there really a reason to complain and carry on like children when our future was decided so long ago? I doubt very much I’m your ideal partner, either.”

Was she honestly so pragmatic?

He supposed honesty was best in this situation. “I can’t say I ever imagined myself with a partner. I thought I would continue paying my debts to your father and the village as I had been before he approached me with this suggestion.”

She snorted bitterly. “It was hardly a suggestion. But I admit, there was some part of me hoping you’d refuse.”

This was as close as she would come, Niall was sure, to admitting she was unhappy.

He inhaled deeply before letting out a tired sigh. They ought to at least settle on sleeping arrangements and the like before exhaustion overcame them.

The fire crackled quietly in the hearth as he considered what to say.

“Your father cannot dictate every measure of our lives, not now that we have bowed to his desire for our legal union. We might as well make the best of it.”

“Meaning?”

“What sort of living arrangement suits you best? I’ll be away most of the year. How would you have us conduct ourselves while I’m present in the house?”

“We might as well sleep in the same bed, unless you kick,” she said, understanding well enough what he was getting at. “You may sleep on a bedroll on your own if you wish, but I don’t mean to be a cruel wife. As you say, you’ll be here little enough.”

“Have you any compulsions of having an heir to inherit my fortune should I perish?”

She huffed. “I don’t see any point to that. I’m not as paranoid you’ll whittle away our money as my Pa is.”

He sighed again, no longer concerned with hiding his relief. No part of the prospect had filled him with anything but hesitation and dread. Had it been expected of him, he would have made whatever attempt necessary, but the idea of actually raising children… he could never quite settle himself to that.

That had been his biggest fear going into the union. Several nights over the previous months had he gone to sleep worrying over the responsibilities of parenthood, of having to make some effort of caring for a child he didn’t want, couldn’t spend the time to raise. What sort of father could he be? He had no wish to be one.

If Maura had no wish to be a mother, that suited him just fine.

Niall was surprised they agreed on as much as they did. Perhaps they were not as poorly matched as he thought.

The bed was more than spacious compared to the cots and bedrolls he was accustomed to.

Constructed for the equally new and ostentatious dwelling, the dark wood frame was wide enough to accommodate both newlyweds and at least two more between them, perhaps accounting for relatives who might lodge there in the cold months. Or future children.

They walked to opposite sides of the bed and climbed in after shedding all but their night clothes and donning caps.

The mattress, stuffed with down rather than wool or straw, made a thorough attempt at devouring Niall when he laid down.

“Good night, then,” Maura said as she lidded the candle.

Had she already managed to make herself comfortable? He couldn’t tell in a bed of this size. His sleeping partner might have been tossing and turning as much as he, and he might never know. The down seemed to form islands between them, a feature for which he had some appreciation.

He couldn’t recall ever bidding someone good-night. He couldn’t recall sharing a tent or a bed with just one other person.

“Rest well,” he muttered into the dark chamber, feeling profoundly odd.