The Tavern in the Morning (29 page)

It was a thrilling thought. Imbolc would be next February, and everyone would get together to celebrate the very first stirrings of the new year’s life, deep under the ground. They would give praise for the coming into milk of the ewes, Lora had said, rejoicing in the distinct swelling of the udders that betokened new life within. They would make a huge fire, and prepare small bunches of the first flowers – snowdrops, crocuses – to wear in their hair. It was only right and proper, Lora said, to dress up to celebrate the Goddess’s return.

And, most important for Joanna, Imbolc would be when she would meet the others.

She was very anxious about that.

‘Don’t you fret,’ Lora had said. ‘Stands to reason you’ll be nervous, and that’s as it should be, being as you’ll be presented to the great and the good of our world. But they won’t turn you away. That I do promise you. You will come to them with honest heart and pure intent, and, besides, you were Mag’s special girl, you were. And Mag’s memory is honoured. Now you’re my pupil, and I will speak for you.’

It was heady stuff. Sometimes, anticipation of the feast haunted Joanna’s dreams.

Just as well, she thought cheerfully, that it’s still four months away. Before it comes Samain.

When, as Lora says, we’ll have other things on our minds …

She stroked her belly again, saying to herself the ritual prayer which she had been chanting, both silently and aloud, several times a day since Lora taught it to her. Lora had understood why she was so desperate, understood and, as was her wont when she supported a desire for something, had instantly offered her help.

Finishing her plea, Joanna thought suddenly of Ninian. Well, it was only natural, really, one thought leading to another. Getting up, she fetched the dark-coloured bowl she used as a scrying mirror, filled it with water and, crouching over it, emptied her mind as Lora had taught her.

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

This evening, it did.

There he was, and, as he’d been the last time she had seen him, he was laughing. He was with that same red-haired lad again, and they were playing some silly game with sticks, trying to trip one another up by thrusting them between each other’s ankles. Not that Ninian was always playful – once she had seen him on horseback, sitting so erect and elegant, and a voice had said, ‘He has a princely bearing, that one.’

If only they knew!

Ninian looks happy, she thought now. Josse, bless him, has carried out the duty I placed on him more than well.

On one occasion, watching Ninian, she had seen Josse, and that had been almost as hard to bear as seeing Ninian for the first time had been.

She returned to herself – Lora was strict about limiting her far-seeing times, since it took a heavy toll on the strength which Joanna needed for other things – and carefully emptied, dried and put away her bowl, saying aloud the appropriate words of gratitude.

Returning to her seat outside the door of the hut, her thoughts returned to Josse.

Was he happy? She hoped so. It was true, what I said to him, she thought. We would not have been right for each other, and it’s better this way, so that our time together remains a pure and wonderful memory, heartening us when we lie awake, far apart, on a dark night.

He would not have adapted to what I want. To what I am becoming. And, besides, as I very nearly said to him, he had already given his heart away before he and I met. Although I doubt if he knows it.

I understand, now that I have met her.

Her belly suddenly moved of its own volition, and, putting her hand to the little bulge – an out-thrust knee, or elbow – she whispered, ‘Be patient! I know it’s a tight fit in there, but wait only a little longer, and you shall have all the room you want!’

A girl, she thought. You’re a girl. I have prayed for that every day since I knew that life quickened within me, for I should have to treat another boy as I treated Ninian. But a girl, now. A girl is different. A girl I can raise to be wise woman after me.

She murmured her prayer once more.

But, in her heart, she knew there was no need. Josse’s child within her
was
a girl. There was no doubting it. Lora had said so, and Joanna herself knew it, in her very bones.

I shall call her Margaret, she thought.

I shall love her, care for her, teach her.

Oh, it was such a prospect! Such a miracle, to have conceived, to have carried the baby through the months of pregnancy, to be assured, by Lora and by her own instinct, that both the child and she herself were healthy, well, thriving.

‘A little girl to love,’ she whispered wonderingly.

I won’t ever be alone again.

Also by Alys Clare

Fortune Like the Moon

Ashes of the Elements

THE TAVERN IN THE MORNING.

Copyright © 2000 by Alys Clare. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

ISBN 0-312-26237-X

First published in Great Britain by Hodder and Stoughton

A division of Hodder Headline

First St. Martin’s Minotaur Edition: June 2002

eISBN 9781466845732

First eBook edition: May 2013