Page 41 of The Handfasting
It had seemed silly enough when Ysenda was thinking of making the wish by herself. Now, with three of them reciting the wish, it seemed absolutely ridiculous.
On the other hand, what did they have to lose? The fact that they all wanted the same thing touched her. And it made her more than willing to indulge the two most important men in her life.
“I suppose we weight them with rocks and drop them into the well together,” she said.
No?l nodded. “That should give our wish three times the power.”
Once they’d secured small rocks to each bundle, they stood together over the well.
“What are we supposed to say?” No?l asked.
“I’m not certain,” Ysenda admitted. “I suppose we wish for a way to bind our two spirits together for eternity?”
“I’ll do it,” Caimbeul offered when they stood above the well. “I think ye should hold hands.” They did. “In the name o’ the unfortunate lovers who once drowned in this well, I make this Yuletide wish that the two souls to whom these locks o’ hair belong to be blessed in their marriage and joined together forever and aye.”
They all nodded, pleased with his choice of words. And then they dropped their tokens, one by one, into the water, where they disappeared into the inky depths.
The heavens didn’t open up to let angels descend.
The air didn’t stir with the breeze of faerie wings or fill with the sound of ancient pipes.
No Viking ghosts appeared.
Indeed, the moment was remarkably unremarkable.
“What do we do now?” Caimbeul asked.
No?l answered. “I suppose we wait.”
As the moments crept by, Ysenda became more and more despondent. Nothing was happening. The spell wasn’t working. She should have known better than to believe in magic.
After an uncomfortably long silence, she finally spoke. “Maybe we should be gettin’ back.”
“Do ye think it worked?” Caimbeul asked.
“Nae.” The word scraped across her throat, like a sword blade on a sharpening stone.
Caimbeul’s brows came together. “So what do we do now?”
No?l’s chest was tight. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to answer that. He’d hoped, impossibly, that somehow the well would give him an answer. But there had been nothing.
“What we must,” he decided.
Caimbeul straightened, as much as his crooked frame allowed. “Whatever happens, I’m goin’ to France with ye,” he blurted out. “That is,” he amended, “if ye’ll have me.”
From the corner of his eye, No?l could see Ysenda had clenched her jaw.
He shook his head. “I can’t take ye from Ysenda, Caimbeul. Ye may be her younger brother, but now that ye’re grown,sheneedsyourprotection.”
Caimbeul scowled, simultaneously disappointed and flattered. In the end, all he did was mutter, “I’m not her younger brother. I’m the oldest.”
There was a long, melancholy silence.
Finally, Caimbeul’s words sank in. No?l blinked, wondering if he’d heard wrong. “What? What did ye say?”
“I’m older than Ysenda. Three years older.”
He frowned. “Ye are? And what about Cathalin?”
