Taylor wasn’t quite sure that was something to be taught, but she also knew that there wasn’t to be a choice here. She needed to be delicate and kind to her bride, but they would still be her bride.
With knife strapped to her wrist, beneath the cuffs of the blazer, and pistol on her left hip, sword on her right, Taylor apparently met the standard and the old woman gestured for her to leave.
A tap at the door had the gruff bear take her by the shoulder and guide her back close to the bonfire, where an effigy of what could only be was burning.
There, Taylor stared in surprise at the silken garb that transformed Laure from a bright woman, but still a villager, into something more akin to a lady of the castle. It was covered in delicately stitched flowers, tracing from ankle to neck, with a small opening to reveal a chest that was rather distracting.
Laure was standing by a table, with a woman at her elbow, and another villager who had open a book. He indicated a simple line, and a place to date it.
The French woman signed first, and then held out the feathery pen to Taylor. There was an expectation there, a vulnerability. She took it with a little hesitancy, and quickly scratched out her own name beside the other. It really was a scratch, she didn’t have any of the flowing literacy of Laure.
Laure gave a curtsy towards her, and then was hurried away. Taylor frowned, having never been part of a wedding such as this, but was then guided to a place of prominence.
She stood with the bonfire to her back, as women from the village quickly laid out and arrayed a path of white ribbons. As soon as they were done, Laure reappeared, her cheeks pink and proud, her nose excitedly scrunching, as she began to walk towards them.
Using a pair of silver scissors, she cut each ribbon as she arrived, before shooting a dazzling smile in the direction of Taylor.
> La place Rouge était vide,
> Devant moi marchait Nathalie.
> Il avait un joli nom, mon guide,
> Nathalie.
As she walked, the villagers began to sing. The men with a deep and guttural voice, the women with something bright and light which would instantly give them away if they had tried to hide aboard a ship, like Taylor had.
> La place Rouge était blanche,
> La neige faisait un tapis.
> Et je suivais par ce froid dimanche,
> Nathalie
As Laure cut the last ribbon, the older woman beside her held out a small chalice, walking forward and handing it directly to Taylor. Who took it, but didn’t really have a clue what she was supposed to do with it.
Taylor held it politely as one of the men launched into a large spiel in French. The crowd continued to sing, but quieter, as he laid out some great plan for the two women to have met on this remote island, as if this was the entire purpose of their lives.
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Or so Taylor imagined, not really knowing what he said.
However, as the man finished, Taylor’s full attention was turned to Laure. The woman’s nose crinkled as she placed both her hands around Taylor’s neck, smiling up at her, before Taylor’s first public kiss.
> Elle parlait en phrases sobres,
> De la révolution d’octobre.
> Je pensais déjà,
> Qu’après le tombeau de Lénine.
> On irait au café Pouchkine,
> Boire un chocolat!
Laure was softer than anything Taylor had ever known. Despite her embarrassment at the crowd, she found herself melting into the kiss. Finding her arms slipping around the woman and holding both her and the chalice awkwardly.
Yet, as soon as she was finding something in it, Laure was pulling away, and lifting up a side of the chalice with one of her hands. Making a show of them both holding it, as people here and there sniggered at the public show of affection.
> La place Rouge était vide.
> J’ai pris son bras, elle a souri.
> Il avait des cheveux blonds, mon guide,
> Nathalie, Nathalie!
The man who had preached about them poured a handful of red and transparent liquid into the proffered item. “Maintenant, buvez comme un seul.”
Laure lifted, and looked across the chalice pointedly at Taylor. Then, together, they drank a mouthful of what she had somewhat expected to be the most awful wine she’d tasted in her life.
Instead, she was surprised to learn that the vineyards of the early explorers had created something that was more sweet than bitter. It still had a body to it, and she felt it hit her stomach, but she was already floating by the time it had.
With that, the celebrant stepped forward, and lifted the chalice in both their hands. “Je te donne le couple marié, de Dieu et de la patrie.”
Taylor’s face flushed a brilliant pink as she truly realised what she had just done.
Laure caught her by the wrist, grinning madly, and the two of them walked through the crowd with shouts of joy, that became even louder song behind them as they passed and entered one of the smaller huts.
The door creaked closed, and Taylor scratched the side of her neck, “Oh. This is what comes next, ain’t it?”
“Tu es adorable.” Laure gave a little giggle, and flicked the bottom button on her dress undone, revealing her thigh just a little, and looking at Taylor with a coy eye.
Taylor swallowed drily as the woman approached her, “We really don’t have to -”
“Hush.” Laure said with annoyance and snorted, “The English. They speak too much.”
“You do understand me!”
Laure shrugged, “Oui. But you not say very much worth listening to.”
Taylor stared, “Eh… Okay then. So you aren’t fixed upon me because I saved you?”
“I like… A woman who can.”
She frowned, “I… Can?”
“You fight. You study. You walk through cave with crocodile. You are true woman.” Laure said approvingly, and then cupped one of Taylor’s cheeks, “And… To put it like the English, crassly… We cannot get pregnant, here and now. Can we?”
Taylor stared.
Laure gave another giggle and kissed her.
----------------------------------------
Taylor groaned and pulled in her arms, snuggling into the warmth of the naked woman stirring beside her.
The other though, was not so sedentary. Laure sat up quickly, eyes looking out fiercely into the dark, and the flickering light from their wedding bonfire.
Her eyes widened and she flew to her feet, tossing Taylor’s clothes onto the bed, as if she needed to make an escape because of a returning lover. Laure began yanking on her dress at the same time.
“Merde!” The woman cursed and motioned at Taylor, who was still sitting up on her elbows, wondering what had got into her new partner.
All those wonders evaporated as she heard the bellowing voice of Flint in the village outside. “Now who be foolish enough to trespass upon my grave?”
“Ah. You did survive, you snivelling rodent!” Came back a voice that wavered just a little. A voice that made Taylor almost empty her bowels as she realised what was happening on the other side of a very thin wooden door.
“How the devil did you… You followed the girl.” Flint sneered.
“No.” Vernon chuckled, “I found ol’ Benny. He ran from the girl, when you seized her. She’s a fine thing, ain’t she? Where you be hidin’ me gal?”
“Le vôtre?” Laure hissed quietly, glaring over at Taylor who was struggling to get her belt on.
“Well. Your gal be marryin’ me gal. So maybe on this, their day, we might come to an arrangement. You and I. Ol’ ship mates.” Flint said with far more intelligence than Taylor had credited him with.
Taylor’s heart leapt into her throat when the next sound she heard was a pistol shot cracking through the nightscape.