by Jianne Carlo
“Lord Brand, I would have a word with you.” King Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh halted an arm’s length from Brand.
The monarch wore the purple-dyed cloak of his station and carried a metal scepter topped with the massive carving of a crown. Alternating green and red-jeweled stones embedded on the points of the crown sparkled in the rays of sunlight streaming from the open windows above them.
What now?
Brand strangled a frustrated growl. The king had listened to Brand’s news of Gunnar’s intended invasion with an absent disinterest that had annoyed him to no end. “At your pleasure, my liege.”
“Lord Nikolas, your captain, Thorkell, is searching for you. He and several of your men await you in the bailey. Lord Brand, we will adjourn to my library.” Mac Eiccnigh pointed his royal staff at a door half-hidden by high arched alcove.
Nikolas sketched a bow, murmured his thanks, and marched to the hall’s entrance.
Brand followed in the king’s footsteps. The monarch unlocked the solid oak door with a heavy brass key, shoved the wood to one side, and waved Brand inside.
While Mac Eiccnigh secured the room, Brand examined the chamber, his curiosity piqued by an intricately carved burnished shelf that held nine leather-bound tomes. The gold lettering on one captured his attention. He drew closer and tilted his head to see the lettering. Somewhat awed by not only the number of manuscripts, but the incredible workmanship, Brand could not stopper an impulsive query. “How come you by a copy of Consolation of Philosophy?”
The king’s bushy brows winged up. “Know you the works of Boethius?”
“Aye. My father’s stepbrother established a monastery on the northern coast of Alba. Nikolas and I lived there for many years.” Brand traced the elaborate P in the title.
“You read?” The king rested his scepter against the wall and waved at one of the five chairs ringing a low table.
“Aye.” Brand adjusted his sword and then sat.
Mac Eiccnigh situated himself opposite Brand. He steepled his hands. “I would tell you a tale about my daughter, your wife.”
Brand stiffened. “As you wish, my liege.”
“Étaín came into her truthsaying upon the onset of her courses. ’Tis the way of it with all the women of her line. Word of her ability spread across this isle. Most believed her born of the fair folk and capable of powerful magik. Seven summers ago, she was abducted by one who wished to use her magik to advance himself, Eachan the Younger.”
Rumors of Étaín’s kidnapping had reached Brand’s ears, but he had not been able to discern the details. He studied the monarch intently, but noticed no signs of unease.
“My daughter is stubborn, proud, and loyal. She refused Eachan’s commands and would not help him, even after he had her whipped and tortured.”
Étaín had been tortured? Brand swallowed the bile rushing up his gullet. He gripped the chair’s carved arms and strived to control the fury roiling within him. Eachan the Younger would die by his hand.
“When physical abuse would not force Étaín to cooperate, Eachan sent for the mothers and babes of his own castle. Étaín had paid attention to one wee babe in particular and Eachan had noticed. He gave Étaín a choice—do his bidding or he would kill the babe. She could not believe any capable of such a terrible act and refused his command. He killed the babe.”
Brand’s stomach rioted. “She saw?”
“Aye. He told her every time she displeased him or refused to do as he ordered, he would kill a babe. How many times has she asked you if she pleases you?”
A bolt of lightning-hot rage surged through Brand. He lurched to his feet, dragged both hands through his hair, and paced a tight circle. Then, hands fisted, he faced Mac Eiccnigh. “Eachan still lives?”
He would tear the man apart limb by limb.
“Nay. Think you I would show that villain any mercy? He died by my hand.”
The news did naught to abate Brand’s anger. How could any injure one so innocent as Étaín? He slumped back into the chair.
“I tell you of this so you will understand my daughter’s desperate need to please all. She is a truthsayer, and as such, cannot tell a falsehood.”
Brand jerked to attention. He frowned and cocked his head, wondering what the monarch was trying to convey.
“Étaín survived her time in Eachan’s keep by learning how to distract his attention. She is wily in that regard. ’Tis why I assigned Cedilla, Gavin, and the rest of her guards to always attend her. They full well know her ways. ’Tis how I discovered her infatuation with you.”
“You did naught to halt it.” Brand gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes, daring Mac Eiccnigh to say otherwise.
“Nay. I have long despaired that Étaín would never marry. Eachan, you see, attempted to rape her daily while she was his prisoner.”
Brand shot out of the chair. He grasped his sword’s hilt, the need to brandish his weapon and slash at this Eachan nigh overpowering. A frenzied wrath crashed over him, an inferno of heat no mountain’s eruption could ever match. He shook his head. “She came to me a virgin.”
“Aye. Étaín’s magik is not limited to truthsaying. No man can take her by force. She must consent. Only those who love her can hurt her. She carries a veil of protection.”
Halting his manic striding from one corner to the other, Brand snapped, “What mean you by that?”
“I have told you all that I can. You must learn the rest from Étaín.” The monarch expelled a long sigh. “She has given you her trust. Do naught to break it. Methinks you should speak to her of your intentions.”
Too astounded to reply, Brand simply gaped at the king when he rose from the chair and gathered his staff. “My intentions?”
“You sought to gain my kingdom by fair or foul means. Think you I did not know your men stood poised to attack if Étaín did not choose you? That you plan to bring your people to settle here at Caul Cairlinne?” Mac Eiccnigh pounded his staff on the stone floor.
“How do you know of this?” Brand barked, his ire rising. Who had betrayed him?
“All of my daughters have magik in them. Keara, my youngest, is a soothsayer. She predicted your coming to me this past winter.”
“You could have had me slain. Yet you did naught to stop my actions. I would know the reason.” He locked the king’s gaze.
“You are the only man she has e’er shown any interest. I would have Étaín happy. She yearns to be loved and to give love. Harm a hair on her head, or injure her heart, and I will have you slain. Trust in that.”
Mac Eiccnigh meant every word he uttered, and in that moment, Brand understood how the man came to the throne. Power and charisma radiated from him, and sunlight from the lone window in the chamber streamed around him like a halo. Shivers scraped the back of Brand’s neck.
“I tell you all this now because we must appear as one on the dais at the noon meal. Irvin has returned. My spies tell me he has formed an alliance with this Gunnar you speak of. ’Tis best if he believes we know naught of his scheming. Long has he lusted after Étaín. Be on guard.”
•●•
“Is aught amiss, my lord? Does the food displease you?” Étaín searched Brand’s face, certain something had happened to cause him to be terse and irritated.
“How oft does Irvin visit?”
Startled, she replied without thinking, “Too oft since Mama died. I own, Irvin makes me uneasy. I like it not when he comes across me when I am alone—”
What had she said? Étaín pressed a fist to her mouth. Brand would think her an ill-mannered simpleton who spoke her thoughts. “Pray forgive me, my lord, for uttering such a discourtesy. Irvin is my mother’s cousin, and I must respect him as such.”
Brand gathered her twitching fingers between his warm hands. “I would have you not hide your unease from me. ’Tis a feeling you should always listen to. Many times my life and that of my family has been saved because of a niggling disquiet about a stranger. Do not worry, Étaín, I will not leave
you alone with Irvin. He will not harm you. I protect what is mine, and you are mine now.”
She wanted to eat his delicious declaration, to swallow the words whole and infuse them into her from inside out. This was what she had yearned for these past seven summers, to belong. Étaín knew her family loved her, that most of the people of Caul Cairlinne cared for her, but they only saw the sunny, cheerful princess, not the girl who feared any misstep of hers could cause another’s death.
Blinking away the threatening tears, she hunted for a choice morsel of roasted venison, speared a charred piece, and offered it to Brand, “I thank you for those kind words, my lord. I will treasure them. Though ’tis difficult to believe either you or your brother having niggling feelings.”
He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, and their glances met. “What amuses you so, wife? The word niggling, or my saying it?”
Étaín beamed. “Both, my lord.”
Brand closed his lips around the chunk of pork and chewed, his gaze still fixed on her. He swallowed.
She admired his neck and studied the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. How had the blatant differences between men and women escaped her for so long? How she longed to explore all of him, to learn what caresses placed where would cause him to gasp in pleasure.
He stabbed a baby carrot and waved it under her nose. “Eat, wife. You but push the food around on your trencher.”
Étaín bit the vegetable off the end of his knife.
“Irvin was displeased when we wed. Had he hopes of marrying you?” Brand swiped a sidelong look down the high table to where Irvin sat in the middle of the members of the Council of Caul Cairlinne.
“We are cousins. The church would never sanction our union. Nay. I cannot believe he would consider such a sinful act. His family is pious. His sister is an abbess.” ’Twere the phrases she repeated in her mind whenever Irvin trapped her alone.
“What reason did Irvin give for returning?” He brought his pewter goblet to her lips. “Drink.”
How did he expect her to both swallow and answer his question? She frowned at him, but sipped at the wine. She patted her mouth dry with the cloth attached to her gyrdel for such a purpose. “Irvin told Gavin a gale wages o’er the ocean to the north. ’Tis where his brother’s holding is located.”
“He is a younger son?”
“Aye, the last of five. His brother inherited the title of Earl when his father died two winters past.”
“Are the ships his or the earl’s?”
“His. Irvin served under King Edward when he fought for the throne. He gained the ships and warriors during his tenure with Edward. Gavin says the king is to reward him with his own title and lands.” Étaín accepted a portion of quail Brand offered.
“My captain, Thorkell, informs me Irvin has over three scores of warriors under his command. How does he earn the coin to feed and clothe so many men?” Brand poured more wine into his goblet.
She shrugged having never considered the notion. “I know not. Gavin may though.”
“I will speak with Gavin later. Enough of Irvin. I must meet with your Da and the council after the meal. What do you do?”
“I am to meet with Hilde to make a list of our stores. Hilde mentioned you and Da spent some time together?” Étaín had not had the time to speak with her father. She harbored a desperate hope the two men would become true allies and friends.
“Aye. Your father has a great many books. Do you read?”
“I do, my lord. As do most of those who live in Caul Cairlinne. I learned from my mother, as did my sisters. After Each—after my mother died, Da suggested we teach the children of the settlement. Alana, the sister after me, had the brilliant notion of teaching both mothers and children.”
’Twas the one activity that had soothed her marred soul after Da rescued her from Eachan’s captivity. The children had saved her from a despair so deep she had committed a sin the church condemned. Unconscious of her actions, Étaín thumbed the slight scar on the underside of her wrist.
Brand captured her hands and turned them over. He peered at the faint white line beneath which the green of her pulsing veins showed.
Étaín tried to tug out of his hold, but he drew her hand to his mouth, and, his gaze directed at her, kissed the scar that so shamed her. Did he guess she had tried to end her life? ’Twas a dire sin, but at the time Étaín had despaired of ever pleasing Eachan and had decided ’twas a simple trade. One life—hers—for that of all the babes in Eachan’s keep.
Brand cupped her chin and bent so close his breath tickled lips still wet from the wine she had drunk. ’Twas a delicious whisper of a caress, and the secret flesh hidden between her woman folds tingled. She squeezed her thighs together.
“I know of the abduction, Étaín. I know the terrible way Eachan tortured you. Did he still walk this earth, today would be his last. I cannot avenge what was done to you, but I vow this—’twill ne’er happen while I draw breath.”
“I did not want you to know. You have the same look in your eyes all had when Da brought me back. Poor Étaín to have suffered so. Terrible Étaín that she caused the deaths of seven babes. Seven wee—” Étaín jerked away from him and cast her glance down. She wrenched her hands and took a deep breath. She had vowed never to speak of it. Never to voice the overheard gossip.
Father Peter had told her over and over that she had committed no sin, that she was not responsible for the deaths of innocent children. But Étaín knew better, and coward that she was, could not bring herself to confess her attempt to end her own life to anyone, especially the priest.
The images of the sweet faces of those seven babes haunted her dreams.
Not a night went by that she did not see their chubby faces. Every morn she awoke filled with mournful regret. For seven years it had been thus, mental self-flagellation at night and a deep despairing remorse in the morning when she first opened her eyes. Aye, thus it had been until this spring. Until she had first glimpsed Brand.
From that first day, her nights had been filled with his features and not those of each babe Eachan had killed right in front of her, his men holding her cheeks and forcing her to watch. When she had squeezed her eyes shut, Eachan had threatened to kill another child, so she had seen each little boy and girl take their last breath.
Brand shoved his chair away from the table.
Étaín stared at his dust-crusted boots.
“My liege, I beg you excuse me from the council meeting this day. I have a pressing matter to attend to. Come, Étaín.” He grasped her hand and pulled her to standing.
So distraught was Étaín that ’twas only when he scooped her off her feet and into a tight embrace that she realized he had noticed her brimming eyes. She bit her tongue and tried to collect herself. “Pray my lord, forgive my outburst. I was overcome. ’Twill not happen again.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth while sprinting up the staircase leading to the second floor. “You did naught to ask for my forgiveness, Étaín. What was done to you is beyond monstrous.”
Étaín chewed the inside of her cheeks and willed away the threatening tears, her vision so blurred she only realized their direction when the sun’s rays glistened off the stones of the hearth in the center of their room.
Brand kicked the door to their chamber closed, marched straight to the bed, and sat on the mattress, his back to the wall. A low fire flickered the occasional flare of flames from the glowing coals at the center of a pile of logs. The window covers had been tied back and sunlight dappled dancing shadows in the room’s recessed corners.
Étaín breathed in the mixture of scents filling her nostrils, soap and leather and musk from Brand, a hint of dung from the cow pasture directly behind the castle, and the pine logs burning in the hearth. She shifted on his lap and blinked when her behind slid over his erection
“Have you e’er shed a tear for them?” He tipped her chin so she looked directly into his eyes.
She shook her head, her throat too cl
ogged to form words.
He tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “Will you tell me of it?”
Focusing on her twined fingers, she shook her head.
“Enid was the first. Eachan chose her because you favored her. You taught her a game with pebbles.”
Étaín jerked her head up, her mouth slack. “How can you know this? I have ne’er told any. I could not speak of it.”
A fierce ache stabbed at her temples.
“The first day we saw each other, that night you dreamed of her and the rest of the babes he killed. But I wove my way into your dreams and chased away their faces.”
His stare was so piercing, Étaín felt as if he had stripped away all the sunny layers she had built to hide the ugliness eating away at her soul.
“I do not understand, my lord. What mean you by those words?” She kneaded the throbbing at the side of her head.
He captured her hand and kissed each fingertip before replying, “’Tis a lengthy tale, and one that must be our secret for the while. Will you vow to tell no one?”
“I am very good at keeping secrets, my lord. I give you my solemn oath. I will tell none of whatever you are about to impart to me.”
She listened as he spoke of his first wife’s betrayal and false accusation. Étaín had to bite her tongue when Brand spoke of his banishment from the Danish courts. Her ire dissipated when he talked of his father’s discovery of an uninhabited, fertile island. She asked no questions when he explained how their settlement on Bá Brestá Isle was established. But she could no longer reign in her curiosity on hearing his description of the mountain that dominated the small isle and the flames, ash, and lava eruptions that spewed from it.
“Did the mountain not have a top then?” She screwed up her face and tried to picture such a peculiar image.
“At one time it did. When I was a wee lad my father and his brothers climbed to the mountain’s peak one summer. ’Twas a journey that took many days there and back, or so my mother says. Many winters passed. One day in the height of summer, there was a great rumbling and the entire settlement watched as the peak collapsed.”
