by Mia Marlowe
“It’s a fair party, princess.” Jorand stepped out of the shadows and leaned against the wall next to her.
She hadn’t heard him approach and nearly toppled off her perch.
“I thought Northmen craved merrymaking just as well as the sons of Erin do.”
The moon chose that moment to slide from behind its feathery curtain and shine its full strength on Jorand’s face. Brenna bit her lip. Just looking at him made her chest constrict.
“ ‘Tis your celebration,” she said. “Why are ye not after enjoying it then?”
“Maybe for the same reason you aren’t.”
“Too many people?”
“Or maybe not the right one.” Jorand clasped his hands in front of him and leaned his elbows on the rock wall. Then he cocked his head at her and gave her a look that made her shiver.
Brenna was unable to meet his steady gaze. She scarcely breathed. The small hairs on his arm brushed against hers, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. She was intensely aware of his scent, a hint of wood shavings and the tang of the sea over a warm, unmistakably masculine smell. Brenna cleared her throat in discomfort.
“I have not yet thanked ye, Northman.”
“I noticed.”
“ ‘Tis not for lack of sentiment, I assure ye,” she said quickly. “ ‘Tis in your debt I am. ‘Twas a blessing of God ye were there for me sister.”
He dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t know if the gods had much to do with it. I think it was more likely the handiwork of that devil you talk so much about.”
“No, ‘twas God,” Brenna said, taking comfort in repeating what she’d heard from nearly everyone in Brian Ui Niall’s keep. “Sure, the Almighty strengthened your arm to defend Moira. Even Father Michael says so.”
“And yet you sound doubtful.”
How had he heard that in her voice? “No, not at all,” she denied. “I was only wondering...”
“What, princess?”
If he divined her secrets so readily from the tone of her voice, what might he read in her face? She ducked her head to shield herself from his gaze. “ ‘Tis blasphemous to think it.”
“You can tell me.”
His smile should be counted as one of the seven deadly sins.
“I’m a heathen, remember,” Jorand said. “I’m not likely to be shocked and I don’t go to confession like you do, so who would I tell?”
Brenna knotted her fingers together. The temptation to talk to someone about her doubts was more than she could resist. Even if he didn’t share her faith, Jorand’s willingness to listen invited her confidence.
“ ‘Tis only that if the Lord God was there making sure ye were about to help Moira... I’m wondering where the Almighty was when such things happened to ... to others.”
“You mean like those crofters?”
When she frowned at him, he went on. “Remember? The burnt-out farmstead you showed me that first day. Northmen were there, you said.”
“Aye, just so,” she said, her heart hiccupping in her chest. “Why does misfortune come upon some and not others? Are they somehow deserving of their fate?” She chewed her bottom lip. “Are they unworthy?”
Jorand stared into the night sky where the starry Hunter strode through a break in the clouds. He was silent for so long, Brenna thought he must have misunderstood her dilemma or even forgotten she was there.
“No,” he finally said. “It isn’t a question of worthiness or I doubt I’d still draw breath. It’s just bad luck. As long as there are men in the world, there will be those who are determined to hurt others and there will be those who will be hurt. It doesn’t mean they deserve it.”
His words were like soothing balm on a burn. If Jorand was right, part of what happened at Clonmacnoise wasn’t her fault, after all.
And it wasn’t God’s, either. Didn’t Father Michael say He had no favorites, that He was no respecter of persons? Just because there were evil men in the world, that didn’t mean God was any less good. But that wasn’t the whole of her dilemma.
“Ye were quick to help me sister. What if ye hadn’t? I mean, suppose someone could have come to her aid and didn’t?” The small muscles in her face strained as she fought to get the words out. “Suppose it was another person’s fault she was even there in the first place?”
“You take too much on yourself,” he said. “Your sister told me she’d seen you on the ridge before she came down to the beach. You couldn’t have known Moira was going into danger. And even if you’d been there, you couldn’t have helped her. You’d only have shared her fate.”
Brenna sighed. He meant well, but he misunderstood her question and she wasn’t prepared to enlighten him. She’d wrestled with these thoughts for months. Just when she’d begin to make peace with herself, something reopened the wound. Best to let it bleed. She wasn’t ready to cauterize it in public.
“Brenna,” Jorand said softly. “What happened to you?”
She felt as though he’d punched her in the gut. How was this man able to read her as though she was a freshly illuminated manuscript? It wouldn’t do at all. The wall she erected around her heart had been breached, but she quickly shored up her defenses.
“Devil if I know what ye mean,” she said as she slid off the wall and started back to the keep.
He snatched up one of her hands.
“Oh, I think you do,” he said as he pulled her toward him. “Whatever it is, you’ve got to let it out. It’s like a worm eating you from the inside.”
“There’s a pleasant prospect.” She glowered at him. “Thank ye for the lovely image ye’ve conjured for me, Northman.”
“After all this time, that’s all I still am in your sight. Just a Northman.”
When she tried to pull away, he tugged her in close and cupped her chin. “Ah, Brenna. Can you not say my true name? Not even once?”
He leaned down toward her, his deep eyes dark in the moonlight. His mouth was so close, one corner turned slightly up. Brenna gulped, wondering what that mouth might taste like.
“Jorand,” she said softly.
The name was nearly swallowed up as his lips covered hers in a kiss both sudden and inevitable. Her first impulse was to pull away, but his kiss beguiled her. It was not the kind of kiss she’d expected from a man like him.
His mouth was warm and sure. His lips pressed against hers just enough to let her know she’d been kissed before he pulled back. It was as sweet a kiss as she could imagine. A kiss that wanted to give, not take. A kiss that left no bitterness in its wake.
“There now, that wasn’t so terrible, was it?” he asked.
“Do you mean saying your name or letting you kiss me?”
“Both.”
Her lips twitched in a suppressed smile. “It was tolerable.”
“Just tolerable?” He grinned. “I know can do better than that.”
Brenna stiffened as he pulled her closer. Fire danced along her body where it pressed against his. She fought against the urge to cry out.
The rising panic she felt must have shown on her face, even in the dim moonlight. “Hush now. Calm yourself, Brenna,” he whispered. “I’ll not hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”
His mouth closed on hers once more, this time with more insistence. Brenna trembled under his lips, but warmth stole over her, as though she were being dipped into a hot bath. His mouth’s gentle probing released a flood of new sensations in her belly. One by one, her locked muscles loosened and she relaxed into his strong body.
With hesitation, she let herself rest her palms on his shoulders, enjoying the feel of his muscles under the rough cloth of his tunic. Almost of their own volition, her hands crept up and draped around Jorand’s neck, sliding under the thick blond hair that brushed past his shoulders. His bare skin was warm and smooth under her fingers.
One of his hands caressed her spine and then pressed her against him. Brenna felt the hardness in his groin and fear rushed back into her.
She shoved ag
ainst his chest and he released her mouth.
“Never kiss me again, Northman,” she spat between clenched teeth.
“Only if you can honestly tell me you didn’t enjoy it,” Jorand said, casting a knowing look.
Brenna made a growling noise in the back of her throat and yanked herself out of his arms. He didn’t fight to keep her there. She stomped away toward the stone tower.
Halfway across the courtyard she met Moira.
“Where’s Keefe—I mean Jorand?” her sister wanted to know. “Da is calling for him and I’ve looked everywhere.”
“He’s over there.” Brenna pointed in the direction of the rock wall. “Though I can’t imagine what a body would want with the likes of him,” she added sourly.
“I can.” Moira’s voice was as soft as newly churned butter.
“Fine then.” A new feeling she couldn’t identify swirled in her gut and made her insides jump. “He’s all yours, sister. Take him with me blessing.”
As she stormed toward the keep, Brenna finally found a name for the sinking sensation inside her. It was fear. Fear that Moira would take her at her word.
And take her Northman.
Chapter Ten
The noise of laughter and roughhousing greeted her when Brenna opened the heavy oak door. Between the glaring torchlight and the swirl of colors on the tightly packed guests of the Donegal, she could scarcely keep her eyes open.
She hung her brat on the peg by the door and slid along the curving outer wall till she came to an arrow loop, a narrow cross-shaped opening in the stone. In case of attack, a defender could loose shafts in virtually any direction with very little risk to himself from an arrow loop. There was a narrow ledge before the slit wide enough for her to perch upon. She tucked her knees to her chin and her nose to the opening for fresh air.
Each time the keep door swung open, she looked over, expecting to see Jorand and her sister. Each time, her heart sank deeper with disappointment.
Was Moira in the Northman’s arms in the moonlight now?
Why should I care? She balled the hem of her skirt in her fists. Brenna kept her gaze cast to the floor lest anyone see her struggle to stay calm. A pair of scuffed shoes appeared in her line of sight. She looked up to see who was wearing them.
“Come, Brenna, give us a song,” Connor McNaught demanded with a drunken slur in his voice.
“I don’t feel inclined to sing,” she said, wishing he’d go away.
“Then I’ll have to do it meself.” Connor clambered up on one of the stout tables and bellowed out a ribald song about the coronation of the king of the clan Conaill, a festive and crude ritual ending in the public copulation between the king and a white mare. It was an ancient custom and, as far as Brenna knew, still in practice. The crowd roared with laughter, but Brenna feared she might be ill.
Her gaze slid to the door against her volition. What was keeping her sister and the Northman?
“Ah, daughter!” Brian Ui Niall’s voice rang out over the hall as he lifted her harp. “ ‘Tis some time since we heard ye and this fine wee instrument. Give us a song, then.”
Brenna’s lips tightened into a line. She’d never felt less like singing in her life, but she couldn’t refuse a direct request from her father, much less her king. She elbowed her way to Brian Ui Niall’s side and took the harp from him. After tuning the cat-gut strings, she settled the instrument on her knee and waited for silence to fill the hall.
It had been a long time since she played her harp and her fingers were hesitant at first. But after a few feathery strokes, her hands remembered their business and released a delicate melody into the smoky air. Then Brenna began to sing.
O’er the lonely hills I wander,
O’er cloud-wraithed mountain, by surging sea.
O whither have ye roamed, my dear one?
O will ye ne’er return to me?
As she started the last refrain, a slight stir in the air told her the keep door had opened. She looked up from the harp to see Jorand and her sister tumble in, all smiles, Moira’s fluty laugh and Jorand’s rumbling chuckle floating toward her. The sound pierced her heart like an arrow.
The Northman was head and shoulders taller than the other men in her father’s keep, so it was no trouble to meet his gaze over the crowd. His smile faded as she continued to sing, but his eyes held the same fire that had burned in their depths moments before he kissed her.
Brenna’s voice caught in her throat, but she somehow managed to finish the song.
I sought my love in glens and dells
Where fairies haunt the darkling trees.
O whither have ye roamed, my dear one?
O will ye ne’er return to me?
When the last wisp of sound faded, the guests erupted in loud clapping and stomping till the floor of the keep trembled. Brian Ui Niall kissed Brenna on the cheek and silenced the crowd with upraised arms.
“ ‘Tis good to know my little songbird hasn’t forgotten how to warble,” he said. “But pleasant as her songs are, that’s not why I called all Donegal to the keep. We’re here tonight to honor a stranger among us. Jorand, me lad, come up here.”
The guests parted to make way for the big Northman.
When Jorand reached the king, Brian Ui Niall slapped both his hands on Jorand’s shoulders and bid him to stand beside him and face the throng.
“In times past, I’ve hated your kind, Northman. They’ve been a scourge from the sea, the cause of endless woe to the people of Erin. I came to believe the raiders from Lothland were more beast than man.”
The gathering nodded its assent.
“Since ye washed up on our shores, I’ve altered me thinking on that point somewhat. Now I’m after believing there’s good and evil in all sorts of folk,” the king said as he turned to Jorand. “Ye are one of the good ones.”
The Northman studied the floor, as if embarrassed by her father’s praise.
“For the way ye saved me daughter Moira, I’m deeply in your debt.”
Brenna’s heart lurched as Jorand looked over the heads of the gathered Irishmen toward Moira, who was leaning against the oak door.
“I’m glad I was there to help,” Jorand said simply.
“So am I, lad,” the king said. “And that’s why I’m after joining my house to ye. Here before these witnesses, I’m offering ye me daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Jorand seemed struck dumb as he continued to gaze at Moira. Brenna thought she might be sick on the spot.
“What say ye?” Brian demanded.
“The king does me honor but—”
“Good! ‘Tis settled then. I’m pleased to announce the betrothal of me daughter to the Northman, Jorand,” the king said. “We’ll finalize the details of the agreement in private,” he said softly, then bellowed out, “Father Michael, we’ll be havin’ a wedding!”
Then, inexplicably, the king turned and took Brenna’s hand. He led her to the Northman and placed her icy palm in Jorand’s warm one. Then Brian held their joined hands aloft.
The crowd was silent for the space of a half dozen heartbeats, but then roused itself to offer a chorus of well-wishes and half-hearted cheers.
“God’s grace on the pair of ye!” The king’s blessing echoed off the stone walls. “And may your joining bring peace and an end to the ravages of Northmen on the people of Donegal.”
So that was her father’s thinking. A Norse son-in-law might exempt them from future raids. Peace meant crops sown in season and full bellies all winter. Safety from Norse raiders was a sentiment the clan could endorse enthusiastically and the cheers were louder and more heartfelt this time.
Brenna hoped their marriage would bring peace to someone. Since she suspected her betrothed preferred her sister, the union wasn’t likely to bring much peace to her.
Chapter Eleven
“Da, I cannot believe ye would make this match without so much as a by-your-leave from me!” Brenna’s pent-up outrage nearly exploded when the last guests st
raggled out of the keep in the wee hours of the morning.
“Or me,” Moira said coolly.
“Be easy, daughters,” Brian Ui Niall said, raising his hands to silence them. “Moira, get ye to your bed this instant. Ye are not to trouble yourself further on this matter, and that’s me final word.”
Moira huffed her disappointment, but the king’s dark scowl sent her stomping off to the ladder. A moment later, from the uppermost story, Brenna heard the door to their small room slam with vehemence.
Brian Ui Niall sighed. “Brenna, ye must trust me. ‘Tis only your welfare I’m thinking of.”
“Me welfare!” Her brows shot up. “To wed a stranger we know next to nothing of. How can that possibly be conducive to me welfare?”
“He’s hardly a stranger, Brenna. We may not know much of his past, but I’m thinking Jorand’s shown us something of his true mettle in the short time he’s been with us.” The king tossed a glance at the Northman who sat, stony as the keep itself, by the smoldering peat fire. “Ye must admit we owe him for the way he saved your sister.”
“But it doesn’t mean ye owe him me!”
“Ye know as well as I that I cannot offer him Moira. It flies against all custom to marry off the younger before the elder is made a bride. If ye’re not for the Church, ye need a husband, daughter.” The king raked a hand through his dark hair. “Brenna, me heart, there’s the other matter to consider.”
Brenna felt herself blanch. How could her father broach that thorny subject now? “Surely ye don’t still blame me for—”
“No, daughter,” Brian cut her off quickly. “I only meant, as king, I have to weigh other things as well.”
“Such as?”
“Domhnall of the clan Ulaid has heard of our Moira’s beauty. He’s asked for your sister for Fearghus, his remaining son,” Brian said. “After all that’s passed between our two clans, I cannot deny him.”
