Daughter of the king

by Ashley York

  “I am fine, Mamaídh.” Brighit stood beside Darragh, even taking his hand, though she didn’t look at him. “I have been well bedded. The sheets are yonder.”

  She pointed toward the bed, and like a swarm of bees to a flower, the women rushed to retrieve the stained sheet with its telltale proof of her virginity.

  “I had no thought of such trivial concerns, Sean. I am pleased with Brighit as my wife.” Darragh turned to the woman at his side, with her upturned nose and fierce appearance. The woman who still refused to even glance his way. “As I hope my wife is with me.”

  The silence in the hall seemed to go on and on until Brighit finally spoke. “Of course. I am well pleased.”

  Thomasina beamed, then took her daughter into her arms, whispering things Darragh couldn’t hear. Sean clasped hands with Darragh. “Then we shall return below unless ye wish to remain here?”

  “Below,” Brighit said with far too much enthusiasm.

  She pushed to join the crowd, making her escape from him. Darragh’s sense of having fallen short was far from eased. And with his groin still sore, he knew what a stiff upper lip felt like as he forced a smile and followed them to rejoin the celebration.

  The talk in the great hall quieted as soon as the musicians took over and the dancing began. Brighit enjoyed watching the unmarried ladies flirt shamelessly with every one of her brothers, save Lorccán. He managed to find some pretty lasses his own age, sitting amidst them and dazzling them with his wit and charm. Since his trip north, he seemed to have grown a foot and acquired an attitude to match.

  Brighit sighed as she watched the carefree merrymaking all around the head table where she sat silently with her new husband. He’d assured her mother he was pleased to take her to wife, but surely that was not the case. Shading her face with her hand, she relived the shame at what she’d done. He would certainly never forgive her, and she didn’t blame him.

  So wrapped up in her own worries, Brighit didn’t notice the rowdy crowd coming toward them until they started to drag her and Darragh from their seats to join in the festivities. At first hesitant, she gave in as gracefully as she could. Darragh did the same, even taking her hand as they joined the revelry. The lads on one side and the ladies on the other, the dancing did not allow for one-on-one discussion with anyone, which was fine with her. Embarrassing though her parents’ intrusion had been, at least it had put an end to his questions. Brighit understood her parents’ wedding had included very little in the way of tradition and ceremony, and it was important to Thomasina that Brighit should have what she had not.

  Lachlann picked up a fiddle to join in with the musicians, loudly stomping along to keep the beat from slowing down. The ladies in their best attire created a colorful border while the lads—some in the leine that came down to their knees, and some in trews and tunics—faced them. Turning, the single-file line of dancers moved up to cast off in opposite directions, only to meet in the middle again. With hands raised, they moved toward each other, stopping short of their palms actually touching.

  This dance was followed by a slower version in which the men made their way down the line of ladies, pairing up. Each couple circled around, palms nearly flush. When Darragh came to Brighit, their eyes held as they circled about, the rest of the guests forgotten. Though his face was peaceful enough, she wondered about his thoughts. Was he thinking of a way to set her aside? Did he wish he’d never agreed to take her to wife? Or did he wish they were alone so that he could hold her in his arms and kiss her again?

  Brighit stumbled, but Darragh was quick to catch her.

  “Is ought amiss?”

  She straightened her gown to avoid looking at him. “I am…exhausted. Nothing more.”

  “Then, ‘tis time to rest.” Darragh raised his forearm for her to place her hand on it, and she allowed him to lead her back to the head table.

  As soon as they sat, he took a sip from his golden chalice. Brighit feared he would ignore her, but he turned to her and said, “They are enjoying the dancing. I did not realize ye were so agile on yer feet.”

  She snorted. “Are ye referring to my near fall?”

  Darragh’s eyes creased at the corner with his smile. “I would never call attention to something ye had not intended to do. I would prefer to overlook unintended offenses.”

  When his smile faded, Brighit realized he was seeking an explanation, an excuse at the very least, for her treatment of him. He held her gaze, but she didn’t know what to say. It was suddenly difficult to swallow, but then he broke the contact, looking away.

  “I referred to yer dancing. Ye seem very comfortable with the music.”

  Before she could answer, the large door to the great hall was shoved open with so much force that all in the room gasped. The dancers froze mid step, their eyes locked on the entryway, and even the musicians halted their playing to turn toward the sound.

  Five large hooded men, covered with mantles of wolves’ fur, well armed with axes, shields, and swords entered the hall. Warriors. An intimidating sight. They stood in the doorway, glancing about at the revelers as if not quite understanding what was going on. The man in the lead took a few more steps into the hall before removing his hood, revealing long, black hair and a beard to match. His eyes darted about the room as if searching someone out. His gaze landed on Darragh and Brighit, where it hesitated for the slightest moment before continuing around the room.

  Tadhg stepped toward the men, his hand outstretched to their leader. “Seigine. Ye’re late to the festivities.”

  They’d been invited. The tension in the room lightened a bit. All the neighboring tribes were called to a celebration unless they were enemies. The more important the person being wed, the more neighbors invited.

  And yet…the newcomer’s dark eyes assessed Tadhg with what appeared to be disdain. Darragh tensed beside Brighit, but she dared not say anything. No one spoke. Seigine finally dipped his head, a show of acquiescence. “Forgiveness please, Tadhg.

  They clasped hands and the entire assembly seemed to heave a sigh of relief. Brighit was fairly certain she had never met this man and his warriors. Over the past few days, many of the clans from the surrounding area had come to the castle to pay their respects, but it was impossible to keep track of them all.

  Seigine continued. “I do not come to celebrate.”

  “Where is yer king?” Tadhg searched the faces of the men behind him. “I do not see yer brother with ye. Has he intended an offense against me?”

  “Cathair is dead.”

  The collective gasp from the crowd sent a sensation like cold fingers sliding up Brighit’s back.

  “In battle?”

  The large man’s eyes seemed to bore into Tadhg’s. “No battle ensued. We found his body.”

  “An accident?”

  Brighit started to shiver. Uncontrollably. She sought out her uncle in the crowd, but his expression revealed only mild curiosity.

  “Yer hands are cold.” She started at Darragh’s words, at the sensation of his hand gripping her own. Without looking, she knew he watched her.

  “I am fine.”

  “Let me get ye a—”

  She shook her head, the movement causing shooting pain behind her eyes, and suddenly the room grew blurry all around her.

  “No accident. He was murdered.” The tall man’s words were met with stunned silence.

  Chapter 9

  Who would wish him dead?” Tadhg asked.

  Brighit could barely hear him through the pain in her head.

  “That is the reason we’ve come to ye for help. We’ve signed yer treaty.”

  The room erupted in speculative chatter until Tadhg raised his hand for silence. Motioning Sean closer, he responded, “Of course. D'ye speak as the ri túaithe?”

  Seigine glanced at the men with him. When all nodded their agreement, he turned to face Tadhg again and said, “There was little choice. We must seek revenge. A leader is required.”

  “Ye signed the treaty
and we will give assistance as agreed.”

  “I need only the blood of the man who killed my brother.”

  Darragh stood beside Brighit. She had difficulty swallowing. She had a notion that Seigine’s bloodlust would not fade should he discover it was a woman who’d killed his brother.

  “And the treaty states that a man shall not be found guilty and killed in cold blood. He will be brought before a combined council of the derb fine,” Sean said. “There is no question that ye have our assistance, but we must not act in haste.”

  His words, though meant to be calming, led to an eruption of shouted words from the men before him.

  “What of justice?” Seigine’s outrage was uncontainable.

  “There will be justice when our laws are followed. Justice for all the clans,” Tadhg said, his voice loud so that his words were heard above the din.

  “Our laws must be obeyed,” Sean insisted.

  “I want the blood of this murderer.” Seigine’s bellow was filled with such rage, the others in the hall backed away from the five men. Darragh stood firm, his attention on his father.

  “I signed yer treaty. I demand yer assistance.”

  With each word, the man pressed closer to Tadhg until they were almost nose to nose.

  “And ye shall have it.” Tadhg stood his ground, his voice remaining calm. “We will call a meeting of the council with a member from each clan that signed the treaty. That will take time.”

  The tall man backed away, but he was not appeased. With a scowl, he looked around at each of them. When his gaze came to rest on Brighit, her body tensed. She clenched her jaw against the bile flooding her mouth.

  Seigine came toward her with plodding steps. “Is this the new bride?”

  “This is my wife. Brighit.” Darragh moved a step closer to the man, intercepting his course to her.

  Her breath quivered so badly she had to part her lips to let in air.

  “A lovely lass.” When Seigine reached toward her, Brighit jumped. She looked at the man’s hand hanging in the air before her, convinced her knees would give way at any moment. It took all the strength she could rally to force her hand toward him. Seigine immediately bowed over it, kissing her knuckles lightly.

  “May ye bear many strong children.”

  Brighit struggled to steady her breath. Guilt was making her overreact. The man was being as polite as all the other neighbors had been. There was nothing to worry about. No one would find out.

  “My thanks.” Darragh spoke the words she was unable to say, lest offense be taken.

  She dropped her shoulders and was about to bow her head when Seigine raised his eyes to meet hers. The dark orbs seemed to pierce right through her, and she had the overwhelming sense that he knew she was the killer. She would have yanked her hand away to break contact, but there was no need. Darragh stepped closer then, lowering a hand on the man’s shoulder and turning him back toward Tadhg.

  “Please stay and partake of refreshments before ye return home. We are sorry for yer loss, but ye and yer men must still eat.”

  The rest of the words were lost on Brighit. Those around her were beginning to disperse and she backed her way to the table, unsure of how she could make her escape.

  “They are fearsome looking warriors.” Terrence was beside her, extending a hand to assist her to her seat. “But ye do not need to look quite so frightened. We could best them in a battle and they know it.”

  The man’s boasting brought a curl to her lips. It was so like Darragh’s closest friend to make such statements. “And ye know this from experience?”

  The man shrugged, his lips puckering slightly. “Some things a warrior simply knows. That we could best Clan MacCochlain is one of those things.”

  Terrence took his leave and Brighit was left to observe the festivities. The dancers prepared to resume while the musicians saw to their instruments. Brighit would not be joining them. Her legs were shaking too violently. Darragh had fallen in with the circle of men escorting Seigine and his clan to the table laid out with food and drink. Her eyes remained on him, watching as Terrence joined them.

  The treaty the clans had signed was intended to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, to help them find other ways to work out differences, but there were many clans with long-held grudges that went back generations. Her father and Tadhg had worked so very hard to form this treaty. If even one tribe had not agreed, it would have all been for naught.

  When the music started, the group of men left the hall through the main door and slipped out of Brighit’s sight.

  “Ye’re quite pale. Drink this before yer husband becomes concerned.” She turned to accept the wine, but her heart leapt to her throat at the sight of the bearer.

  Seigine settled himself in Darragh’s seat, leaning back as if he belonged there. A strange smell drifted to her. He looked out over the dancers with a thoughtful gaze. Brighit gulped down the wine, frantically thinking of a way to take her leave. She could not sit with this man. The colors swirled at the corners of her eyes as the dancers moved past. When they retreated, he finally turned to look at her.

  “Ye do not recognize me?”

  “I do not.”

  Seigine pushed his mantle back over his shoulder, revealing the blood-soaked tunic beneath. The source of the tangy smell, she realized.

  “Mayhap ye would like to see my horse?” he asked.

  The sparkle of the large brooch holding his brait at his throat seemed to wink at her.

  “I do—” She forced herself to swallow. “I do not care to see yer horse.”

  Shifting forward, he pushed the wolf skin back and put a hand to his waist. “Then mayhap ye’d like to see this?”

  In his grip was the serpent head of her dagger, the two sapphires eyes sparkling at her, tucked into his belt. She gasped, but he merely smiled, turning back toward the room and allowing the material to cover it again.

  “So d’ye recognize me now?”

  When she started to stand, he gripped her arm so she could not move.

  “It appears ye do. Sit. Let us talk.”

  The music changed into a faster paced song, the colors a grotesque mix swirling before her. She said nothing.

  “Ah, Brighit? Is it? We only have a few moments before yer husband returns and so much to discuss. Are ye certain ye wish to remain silent?”

  Movement from the entryway caught her eye and she sat up straighter.

  “When he returns, I will reveal the murderer’s weapon. Such a unique blade.” He turned toward her, a tight expression on his face. “I am certain they will realize who has killed my brother in cold blood.”

  A small shake of her head became violent, but he gripped her chin to hold it still, searching her face. “And where are the marks from that attack? Is it a powder ye’ve used to cover them? Another piece of truth that a good washing will reveal.”

  “Do not.”

  “Good. Ye speak.”

  “And ye watched! Ye saw what he did to me. I was defending myself when I killed him.”

  His pink lips widened, peeking through his dark beard when he smiled. “And what a defense ye gave, little one, for a lad…and for a lass?”

  His eyes darted down her length, and he wetted his lips. “As a lass, ye intrigue me even more.”

  She sucked in her breath, but he turned now toward the men re-entering the hall and dropped his hand. “But ye have wasted much time. Mayhap ’twould be best for me to show them what I found buried in my brother’s chest.”

  There would be no mistaking the serpent-headed hilt of the dagger. Her father had given her that weapon.

  “Please do not.” Her voice squeaked, but his gaze remained on the entryway. He stood and removed himself a respectable distance from her before finally giving her his attention. Seigine shrugged as if it mattered very little to him then took his leave.

  Darragh intercepted the man, leaving his father and Sean with the others in the group.

  “Darragh!” Brighit stood as she
called out his name, desperate to have her say before the man revealed her.

  Both he and Seigine turned toward her. Darragh’s expression one of concern. Seigine’s one of amusement.

  “Darragh, I have been speaking with yer new bride.” His voice was loud, calling the attention of the entire gathering since the music had stopped for the moment. “From Clan Cruadhlaoch. A clan as powerful as yer own.”

  Crossing his arms about his chest, Darragh nodded at the man.

  “Please, Darragh.” She couldn’t help the fact that she sounded desperate. “Come here.”

  When he began to move, Seigine checked the movement with a hand on his arm. “Are ye not spending yer honeyed moon apart from the others?”

  The tradition was still kept by many. Her heart leapt with hope. If she could get him away from the others, certainly she would have time to explain what had taken place, how there had been no choice but to kill the man who was assaulting her.

  “Aye, we will, Darragh.”

  “If that is what ye wish.” Darragh’s face clearly showed his confusion, but then he turned to his father and said, “Although I would prefer to be present for discussions.”

  “As well ye should be,” Tadhg said, his hands on his hips. “Ye and Brighit may need to remain near for yer time of seclusion.”

  Seclusion was all she wanted. Here or somewhere else, it mattered not. She required time to get the courage up to tell her husband what she had done. Her gut tightened at the thought.

  Seigine eyes were on her again. “My men and I will continue to hunt down this killer. I feel certain he has not gone far. Mayhap we will find him with the blood still on his hands.”

  “Even with proof that strong—” Tadhg’s warning tone drew Seigine’s, “—ye must wait to have yer justice seen to. It must be agreed upon by the council.”

  “A punishment befitting the crime.” Sean’s eyes narrowed. “And it must be carried out in the presence of the council once they have decreed the judgment.”

  “A murderer is put to death.”

  Sean nodded at the dark man’s declaration. Brighit’s skin crawled. Was there truly no consideration for a killing that had been done in defense? She searched her mind and realized she’d paid such little attention to her father’s work, she had no idea.