Despite everything that had happened to him in the past year and a half, Logan could quite honestly say that he had never been so terrified of a single moment as he was then. His capture, the months he had spent as a slave, the battle with Vittorio.... all were minor compared to what was transpiring at that very moment.
“We have come together here in celebration of the joining together of Antonia Bianca Marie and Logan Oris Maelrubi,” declared the priestess who stood Logan and Marie.
It had taken two months of careful word of mouth messages for Logan to track down someone who was familiar with the rites of his people. Well aware of the improbability of finding a priest or priestess who were free and capable of performing the ceremony, Logan hadn’t set his hopes very high. It had been a pure accident that Logan had found the old woman. Some months before, the aging Celt had been set free by her master for having saved his wife in childbirth. Having spent much of her life delivering children, Branwen had been able to turn the infant which had somehow managed to lodge itself backwards in its mother’s womb. For saving both his wife and newborn son, the benevolent man had given Branwen her freedom and a small plot of land on which to live.
Logan had first met Branwen on a trip into Tusculm with Reynaldo in search of tools that would be needed to repair a section of the roof of the stables at Livia’s home. She had been struggling with a heavy basket and Logan had rushed instantly to her aid. It had startled him when she began speaking to him in Gaelic, gesturing to the torc which he had yet to remove since the day it had been returned to him. Leaving Reynaldo to purchase the tools, Logan had escorted Branwen back to her home, conversing fluently in his native tongue with the elder women.
By the time they reached the small cottage Branwen had turned into her home, she had assured Logan that she would be honoured to perform the handfasting ceremony.
Two weeks later on a clear, crisp morning, Logan was standing in the center of Livia’s garden with Marie by his side. Branwen stood directly in front of them and, behind her, was an ornate stone bench which was temporarily serving as an alter.
“... Marriage is a bond to be entered into only after considerable thought and reflection. As with any aspect of life, it has its cycles, its up and downs, its trials and triumphs,” Branwen continued, her voice ringing through the entire garden for all to hear. “With full understanding of this, Logan and Marie have come here today to be joined as one in marriage. Others would ask, at this time, who gives the bride in marriage, but, as a woman is not property to be bought and sold, given and taken, I ask simply if she comes of her own will and her family’s blessing.... Marie, is it true that you come of your own free will and accord.?”
Marie gazed up at Logan, her dark eyes alight with joy. Her entire being was glowing. Upon Branwen’s arrival earlier that morning she had declared, the instant she had first beheld Marie, that in the passing of nine moons, the two would be blessed with a son.
“I am indeed here of my own free will,” Marie said in a clear voice, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
Branwen smiled fondly at Marie. “With who do you come and whose blessings accompany you?”
At this point, Livia stepped forward and placed a light hand on Marie’s shoulder. “She comes with me, her aunt, and is accompanied by all those who love her.”
Traditionally, it would have been Marie’s father who gave her away, but since all concerned were aware that Magnus would not give his consent to the marriage were he aware of it, Livia had stepped up to represent Marie’s family. Logan knew that on some level Marie was saddened by her father’s harsh treatment of her. Livia’s presence in her life had helped to fill that void a great deal and Logan could see the obvious joy it brought Marie.
“Please join hands with your betrothed and listen to that which I am about to say,” Branwen instructed the pair. She then raised her arms above her head, the voluptuous sleeves of her white robe sliding down her arms. “Above you are the stars,” Branwen lowered her hands, holding them out at her sides, “below you are the stones, as time doth pass, remember.... Like a stone your love should be firm and like a star your love should be constant. Let the powers of the mind and of the intellect guide you in your marriage, let the strength of your wills bind you together, let the power of love and desire make you happy, and the strength of your dedication make you inseparable....”
As Branwen spoke, Logan found himself unable to keep his eyes from Marie, his mind playing over the events of the past three months. Events that Logan was still found hard to believe were real and not dreams sent to him by the gods. When he had originally been taken captive by the Romans, Logan had never dreamed that he would be as happy as he had before the appearance of the Romans in his homeland. Perhaps moreso than he had been before Marie entered his life.
“Be free in giving affection and warmth. Have no fear and let not the ways of the unenlightened give you unease, for the Lord and Lady are with you always,” Branwen told them, her gaze landing on the meager crowd gathered in the garden as she spoke. “Logan, I have not the right to bind thee to Marie, only you have this right. If this be your wish, say so at this time and place your ring on her hand.”
Taking the silver ring which was formed in a Celtic knotwork pattern from Branwen, Logan placed it in Marie’s palm, curling her fingers around the silver circuit. “It is my wish.”
Branwen then turned her attention to Marie, a kind smile creasing her wrinkled face. “Marie, if it be your wish for Logan to be bound to you, place the ring on his finger.”
Joyful cheers shining brightly in her eyes, Marie slid the ring Logan had placed in her hand on his left ring finger. A solitary tear slid down her cheek as she did so. With his free hand, Logan reached up to wipe away the tear and smiled softly at Marie.
Once Marie had settled herself, Branwen continued, “Marie, I have not the right to bind thee to Logan, only you have this right. If this be you wish, say so at this time and place it in your ring in his hand.”
“It is my wish,” Marie said brokenly as she placed a smaller copy of the ring Logan now wore in his palm.
Branwen looked up at Logan who stood half again her height. “Logan, if it be your wish for Marie to be bound to you, place the ring on her finger. Then repeat after me....”
Logan did as instructed, giving Marie’s fingers a tight squeeze after slipping the ring onto her left ring finger. With a loud, clear voice, Logan began the speech which Branwen was now whispering to him.
“I, Logan Oris Maelrubi, in the name of the spirit of the Lord and Lady that resides within us all, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides in my heart take thee Antonia Bianca Marie to my hand, my heart and my spirit, to be my chosen one. To desire thee and to be desired by thee, to possess thee and be possessed by thee, without sin or shame, for not can exist in the purity of my heart for thee. I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember and love again. I shall not seek to change thee in any way. I shall respect thee, thy beliefs, thy people and thy ways as I respect myself.”
Once Logan had finished, Marie was instructed to repeat the same vows, alternating her name for Logan’s. Emotions overcoming her, Marie voice was strained as she desperately attempted to repress her tears.
The vows completed, Branwen reached behind her onto the alter for a chalice that had been filled with red wine before the ceremony had begun. She handed the goblet to Logan and said, “May you drink your fill from this cup representing love eternal.”
Holding to cup to Marie’s lips, Logan tilted it slightly so that she could take the ceremonial sip. As he pulled the cup away, Logan could help but stare transfixed at her lips as she wiped away residue traces of wine with her tongue. Logan then handed the goblet to Marie and obediently drank as she held it to his mouth.
Taking the chalice from Marie, Branwen exchanged it for a fresh baked loaf of bread which she gave to Logan. As with the wine, Logan and Marie fed each other pieces of the bread before returning it to Branwen.
Before saying the next words, Branwen picked up a woven red cord. “As I am so enabled by the Lord and Lady, I now pronounce you husband and wife. May your love so endure that its flame remain a guiding light unto you.”
As she spoke, Branwen wrapped the cord about Logan and Marie’s joined hands, tying the ends off so that it was still loose enough for their hands to be removed without untying the knot. A simple step over a broom and the ceremony was officially over.
When all was said and done, Logan still found it hard to believe that he was married to Marie. That he and his goddess were now joined for eternity. It was a very humbling experience, enhanced even further by the knowledge that he was to be a father before the year was out. His line would continue through the ages rather than be wiped out by Caesar’s conquest of his home.
By the time their son, Bran, was born roughly nine months later, Logan and Marie were still in the process of establishing a life for themselves in Livia’s country home on the island of Rhodes. Livia had given it to the pair to live in as long as they needed it. She hadn’t been to the house in over ten years so she was more than happy to give it to her niece and nephew-in-law.
However, Logan and Marie would not be calling the country villa home for long. Soon after Bran’s birth, Marie had gifted Logan with something that he had never thought to receive. Marie had done more for Logan than he knew he deserved and was staggered by the depths of Marie’s love for him.
Marie was going to give Logan back his home.
“I could never ask you to give up everything you know and are familiar with,” Logan protested as they lay in their bed, Bran sleeping peacefully on his chest. Pulling Marie against his side, Logan brushed a kiss against her forehead. “It would be unfair of me to take you away from all that you know.”
“You are not taking me away, Logan. I am going willingly,” Marie told him, raising herself up on her side so that she could peer down into his face. “This is my choice, Logan. Do you remember that first night we met? When I asked you to describe your home? Logan, I saw the love on your face when you spoke of your home. I know how much it means to you. It is a part of you, Logan, and you need to return even if it isn’t permanent.”
Logan was astounded by the determination in Marie’s voice. As with all other things, Marie knew what she wanted. Still, Logan did not feel right transplanting Marie from the life she was familiar with. Not even counting the difference in languages, their cultures were very different. Marie had lived a great deal of her life in the heart of Rome. By comparison, his homeland was primitive. It was something that Logan was not ashamed to admit.
“I have been considering this for a long while, Logan,” Marie told him, interrupting his train of thought. “Since before we even left Rome. Now I am not saying that this is set in stone. We need not leave as soon as possible, but I want Bran to know where his father came from. I want him to know that part of his heritage. He is as much a part of you as he is a part of me and I would let him fully experience both parts of himself.”
Logan was at a loss. Tears welling up in his eyes, he snaked his fingers into Marie’s hair, pulling her face down to his. He could not form a coherent sentence to express the maelstrom of emotions welling up inside him so instead he held her against him, so close that when he was finally able to find his voice, his lips brushed against hers as he spoke.
“You are a wonder to me, ionúin. In all my days I have never met a woman who is your equal,” Logan murmured, his eyes sliding shut.
Taking pity on him and his overwhelming emotions, Marie pressed her lips against his in a tender kiss. His cheeks felt damp and Logan was unsure of their source for when they pulled back, both had tears in their eyes.
“You are my heart, Artemis,” Logan moaned as he ran his fingers down Marie’s cheek.
Leaning forward, Marie brushed a kiss against his forehead. “As you are mine, Cernunos.”
For his part, Bran began to whimper and squirm about on Logan’s chest signaling that it was time for his breakfast.