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Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,
Or he would call it a sin;
But we have been out in the woods all night,
A-conjuring Summer in!
Kipling
Chaucer moved deftly between the carousing morris dancers. Laughing at the damsels and knaves who jostled him as he passed the maypole that swayed in the dark night breeze. He was determined, not to be distracted, looking for his greenwood bride.
As he wove his way through the crowd he kept his May flowers safe from being crushed, sheltering them against his chest. He paused as he saw his quarry in the flickering light of the bonfire lit for Beltane.
Wat stood slightly apart from the revellers, a pastry held close in his hand. Chaucer smiled as he noticed the squire tapping his foot in time to the rhythm of the drumbeat that kept the maypole dancers moving.
Chaucer began moving again toward the younger man, evading a buxom wench who tried to adorn him with her flowers with a grin. He had eyes only for his lover; the flowers he held were for him.
At last he reached Wat’s side and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Eh, oh it’s you.” Wat glanced away from the dancers. “Finished with the nobility have you?”
Chaucer grinned at the peeved tone in Wat’s voice. “Yes, I’m done. It’s my time to celebrate with my greenwood bride.” His grin broadened as he saw a frown cross Wat’s face.
“So, you’ve chosen someone then?” Wat sighed and turned back to stare into the flames.
Chaucer laughed out loud at surprised gasp that Wat let out as he dropped the garland around his redheaded lover’s neck. “Yes, you are my greenwood bride, ninny!”
“You shite!” Wat lunged at Chaucer playfully, giving the herald a rare smile. Chaucer caught the squire against his chest and bussed him on the nose, Wat let out a yelp and frowned when he realised he had dropped his pastry as his lover pulled him close.
Chaucer squeezed the man he held gently. Trailing his hand down his lover’s arm, he curled his hand around to grip Wat’s tightly.
“Come Wat, and we’ll go A-Maying together.”
Tugging, he led them towards the darkening woods that held secret couples trysting in every bower. Whispered words, hushed laughter could be heard from shadowed copse and overhanging bush.
Wat peered around as Geoff led him quickly to a spot he had located for them earlier. A quick kiss and hug brought Wat’s attention back to the lanky man in front of him.
He gave a leer. “Now what, my mangy Herald?”
“Have at me, my lusty squire.” Geoff pulled at the laces of his tunic to reveal his chest and drew a pleased growl from Wat.
Roughly grabbing the hem of his tunic Wat lifted the linen up and over his head. In the moonlight the squire’s pale skin took on a luminous glow. Geoff gasped in appreciation of the sight; even as the squire reached out and tugged open his tunic.
Wat gave a saucy grin and lowered his mouth to a pale nipple and licked, chuckling at the inhaled gasp. Warm hands came to grip his shoulders and pushed him backwards. Lifting his head he spied a blanket stretched out below a low overhanging branch. Flashing a brilliant smile at the suddenly wordless herald Wat pulled him down.
Nimble hands made quick work of the lacings of their breeches. Impatient murmurs were heard as boots were toed off. Soft gasps were heard, mirroring those from the woods around them as the herald and squire celebrated in a way as old as time.
Just as dawn stretched fingers of light over the horizon, whispering couples crept from the shelter of the forest and made their way home.
The local tavern owner watched in amusement as blushing lasses and strapping lads brushed past him.
He saw the herald and squire take their leave. He lifted a hand in greeting to the herald and smiled at only greenwood marriage that would last more than a day.
Blessed Be