Elva smiled, reminding Kaireen of the rumors of her handmaid’s uncanny foresight. Whispers of Elva making strange things happen and often blamed as the cause of Kaireen’s stubborn refusal to behave as a laird’s daughter should. Kaireen tossed the twig in the fire burning in the hearth. After taking the woolen cloth Elva handed her, she wiped her teeth.
“You’ve not seen him yet.” Elva wiggled her brows.
“So?” Kaireen shrugged. “I would like to never see him.” She scrubbed her teeth again with the woolen fabric, and then set the cloth aside.
“Well then, would you not like to know if you have a handsome husband or not?” She waited for her response, but Kaireen scowled at her. Elva chuckled. “I would rather get a good look at him now than the morning after.”
Kaireen’s ears heated. “I am not marrying.” She shook her head for emphasis. “So there will be no morning, nor night, nor wedding.”
“If he is handsome, I may fight you for him.” Elva smiled, deepening the wrinkles around her eyes.
“Welcome to him either way.” Kaireen laughed.
“Careful.” Elva winked. “Love makes us fall hardest when we have no intention of doing so. “Especially if stubbornness or pride is involved.” She fluffed the damask gown. “Up with you now. We cannot have you going for supper in your leine.”
“With or without my leine, I do not go willingly.” Kaireen rose. She allowed Elva to yank the violet gown over her head. She pushed her arms through and her clenched hands emerged out of the long sleeves. She brushed her pale hands down the front of the pile-weaved material.
She squared her shoulders and then slipped on her leather shoes. Plopping on her wooden stool, she suffered though Elva fixing her hair. As Elva brushed her auburn mane, she fidgeted.
Despite refusing to marry this foreigner, her stomach did a flip at the thought. After all the Lochlanns are good for nothing but raping and pillaging! To be safe, she would bring her dagger with her. It was waiting for her on top of her cherry wood chest. She tucked the nervousness away as her being hungry.
Her handmaid twisted her locks and weaved ribbons within the waist length strands. Then she secured the end with a ribbon sewn with pearls.
Elva gestured for her to rise. Kaireen did so reluctantly. “Stand straight,” Elva snapped.
Kaireen frowned but obeyed. At least Elva was better than her mother’s handmaid, Rhiannon. Ever since Rhiannon came to the keep fifteen years ago, she had given Kaireen nightmares. Kaireen would have asked the fairies to put a changeling in her place if she had to have her care. Her mother tried to explain why they had accepted her into their clan being that she was an O’Neill, but Kaireen had tuned her out. She did not care where the woman was from or why.
“And stop scowling or I will throw you out the window with the chamber pot waste,” Elva snapped.
Her stomach tightened, but she bid Elva goodnight. She hiked up her gown to avoid tripping and then marched the corridor to the great hall.
Through her slippers, she felt the cold of the stone floor. A draft of wind coursed through her and she shuddered. She rounded the corner and forced her arms to her sides. She must appear strong and unnerved. Her arguments would hold no bearing if she could not stop shaking from fury.
*
Inside the banquet hall, the tables were covered with spiced apples, roasted carrots, asparagus, wild duck, quail, and foul smelling pig. Her father and mother sat next to each other at the middle of the high table.
Various lords, barons and their wives along with sons and daughters, laughed at an amusing story her father told. Three hunting dogs scampered around, devouring falling morsels. In a corner lay a fourth dog, shaggier than the rest gnawing on a bone.
Kaireen strolled to the low table, taking the empty seat on the bench across from her parents. Her favoured place on her father’s left was already taken by a stranger with golden hair, the Lochlann stared at her. Kaireen felt the urge to check the neckline of her gown, but stifled it. A servant girl refilled his goblet with ale.
Kaireen glanced back at him. Golden hair cascaded to his broad shoulders. His azure eyes unsettled her. Her breath caught in her throat and she jerked her head away from his gaze. Didn’t the priest say something like “Breton, the devil that dragon often disguises himself as an angel of light.” She had no desire to find out from which side of Sidhe, the fairy haven, this stranger sailed from. Silently she admonished herself to stop playing the role of a child. Thought Elva might find him handsome, well, most women would.
She heard women’s gowns rustle as they leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the man from across the seas. The way these women gasped at his sailing story, any moment one of them would faint. Did they forget so soon that he was a Viking? One of many who ravaged their land, sacked their monasteries at best, and took women and children as slaves. Some of the women were fortunate enough not to be raped, others were not so lucky.
Her ears burned when the Lochlann’s resonant voice told of the fiery red dragon he tamed sailing their coast. Did her father tell him that he had always teased her that it would be easier for him to raise a red dragon then a red-haired daughter?
Her insides twisted as the Lochlann finished spinning his tale. She would not look at him again tonight. What did she care what his appearance was anyway. She took a sip of wine, glancing at the stranger over the rim. He winked at her and she choked. As the baroness on her left turned, the bench creaked. She pounded Kaireen on the back with her palm. Her back bruised from the woman’s smacks, she assured the woman she no longer needed assistance.
“What do you think of our country, Bram son of Ragnar?” her mother asked the Lochlann.
“Never seen anything so green. Until I looked into your daughter’s eyes which make the trees bow in shame.”
“Blasphemous.” A blush flooded to the roots of Kaireen’s hair.
“No, ’tis truth.”
Her father held his cup in a toast. “To Bram, the first man ever to bring a blush to my daughter’s cheeks.”
Kaireen glowered, her anger filling her. The hall rang with laughter. She wished for honey to stick their mouths shut.
After the laughter subsided, her father cleared his throat. “Now, now. We must control ourselves. Not every day a man gets his last child married.”
“I am not marrying,” Kaireen interrupted. “And I am not a child.”
“Gracious Bram has agreed to stay on with us for a fortnight. Then he will marry our Kaireen.”
The applause was deafening.
She jumped off the bench, glaring at the Lochlann’s smiling face. “A fortnight?” she screeched. “Not enough time for me to…he is a foreigner and a Lochlann at that.” Why did they believe it was suitable for her to marry this Viking? She had to have time to figure out how to get rid of him.
“How much time do you need?” her mother asked in a warning tone.
“Never would be too soon,” Kaireen shot back.
“Enough.” Her father slammed his fist on the table. Before the ale spilled, her mother snatched her goblet. Their argument brought whispers through the tables. Her father waved his drink and the ale sloshed on the linen tablecloth. “A fortnight was his idea. I wanted you wed tonight.”
Kaireen opened her mouth to protest, but his glare caused her to clamp it shut.
“Further, you will wed Bram son of Ragnar and be happy about it. Or I will have you whipped until your ungrateful hide is stripped from you.”
Kaireen fell on the bench with a groan. She did not need to look to know the Lochlann was beaming. Curse them all for fools. With her knife she pushed her piece of duck around on the trencher. She would not submit, no matter how much her father yelled.
After they finished the other five courses, her father ordered the musicians brought in. Servants scrambled to remove the tables and benches, making room for the dancers.
The high table remained. At Kaireen’s orders, the servants placed her bench near the back of the high
table so she faced away from the dancers. The baroness continued to eat beside her; it was the subject of many jokes she would not finish her supper until the kitchens were empty. Three lute players, and a harpist played the round dance song. Soon, Kaireen tapped her foot to the rhythm. She watched her father and mother, along with many of the other guests, whirl through the hall changing partners within the lines. The foreigner danced among them.
The oldest woman grinned, as though he were her suitor when he took her arm. Rebecca, a year younger than Kaireen, circled around twice in a row with him.
“It matters not to me who he dances with. Maybe he will change his mind and marry her,” she muttered. She smirked, envisioning his astonishment at learning that Rebecca’s dark mane was a wig. Rebecca’s hair, a stringy brown, had been chopped off three years ago.
No one knew exactly why, but ever since her bout of sickness, patches of baldness showed through her hair, which refused to grow again. But Kaireen’s eyes followed him across the floor. He released Rebecca into the women’s line.
After he turned, he waved for Kaireen to join him. She whipped her head back to face the table. Her skin prickled. She bit her lip, suppressing the notion that she had been caught staring. She snatched a piece of duck and ate. The baroness stood and Kaireen held onto the bench to keep from falling to the floor. The music changed twice while Kaireen was brooding, but she determined she would not turn around again. She would wait until the next song, and then retire. Therefore, he would know she was neither afraid nor interested in him.
Across the room, she heard Rebecca’s laughter. She wanted to scream and rip the girl’s wig off, exposing her. However, she remained in her seat, her back rigid.
She congratulated herself on her discipline, when Elva appeared from nowhere at her side. “Must not let the night pass without a dance.” She pulled on Kaireen’s elbow.
“I have no wish to,” Kaireen protested. Her voice fell on deaf ears, for Elva yanked her to stand. Her handmaid pushed her forward.
Kaireen’s slippers slid across the stone floor as she tried to dig in her heels.
“Stop, or I will have you locked in the stocks.” She turned her head to yell at her handmaid.
A male hand grasped her arm and escorted her through the line. Her attention shifted as she glared at a beaming Elva. She saw her handmaid skip from the hall.
Then Kaireen glanced at her partner. Bram held her. She tripped, but he steadied her. His hands were warm.
“Careful.” His dark sapphire eyes twinkled. She wondered if one could drown gazing up into their depths. “People will think you swoon for me.”
Her face heated with anger, she believed her skin colored purple. She stamped her foot on his boot, but he did not flinch. She tried to jerk away from his grip, but he held her firmly.
“Let me go.” She looked around for help, but everyone had given them a wide berth.
They danced around the pair, smiling and nodding as if she and Bram were a happy couple.
“’Tis my turn in the line again.”
“No.” He led her to the balcony.
Outside he released her, but blocked her path to re-enter the hall. The music resonated around them. Leaning against the far wall, she crossed her arms. She was two feet away from him, but he was too close.
“I thought the air would clear your head.” He cocked his eyebrow, examining her.
“My head is fine, thank you.”
“Aye, and the rest of you is fine to look at too.” His thick dialect chased shivers through her.
Her hands smoothed her gown. She caught herself and stopped. At seeing his grin, her frown deepened. “I believe it’s improper for you to stare at a lady so.”
“Would you rather I stare at you on our wedding night?” She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. “Whilst you are without clothes?”
“I assure you, sir, we will have no wedding night.” Her blush radiated from her chest and spread between her legs. “You wish to wed during the day then?” He took a step closer. “Very well, daylight will be all the better to see you.”
Music and laughter from inside filtered through the night air. He strode toward her. She braced for his advances, wondering if she had the strength to inflict enough pain to make him reconsider. Part of her wanting to run, the other part daring him closer in challenge.
God’s toenails, how could she have forgotten her dagger? A breath from her, he stopped. Her heart hammered in her chest. His fingers brushed aside a strand of her auburn hair that had slipped from her braid. The brief touch sent fire coursing through her. Afraid her legs would give way she leaned back against the wall.
He did have a wonderful smile though, with full lips and small white scar that went from his lower lip to his chin. If he kissed her, she would like nothing more than to bite through those lips leaving another scar far worse than the one he already bore. Or her dagger would be enough to keep his lips at bay. Why had she forgotten it when Elva dressed her?
Best to make him leave, and soon. He watched her for what felt like an eternity.
“Sir, you take far too many liberties.” Her eyes darted behind him at the dancing. Rebecca craned her neck to see what they did outside the great hall unescorted. “Others…” Kaireen began, but she stopped seeing anger flare in his eyes.
“I take none.” His mouth firmed. “You are to be my wife. I take liberties with no one else.” His voice stung her.
He spun on his heel and left her gaping after him.
DISCOVER OTHER TITLES BY ANDREA R. COOPER
Fantasy / Paranormal Romance:
The Garnet Dagger Book 1 Legends of Oblivion series
Cursed Book 1.5 Legends of Oblivion
Son of Dragons Book 2 Legends of Oblivion series
Historical Romance with a touch of magic:
Viking Fire
Viking Flame prequel to Viking Fire
Contemporary Romance Suspense:
Stolen Hearts Book 1
Viking Flame: Prequel to Viking Fire Page 5
