Free Love's Blazing Ecstasy by Kathryn Kramer

love for the gentle man he had always been until she had angered him, and most of all pride. Her father was one of the Druids, the Bard—a poet of great renown among her people for his singing and storytelling. Among her people, eloquence was valued as highly as bravery, for just as the warrior protected his tribe, so the bard protected the tribal history in his memory.
    Had I been a male child, I too would have become a Druid , she thought, learning the laws and mysteries of the sky, the force of the moon and stars upon the fate of men, or perhaps I would have been chosen like my father to sing the glories of life . Lost to her dreams, she closed her eyes. Had it not been said that she had inherited a voice of beauty from her father? Many times she had wished to be a male child, but no more—not since meeting Valerian. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned away from the open door.
    “I am not my father’s son, but his daughter and for that I am glad!” she said aloud. She gloried in her womanly body as she dressed. “For I have what no man possess es, the power to create life within me. Surely there is no power greater than this.” She touched her stomach and again said a silent prayer to bear a child as the fruit of her love for Valerian. At least then she would always have a part of him with her.
    Hearing a rustle behind her, she turned around and was greeted with Isolde’s warm smile. “Sunshine on your head, cousin.”
    “Thank you, Isolde. May the goddess touch your eyes with light,” she responded in the ceremonial words always spoken on this day of days.
    Together they prepared the morning meal, which would break the fast, putting together in a large caldron a mixture of grains that had been ground together in a hand mill. No meat had passed their lips for several days, nor would any be eaten again until after the ceremony. In this way they purified their bodies. Nevertheless, the aroma from the cooking pot caused Wynne’s mouth to water; she was starving.
    “I’ll go gather some berries if you will milk the goat,” Isolde said with a toss of her head. “You seem to have a way with animals. Me, I always seem to get my toes stepped on, or worse yet, bitten.”
    “That’s because you don’t talk to them. They have a language all their own.  Remind me to teach you.”  With a laugh Wynne went about her chore, which, far from being unpleasant to her, made her feel closer to the goddess, the bringer of life.  Ever since she was a child she had loved animals and had a special kinship with them.  That was why it had been so easy to train Sloan.
    Wynne returned to the lodge with the warm milk, which she poured into large earthenware cups for Isolde’s two older children, who drank greedily. When Isolde returned with her berries, the two women spread a large cloth over the floor so that they could honor the earth goddess. Upon this cloth Wynne spread the fine brass utensils with the intricate designs and animal figures etched on the handles. She always marveled at the work the artisans had done.
    They placed the huge silver caldron containing the grains mixed with special herbs in the center of the table. This urn too was ornamented with curving tendrils, entwining plants, animals, and faces of the gods and goddesses. Silver was the most precious of metals, treasured even more highly than gold.
    Tyrone came to join in the feast, greeting his wife and Wynne with a smile. Forgotten were his harsh words of the night before, yet Wynne knew by the look in his eyes that in his heart he still condemned her for causing her father’s anger.
    Seated on either side of their father, Selma and Farrell grinned impishly, knowing that since the women would be occupied with preparations for the evening ceremony, it would be Tyrone’s duty to look after them. It amused them to witness his frustration at their antics. They looked longingly at the tempting berries in the basket, then at each other, and they quickly stifled