We wish you such joy and good cheer,
As you hold your loved ones so near.”
Applause and whistles rang out, and Hugh passed out small mugs before Mari ladled the spiced liquor from the wassail bowl for all to drink to good health and a generous harvest for the year to come.
“Sup up!” cried Mrs Pugh. “There’s twenty-two houses to go!”
* * *
Some while later…
Grandmother Smith’sapple orchard was ablaze with fire and laughter, dance and drink. Maids kissed lads beneath the mistletoe which grew on the branches, and old men settled on three-legged stools, chatting of the wassails of yore.
Doubtless the Welsh love for song would cause all to gather as one soon enough. There would be songs of brave warriors, wild mountains and mythical dragons.
Smiling, Gwen swung her legs back and forth whilst perched on the stone wall that edged the orchard, her red pelisse unbuttoned, skirts fluttering. Hugh was keeping Mari and a group of maids entertained with some tale of derring-do while Isabelle and Rhys, hand in hand, stared into the flames of a huge crackling bonfire that burned this autumn’s pruned branches to ash.
All in all, a successful wassail with only Roan the stablelad having to stagger home through over-indulgence.
“G-Gwen?”
“Yes?” She twisted to find Elen weaving towards her.
The lady settled herself onto the stone wall beside her and puffed out a breath. “I feel most p-peculiarsome, Gwen.”
“It might be the rhubarb wine. Once fermented it’s not all that wholesome.”
“Oh.” She blinked owlishly at the scene ahead – of chaos and flames and life. “This may seem an odd q-question, but… Have you been…kissed before?”
Gwen frowned. “Yes. Yes, I have.”
“And how did it make you feel?”
Wonderful. Loved.
“Good. It made me feel good.”
“Hmm.” Elen’s head bobbed up and down. “Well, you see, I’ve just been k-kissed beneath that mistletoe there. By a…a gentleman. And I never knew…” She peered up. “I never knew I could feel so…peculiar.” She hiccupped. “Holly inappositely.”At least, that’s what it had sounded like. “You, Gwen, are in a sim…similar position to me. A spinster lady. Are we supposed to feel so…peculiar?”
“I believe if the right gentleman kisses us, then yes.”
“Hmm.” She swayed. “And have…have you ever been in love?”
“Yes.”
“What d-did it feel like? Did it make you feel content and…shivery? As though nothing else mattered?”
Heaven help her.“Yes,” she sobbed out. “Yes, it did.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to…” Elen’s face drew near. “Hurt you… I’m so sorry. I always say the w-wrong thing. People laugh at me, you know.” She hiccupped again. “But he…he still seems to like me. Thinks I’m clever and I’m b-better when I’m with him. He is so houno…honrouab…honorb… Noble. And kind to me. H-he likes me, Gwen. For me. But I know my parents would not have approved… Wh-what should I do?”
Gwen turned and seized Elen before she could fall off the wall backwards, gave her a tight hug. “If you think to love him, Elen, never let him go. Hold him close and do not give a fig for what anyone might think. It is your life, after all.”
Large eyes batted with hope. “Mylife,” she repeated. “I suppose it is. If one stops to think about it.”
“Indeed, weave yourowntale of love and bravery, Elen. For you.”
“Forme,” she muttered, eyes wide. “Mylife.” And she hopped down from the wall. “Do you know, c-coming to live here with all of you was the best thing that has ever happened to me, even if it was because T-Tristan was dead.” She frowned. “But not dead. T-thank you, Gwen.” Elen patted her hand. “You have such benevlo…benvo…benevokindness.” She weaved off into the crowd, and Gwen smiled as a gentleman gravitated towards her, a tall captain of a man, and Elen clutched his hand tight.
