August, Limbourg Brothers, Les Très Riches Heures
Happy August, Happy Medieval Monday!
Hard as it is for me to imagine here in the heat of a Texas summer, the first of August marks the beginning of harvest time in many countries. For ancient Gaels, August 1 meant the festival, Lughnasadh/Lughnasa. Those are the ancient words. Called Lùnasta in modern Irish and Lùnastal in Scottish Gaelic, it's one of the four seasonal Gaelic celebrations (along with Samhain), Imbolc, and Beltane). It was in celebration of the beginning of the harvest season.
In Tremors Through Time, it was this festival which took Lachlann away from his family for a short time, only to return to devastation.
Scottish Highlands, 1351
Shrouded in mist, Loch Nis loomed, dark and foreboding, in the distance. Lachlann pulled the packhorse along swiftly, anxious to be home before nightfall. He needed to see his family, to hold his son. He checked his sporan. The wee leather ball and wooden horse figurine were there, safe. He could hardly wait to watch Iain’s little face light up when he gave him the toys.
Allasan should be pleased that he’d found everything on her list. He grinned. They had their differences, but if there was one thing about his wife, she knew what she wanted. She was the most stubborn Gael alive. Despite fever, nausea, and a sick three-year-old to care for, she’d almost pushed him out of the door.
You have to go,” she’d urged, her brown eyes unnaturally bright. “I want the dye and you’ll find it in Inbhir Nis. You promised! I didn’t work day and night all summer to be disappointed because of a paltry ailment. I have my family and yours all around me if I need anything. Go! You’ll only be in my way here!”
He had to admit, she’d been right. The Lùnastal festival in Inbhir Nis was much larger than their local fairs, with a wider variety of merchants in attendance. Not only had he found her purple dye and wax candles, but all sorts of vegetable seeds as well, even Norse Anastasia Abboud 8 favorites such as horseradish and mustard.
Thanks to a bountiful harvest and the cloth that Allasan wove so skillfully, he’d had plenty with which to barter. He’d even been able to choose gifts—Iain’s toys, silk ribbons for his wife and sisters-in-law, and iron gall ink for the bard.
He only wished that Allasan and Iain had been able to go with him as planned. He’d worried about them the whole week. What’s wrong with the horse? He tugged lightly on the rope. The beast stalled, its ears flat back. He tugged harder, then smelled it, the foul stench of smoke
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Wishing you a wonderful beginning to both the new week and new month!
It's no secret that I prefer fat HEAs. Where better than in a beautiful romance?
From me to you with a smile.
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