Someone whistled. The tips of Artur’s huge ears turned pink.
Scattered applause followed the newlyweds as they retreated down the aisle. Mally caught my eye and waved as Artur ushered her out the church doors. I returned the motion, though I doubted she’d seen, then dodged the copper-haired Cretney boys to reach Fynn’s side.
“I’m counting to ten, lads!” a woman’s deep voice boomed. “How many times have I told you, there’s no playing chase in the Lord’s house!”
Seeing me approach, Fynn sat straighter in the deserted front pew.
Aside from my parents, who spoke in low voices with Artur’s mam, and my sisters, who were entertaining a few lingering guests, the church had emptied.
“Care to explain why everyone’s gathering out front?” Fynn asked, nodding toward the windows, which offered a view of the weed-choked churchyard. Young men were stretching their legs, preparing for a run in their Sunday best.
“They’re getting ready for the race.” I smiled. “Whichever lad reaches the market first gets to break a bonnag over the bride’s head. Then the girls grab cake to put under their pillows so they can dream of their future husbands.”
“That seems like a waste of good cake.” Fynn shook his head. “And a useless way to find a husband. Why are they going to the market?”
“That’s where we hold the feast. Wedding celebrations are always in the market.”
Fynn found my hand on the wooden seat and looked at me, a question in his eyes. When I nodded, he twisted his fingers around mine and, to my relief, they felt normal, hot and slightly rough. Certainly nothing like the rubbery skin of a flipper.
He lowered his voice as my parents’ conversation faded. “Care to share what’s bothering you? Do you have more questions for me?”
“It’s not that. I wish we’d had a bigger turnout, is all.” My stomach ached as I surveyed the empty church again. “I can’t blame the folk too nervous to risk being out at dusk, but …” I shrugged. “I wonder how many wished to avoid me. Seeing you win the race, though, that might lift my spirits.” I pulled my hand from Fynn’s and shoved him off the pew.
He bowed quickly. “If I get there first, the cake is yours.” His eyes flashed. “You could even eat it and save Mally from the humiliation of crumbs in her hair.”
“And spoil all the fun?” My lips turned up in a grin for the first time in days as I glanced to the windows again.
Out in the churchyard, sandy-haired Thomase elbowed stout Martyn Watterson in the ribs out of pure meanness or to give himself more space to stretch. I couldn’t be sure. Lugh was there, too, standing apart from the others and watching the sky.
I walked to the door with Fynn. “Aigh vie!” I called as he went to join the lads. “That means good luck!” He waved, and then, to my surprise, strode toward Lugh.
My old friend tensed. Fynn stepped closer, his lips moving rapidly. Lugh squared his shoulders, scowling deeper, and replied. They stared at each other for a long moment.
Leaning against the church door, I strained to hear, but their voices blended with the murmur of the other lads.
With a jerk, Lugh’s open hand shot toward Fynn. Fynn gripped the hand with both of his, and Lugh’s shoulders relaxed. They nodded stiffly and dropped their hands, then went their separate ways.
I sighed. Regardless of what had passed between them, they both seemed at ease now.
“Are we heading to the market soon?” I called to Mam, glancing over my shoulder into the church. I wanted to greet Fynn, Lugh, and the others at the finish line, and they looked ready to take off at any moment.
“Soon,” Mam’s voice drifted from the altar.
“Or we could go now.”
I whirled around. Cat stood beside me in a pale green dress. To my dismay, she wore a string of her mam’s best pearls instead of the Bollan Cross I’d asked Lugh to give her. Shadows ringed her eyes, and her smile was faint, but at least it was there. Like old times.
She propped her hand on her hip. “How about it? Be my escort?”
With effort, I returned her smile before looping my arm through hers. “You’ve got to stop scaring me like that.”
“Please,” Cat scoffed. “Seems to me you need more excitement in your life.” She waved to Lugh and Fynn as we passed. “I got your present. The necklace. I would have worn it today, but my mam insisted I borrow her pearls. I don’t like to upset her since Alis …” Cat twisted the strand of pearls between her fingers. “Did you make it yourself?”
“Morag did.”
Cat raised her dark brows, her eyes widening. “It’s not human, is it?” We veered left, following the dirt path through a copse of tired, bent ash trees.
“No.” Cat’s shadowed eyes demanded the truth. “It’s a charm to prevent drowning. When you return home, put it on and don’t take it off. Even if you don’t believe me.”