There was no big announcement. No gown or flowers. Just McKale and I in our pajamas with messy hair. We were moved into position, facing one another. Led by Leilah, my mom and sister took a long strand of purple cloth and wrapped it around our waists, forcing our abdomens together as they tied a tight knot. I giggled up at McKale’s wistful face when the oldest woman insisted, “Tighter!” I’d always thought the term “binding” was metaphorical.
One by one, women of the clan stepped up to take part. Strip after colored strip was tied around us, from our hips to our chests, pressing us together. Knowing what this symbolized, it was hard not to be embarrassed. But that feeling fled when I looked at my betrothed. My Kale, who’d turned out to be even more than I’d hoped. His eyes glistened with happiness in the moonlight.
When it came time for the father part, Mom waved to Dad, who followed Brogan’s lead. Dad cleared his throat several times, evidently not at ease with the marital mummification of his daughter, but he played along.
Dad and Brogan each had two white strips of cloth. Brogan bent down and moved our feet so that our ankles were side-by-side. There was a bad moment where I thought we might topple over, but each time we tilted the crowd would push us back into place, saying “Whoa!” in unison and laughing with merriment. Dad and Brogan tied our ankles, and then stood up and tied our wrists. I watched McKale’s stoic face the whole time. When they finished I pressed my cheek to McKale’s and tried to breathe evenly. My parents stepped back. Cassidy stood in my sights and winked.
The song ended and the area quieted with anticipation.
Brogan spoke with hearty volume. “We come together this eve to bind the lives and bodies of our Leprechaun, McKale, with Robyn of the Masons!”
“Here, here!” shouted the crowd. The reverence and excitement in the air gave me chills.
“We wish them blessings and fertility,” Brogan said.
“Here, here!”
Brogan then spoke something beautiful in Gaelic and the people responded in kind. It sounded magical and I experienced another set of goose bumps.
“We’re gettin’ the short version,” McKale whispered in my ear.
The Leprechauns and women chanted lines in Gaelic, and it produced the sort of mesmerizing sound that was probably meant to stir my ovaries into action or something. And then an ominous silence fell.
“Brace yerself,” McKale whispered.
“To the lodgings!” Brogan shouted, punching his little round fist in the air.
“To the lodgings!”
I yelped with surprise as we were swept off our feet sideways with a falling sensation and carried by dozens of hands into McKale’s room amid shouts and cheers. We were both laughing as they rolled us onto his bed and bowed low before leaving. We lay there in a literal tangle with me on top of him, listening to their happy chants get quieter and quieter until everyone was gone.
“Um, wow,” I said. “So…” Now what? My pulse danced wildly.
They’d wrapped our torsos and legs, but left our arms free except the wrists. My breath caught as McKale brought the wrists of one set of our hands up to his mouth. The gas lamp in his room was lit on low, and I watched in wonder as he bit the end of the neat bow with his teeth and pulled it until our hands were free. He did the same with the other wrists. Then he captured both of my wrists and kissed them.
I sighed, too overcome and nervous to say anything.
“Thank ye fer coming to me tonight,” he said in a low voice.
“How could I not? That song… They beat up the pixie for me! Did you see that?” Okay, I was feeling a little nervous, and I think McKale could tell because he chuckled and looked at me like he thought it was cute.
“How did you do it?” I blurted. I had to know, before we went any further, what happened last night with FFG. “How’d you get away with not kissing her?”
McKale’s eyebrows came together and he was quiet a moment. “I did not get away with anything, love. I don’ wish to recall a single moment of it, but ye should know. I hope ye can forgive me.”
“You kissed her?” He nodded once. His eyes were strained. “Really kiss her?” Another nod.
Jealousy reared, but I didn’t feel angry at McKale. I knew he did what he had to do to get the FFG to believe him and go back to the portal. But the thought of his mouth on hers… I buried my face in his neck, trembling. “How is your mind so clear after that?”
“’Twas strange, it was,” he whispered. “I thought only of you. I kept ye at the front of my mind, noticin’ how fragile she felt compared to your strength. I imagined ye stealing the ball from the lads, and wrestlin’ me in the waters. As her magic o’ercame me, the focus of my passion was no’ her. It was hard, I’ll no’ lie. And I was no’ completely meself when I stumbled to the Clour land.”
Amazing. I lifted my head and looked at him. “Do you think the plan will work tomorrow?”
His face became grave. “It must. Let’s no’ think on it anymore this night.” He kissed me with tenderness and I put aside my fears. We had this night, if nothing else.
Together we untied each knot at our sides, making a neat pile of cloth bindings on the floor beside his bed. By the time he pulled the last strip from our thighs my heart was pumping rapidly. We were both sitting up. I almost made a move to untie our ankles, but I waited, remembering how he’d taken the initiative with our wrists like it was his job. Sure enough, he bent at the waist, undoing our last two bindings with graceful, gentle fingers.
He dropped the scraps of cloth on the floor and came right at me, slowly, never hesitating.
“Kale,” I breathed.
“Aye.” He was laying me back and I was breathing too fast.
“If I would’ve known we were binding tonight I would have cleaned up for you.” And shaved, and worn the pretty bra and panty set I’d picked out in hopes of a happy binding night. But McKale only laughed and pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it to the corner. I swallowed.
“Ye can be certain, Robyn, I’ll not be complainin’ about the state of ya.”
And then he kissed me without an ounce of tentativeness, like a man claiming what was his. A barbaric analogy, maybe, but in my heightened state of nervous expectancy, it felt crazy good to be claimed. My hands were all over him. Well, not all over yet, but all over his bared skin. I loved the way his lean biceps and triceps bulged as he held himself over me.
“You are so hot,” I whispered onto his lips.
He pulled back. “Are ye too hot?”
I laughed and reached for him. “It’s just a figure of speech. I meant that you’re really… good looking. Come here.”
He kissed me again, but this time his hand found the bottom of my t-shirt. His touch, unlike his kiss, was tentative. My insides fluttered as his hand inched upwards, caressing my stomach and waist. I was insanely nervous about what he would think.
“Yer so soft,” he said. He kissed me again and moved his hand up a little more. “Is this all right with ye?”
“Yeah. It feels good when you touch me.” It was strange to hear myself say that, but the grim reminder that we might only have this night kept me from holding back. We had no time to be shy. I wanted to show him how I felt.
When his thumb brushed the underside of my breast, it was on.
I wiggled and tugged my shirt over my head, tossing it aside and propping myself up on my elbows as if presenting him a gift. I watched as his expression changed from the amazement of a boy to the need of a man. A sound of triumph rose from my throat as he pressed me back with a deep kiss, and the exploration of one another began. We took our time learning each other’s skin, the sensitive spots, savoring each pleasurable response that our touches elicited. We refused to be rushed, not caring if we didn’t sleep at all that night.