Bruar's Rest

I hope I don’t offend your customs, but he’s a photographer. He’s going to take your wedding pictures. Now how does that sound?’
    Bruar stepped forward, awkwardly grabbed at the slender gent who had the most terrified stare on his face, shook his hand and said to his intended bride, ‘Come on, lassie, have you no manners at all? Give the man a shoogle.’
    Megan, arms outstretched, hugged both her dear old friend and his wedding present. The photographer was genuinely scared of this band of eager subjects. He’d never ventured any closer to tinkers than glancing warily at their fire-smoke rising from some forest, and would speed away fearing his life was in mortal danger. However, with the speed of a magician he set up a wooden tripod and fastened onto it the one-eyed box (as O’Connor called it). He popped his head in and out from under a purple blanket like a darting weasel, whispering through nervous coughs, ‘Smile, please’. As quickly as it had been assembled, the three-legged stand, along with purple blanket and camera, were stacked, tied and secured again in their long box. He dropped a key as he tried with no success to fasten a padlock and chain around his box, and everybody laughed. Rory handed the man a stone jar. ‘Here, lad, take a dram with us.’
    The poor soul clung on to the doctor, shaking his head until it looked as if it might fall from his shivering shoulders.
    Rory didn’t help by curling a brute-sized arm around him and saying, ‘We’ll eat you later for the feast.’ His growl sent the poor man white, and if Bruar hadn’t supported him from behind it’s a certainty he’d have fainted.
    Anyway, Doctor Mackenzie promised to have him home in time to catch his train, and said they could only stay a short while.
    ‘Please, good friend,’ asked big Rory, ‘stay with us to watch the mixing. After that you can go.’
    ‘Well, why not, there’s a later train, I’m sure we’ll make that one. You will come to no harm among these good folks,’ he assured the skinny wee man, clinging to him like a limpet on a rock.
    As the small band closed in a circle round Megan and Bruar, the non-tinkers stood back. They were allowed to witness, but not take part in the circle of joining.
    Doctor Mackenzie folded his arms, chewed on his clay pipe and watched as the pair wed. He remembered that not that long ago they were complete strangers, yet when he saw them together his thoughts were, ‘If ever a pair was suited it is them’. He nudged the man close by his side, who by now had stopped shaking, and, although still not sure about these strange creatures who dwelt in rounded humps of stick and tarpaulin, had relaxed a little. ‘You’ll not see that in any church,’ he said, pointing at the tin bucket Rory handed to his son, who then in turn gave it to his bride.
    She, without a glance at anybody, straddled the bucket and urinated in it. Her face beamed with pride, while the photographer turned deep red with embarrassment, and didn’t know where to put his eyes. Bruar urinated into his own bucket.
    Then his father poured the contents of the two vessels together, so mixing their fluids. Bruar then very carefully cut a small incision with a sharp knife into Megan’s ankle. She, with the same knife, made a cut in his forearm. Needless to say, this brought raised eyebrows from the good doctor, while the mild-mannered photographer nearly fainted for the second time. Bruar then rubbed his forearm over her ankle and mingled the blood. The incisions, being minute, quickly congealed and would leave the smallest scars. Then, finally, both held the bucket of their combined body fluid and poured it over the fire.
    ‘Thank God for that,’ whispered the astonished photographer into Mackenzie’s ear.
    ‘For what?’
    ‘I thought they were going to drink it!’
    With a final hiss and puff of blue smoke the ceremony was complete. No rings or promises, just a simple whisper of ‘forever love’ finalised their vows.

     
    Soon Mackenzie was trotting off, bottle of ale in one hand, reins in the other. He had promised the couple that as soon as the picture was ready, he’d deliver it himself. What noone knew then was that one day, that wedding photo would play a powerful part in the lives of Megan and Bruar.
    His companion couldn’t bring himself to accept the hospitality of the nomads, and had declined food and ale. The incident with the metal buckets was sufficient to put him off food for the