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Franny

Franny meandered through the crowded village green, a sea of faces illuminated by the flickering flames of the bonfire greeting her. She smiled, nodded, waved at the revelers as she strolled. A warm light breeze kicked up, carrying with it the smoky scent of roasting meats. All and all a splendid day.

Except Rupert hadn’t joined her.

When she had stopped in his study quickly before departing for the festival, she had been so stupidly full of hope. She knew he had been hesitant the day before, but things had been so dreadfully pleasant between them lately. She could have sworn she saw a spark of excitement light in his warm brown eyes at the mention of the festival. She thought he just needed some time to get accustomed to the idea.

But no, he was busy with pressing business matters. She was starting to wonder if he was terrible at business matters. They always seemed to be pressing. If one addressed them, wouldn’t they stop pressing? Or press less?

She let out a heavy sigh, swinging her woven basket full of goodies from the stalls she had stopped by earlier during the day.

“Here you are,” Billy Doherty said, his low voice blending with the beat of the drums, and handed Franny a cask of wine.

She set down her basket and shot a small smile up at him, hoping it didn’t look as sad as she felt. “Thank you, Billy.”

It wasn’t as though she was unhappy. Things were improving with Rupert. Though he wouldn’t bed her and seemed to be avoiding touching her. And she got the feeling he was holding back. She stared up into the starry sky. She wanted them to be free, be Franny and Rupert; no restrictions, no expectations, just them. And she thought that version of Franny and Rupert would very much enjoy this night’s revelry.

But that wasn’t to be. And she wasn’t going to be Friday-faced over it. She held up her cask to Billy. “Cheers?”

He tapped his jug of ale to her cask and bestowed a warm smile on her. “Cheers.”

They turned and stood shoulder-to-shoulder, staring out at the three bonfires lighting up the night. Men and women and children alike danced to the vibrant melody of a fiddle and jingle of a tambourine, a group of men singing with deep, rich baritones. The sun had long since set and the fires lit.

“Why are there three?” she asked and sipped her wine. She needed a distraction from the melancholy mixing unpleasantly with the sweet wine in her belly.

“Each has a different power. There is the Bonnefyre, which is made of solely bones, the Wakefyre, which is made solely of clean wood, and the St. John’s Fire, which is a mixture of both. They ward off evil spirits and appease the fairy folk.” He bumped into her shoulder, and she looked up at his grinning face. “It is said the St. John’s Fire is so powerful it can even ward off dragons.”

She shook her head in wonder and fingered the garland of Verbena encircling her neck—a flower she’d chosen quite purposefully with its ability to enhance romantic relationships. She loved the mystical folklore of the Midsummer Festival. She could only imagine Rupert’s thoughts on it. He would be appalled at such pagan beliefs. She paused. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the true Rupert would find excitement in it. Life could always benefit from a little magic, a little spark. If only she could get her husband to see.

“The fires light the way home for the souls of the livin’, and as I told ya afore, it symbolizes the sun’s power—the larger they burn, the better a sign for the remainder of the growing season,” Billy continued. “Men, women, and couples will jump over the fires, drive their cattle through. It is thought to bestow great luck upon the jumpers.”

Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “People jump over the fires? Do they not worry they’ll catch fire?”

He grinned. “‘Tis part of the thrill. They’ll jump closer to the sides, where the flames don’t burn as hot. And some wait for the fires to start to burn down, some until there are only embers left. But it is said the higher one leaps over the flames, the higher his crops will grow.” He bounced his brows. “‘Tis worth the risk, and the river is only a stone’s throw away if things get too heated.”

“What are you two young persons doing standing around and not partaking in the merry-making?” Mr. Doherty said, clapping his son on the shoulder. “Take the lass to dance, Billy. Let’s show our Lady the true, joyful spirit of St. John’s Eve.”

Billy looked away and doffed his hat, rolling it tight in his hands and beating it against his leg. “Father, I’m not sure it’s proper to dance with the Lady of the Manor. That would be His Lordship’s role.”

A bonfire all its own lit inside Franny. “Yes, well, Billy, do you happen to see His Lordship? Because I certainly don’t.” Even if he were here, she doubted he’d dance with her. She reached up and pressed her crown more securely on her head. “And I have the desire to dance.”

She grabbed Billy by the wrist and dragged him toward the bonfires, where a circle of men and woman were linked hand-in-hand, dancing and laughing around one of the fires. Billy hastily shoved his hat back on his head and shot her a smile.

“If you’re sure, Your Ladyship. Do you think ya can keep up with us country folk?”

She arched a brow. “I can catch pigs better than you can, Billy. I’m certain I can keep up just fine.”

Billy grabbed Franny’s right hand tight in his and swiftly inserted them into the ring of dancers, and Franny was delighted to find she ended up with Genny on her left.

“I’m so glad you joined us, my lady,” Genny exclaimed with a joyous huff. “I hope you’ll take a turn jumping over the flames with us later.”

Billy leaned forward and called over to his sister. “‘Fraid not, Gen. Her Ladyship is afraid she’ll light her skirts on fire.”

“I am not!”

Genny’s eyes glittered with mischief, and she lifted her eyebrows in challenge.

“I will assuredly be leaping over the flames.” She caught Genny’s eye. “I was told it brought good luck. And I am wrapped in Verbena.” She flashed a wink, and they both broke out in a fit of mirth.

Luck and love—perhaps it was just the combination she needed. Either that or she needed to push His Lordship into a fire.