The girl was smiling fit to burst but he just nodded at her sternly. Taking a breath, he pulled down the front of his jacket, strode to the door of the house and pounded on it sharply.
The door was opened by Father Mahona who nodded at the Kildar.
“I request the privilege of entering the home of the Mahona,” Mike said.
“This roof is yours, Kildar,” Father Mahona replied from within. “These walls are yours. This home is yours to enter.”
Everybody at this point had the Rite down pat.
Everyone had been cleared from the main room of the House leaving only the principals: Mother and Father Mahona, Father Jusev the Orthodox Priest and Gretchen.
Anastasia had designed the wear for the Rite. While giving the girls some very graphic instructions, “theoretical” sex education in its true form, she had them measured. A renowned clothier in Paris cutom-made the outfit Gretchen was now wearing. It was white but it didn’t look like, in any way, like a wedding dress. Covered in seed pearls, the front was a deep v that, in Gretchen’s case, was almost too much of a good thing. The girl was threatening to spill out. The skirt stopped well above the knees revealing for the first time that Gretchen, yeah, had one hell of a set of legs. My God did she ever. Long, shapely and tapered they were works of art. On her feet were a pair matching white high-heels, also decorated with seed pearls and rhinestones.
The outfit was an invitation to rape and, to the Keldara, beyond scandalous, which was why Mike limited the number of people present to the bare minimum. He knew that the younger girls were probably peeking from every corner they could find, but he’d sworn not only vengeance but revocation of right to be in the Tigers for any young male who took a peek.
Having been a young male, he was pretty sure they were ignoring him. If he’d been as sheltered as the Keldara boys, he’d have given his left nut to see Gretchen in that dress. All the “bother” of the Rite of Keldane went straight out of his head and he knew he was embarassing himself if anyone looked at the front of the very very tight, unpleasantly tight, pants.
“I am come to take my rights as the Kildar,” Mike said, sternly, looking Father Mahona in the eye.
“The right of the Kildar is acknowleged by the Keldara and the Family Mahona,” the Elder replied. “The Kildar is reminded of his duty to the future family.”
“I acknowledge my duty,” Mike said, turning to Father Jusev, the priest. “I have come to take my rights as the Kildar.”
“The right of the Kildar is acknowledged by the church,” Father Jusev said. “The Kildar is reminded of his duty of teaching,” the priest added, swallowing nervously.
Father Jusev was an older priest, one who had started when the Soviets were at their height and a few of the Tsarist priests were still around. Back then you had to be committed to become a priest; it was a good way to get sent to Siberia. And there wasn’t any such thing as a “liberal” Orthodox, back then the only people willing to profess a faith in a God who was communism’s bitterest enemy were the true-believers. Those guys didn’t tend to be “new-age.”
Thus when the subject of the Rite had been brought up with him the first time, he’d just nodded. Not only was he aware that it was a tradition amongst the Keldara, it was a hell of a lot better than the way the tsarist lords generally treated it. Heck, the comissars hadn’t been lily-white by any stretch of the imagination. And then there was the fact that the Kildar, while he didn’t attend services much, was by several orders of magnitude his biggest contributor. He wasn’t going to tell him that this was “sin” and that it would violate any future marriage compacts in the eyes of the Church.
“I acknowledge my duty,” Mike said, turning to Mother Mahona. “I come to take my rights as Kildar.” His tone in this case was much less stern.
“The right of the Kildar is acknowledged by the women of the Keldara,” Mother Mahona said then winked. “The Kildar is reminded of his duty of gentleness.”
“I acknowledge my duty,” Mike said, then turned to Gretchen, dropping to one knee with difficulty in the tight pants and bowing his head. “My lady, I am come to crave a boon of you, one night of gentleness. May I have my time as is my right?”
“You may, Kildar,” Gretchen replied. She was clearly happy, her smile revealing deep dimples, but nervous as well. “May you remember your… duties in all things.” She stumbled a bit on that line but all in all it was pretty good. Had designed the ceremony so that the young lady, who was going to be worrying about other things, had the least to do.
“I shall,” Mike said, standing up and taking her hand. “I shall return with this daughter of the Keldara when the sun rises,” he said, looking at the three. “I shall render my duty as tradition fits and no shame is had in this Right.”
“No shame, only duty,” Father Mahona said.
“No shame, only duty,” the priest intoned.
“No shame,” Mother Mahona said, winking, “only pleasure.”
Mother Makanee had thrown that line in at the first ceremony and, despite Mike’s quiet protests, it had remained.
He tried not to sigh.
“You’ve seen the place, of course,” Mike said as they walked in the front of the caravanserai.
“I’ve been up here on cleaning duty,” Gretchen said, looking around with interest nonetheless. “But I’ve never been in your quarters.”
“Then I guess I’d better show you those.”
Mike had had a small kitchen installed off of his bedroom. It was separated from the bedroom — which was more like a small suite with a king-sized bed, sitting area and small desk hardly filling it — by a three stool bar counter. The counter had been set for two in china and silver. There were two candles burning and a long-stemmed rose in a vase.
When they entered, Gretchen just craned her long and shapely neck around for a quick look, as if determining she knew where everything was, then walked over and perched on a stool at the small bar.
“You girls talk too much,” Mike said, smiling and taking off his jacket. He donned an apron to keep any splatters off his shirt and trousers then pulled a bottle of champagne out of a bucket of ice. He opened it expertly, none of this silly blasting the cork into the ceiling, then poured a glass for Gretchen and one for himself. “Cheers,” he said, clinking glasses with her.
“Eyes of the Father,” Gretchen replied, then took a sip. “That is nice.”
“So are you,” Mike said, smiling. “All of the Keldara women are beautiful, but I’ve never seen one that looked so incredible in that outfit.”
“I think you said that to Stella,” Gretchen replied, but still smiled.
“Did not,” Mike said, frowning. “Did I? Besides, I hadn’t seen you, yet.”
“So who is the prettiest Keldara girl?” Gretchen asked, tilting her head to the side.
“That’s a dangerous subject on a night like tonight,” Mike said, walking around the bar to the cooking area. He’d had that built onto the back side of the bar so he could talk with the lady while he was cooking.
All the ingredients were laid out; thank God at least he didn’t have to prepare them. But he had to stop and think for a moment, looking them over.
Part of his regime in regards to the Rite was that it was a date. The Keldara girls did not date. Their husbands were chosen for them and they went to them from their father’s arm, very much in the original tradition. Outside the variable of the Rite, they were supposed to be virgins. Oh, some weren’t, Spring Festival was a time when some things went on that were generally overlooked. But they certainly did not date.