by Jayne Castel
He could have slept for a moon.
Bridei was rubbing down his stallion with a twist of straw when Heolstor finally entered the stables. The man looked insufferably pleased with himself.
Tying up his own mount next to Bridei’s, he set to unsaddling it. A few companionable moments passed before Heolstor turned to Bridei and caught his eye. “So what are you going to do with Hea?”
Bridei shrugged, pretending he had not thought about it … when in reality he had thought of little else. “Not sure.”
“Will you make her your bed slave?”
Bridei scowled, not appreciating the directness of Heolstor’s question. “I don’t know.”
“Well if you don’t, another warrior is bound to claim her.”
Bridei’s soft, warning growl made Heolstor grin. He held Bridei’s gaze and gave a wry shake of his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“What?” Heolstor’s smugness was starting to wear upon Bridei now. If he was not careful, Bridei would wipe that grin off his face.
“The great Bridei mac Beli … slayer of men, charmer of women. It seems you’ve finally come undone.”
Bridei scowled. “You talk rot sometimes.”
Heolstor threw back his head and laughed. “I see it now … why you were so evil-tempered after leaving Bebbanburg. Why you cast Una from your furs. All this time you’ve been pining for Hea.”
Bridei snorted. “Cods. I’ve barely spoken to the woman in days.”
Heolstor merely shrugged, still wearing that infuriating smile. “Aye, and I don’t know whose benefit it’s been for … but it hasn’t been yours.”
Bridei glowered at him. “She’s been through a lot. I was only trying to give her some time.”
“Time for what? To realize you’re a dolt? To decide she really does hate you?”
“Enough,” Bridei snarled. He knew Heolstor was only teasing him—and he usually enjoyed their banter—but he lacked a sense of humor where Hea was concerned. Heolstor’s words cut too close to the bone. “Instead of baiting me, why don’t you go and ride your wife.”
Heolstor grinned back at him. “Aye, I intend to.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Wise
“The king wants to see you.”
Those were the words Hea had been dreading, yet the ones she knew would come.
She had been sitting inside the yard, upon a sack of grain, surrounded by the last of the Northumbrian captives—just twelve now after the deaths on the journey here. The emissary Bridei had chosen would have reached Bebbanburg by now. News of Ecgfrith’s defeat would be ringing throughout the kingdoms of Britannia.
Heolstor had come for her. He watched her now, his gaze shuttered. “Come, Hea,” he said softly. “There’s no need to look so terrified.”
Swallowing, Hea rose to her feet, ignoring the hard stares of the men around her. She had heard their whispers on the journey here; they thought her Bridei’s whore. They thought her a traitor … a liar.
Stiffly, she followed Heolstor across the yard and up the steps leading to the arched entrance into the fort.
“This tower,” she murmured, noting the thickness of the walls and the sheer height of it above her. “I’ve never seen the like.”
Heolstor grunted. “I thought the same as you, the first time I laid eyes on it. The Broch of Dundurn is a magnificent sight.”
The warrior’s reference to his past reminded Hea that like her he had once been a stranger here. “Heolstor,” she murmured. “What will become of me?”
His expression softened. “There’s no need to look so worried. Bridei means you no harm.”
Although they had been meant kindly, Heolstor’s words brought Hea no solace. He was wrong. Everything about Bridei mac Beli screamed danger. Heolstor had just led her into the wolf’s den.
After the bright sunlight outdoors, Hea blinked at the dimness within, for there were no windows to let in the daylight. Even so, a number of flickering cressets illuminated the circular interior of the building. Hea’s boots crunched over rushes, and she inhaled the fresh scent of heather that had been scattered amongst them.
Despite her jangling nerves and thudding heart, she found herself taking in her surroundings with interest. She crossed a vast, circular space dominated in the center by a wide square hearth lined by long wooden tables. A platform ran around the perimeter of the hall, and Hea spied a number of alcoves lining the walls, their entrances shrouded by fur hangings and tapestries. To the far right of the interior, a set of stone steps led up to another level.
Heolstor made his way toward the stairs, greeting folk as he went. Hea trailed after him. She had almost reached the steps when she felt the weight of someone’s stare upon her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a young woman observing her. Tall and slender with long walnut tresses, lightly tanned skin, and high cheekbones, the woman watched her with a narrowed gaze.
It was not a friendly stare. Although she had not encountered any enmity thus far, Hea imagined that this woman would not be the first hostile Pict she would meet here. Turning away, Hea followed Heolstor up the stairs.
Bridei was waiting for her above, in a wide, sparsely-decorated space illuminated by a handful of flickering cressets. He stood upon a fur rug that covered the floor, before a stone-ringed hearth, arms behind his back as he awaited her. Barefoot, Bridei was dressed in form-fitting leather breeches and a vest that showed off the sculpted muscle of his lithe body. Hea was relieved he wasn’t bare-chested; she found the sight … distracting. That night in the tent, after the battle, she had struggled not to let her gaze wander.
Heolstor gave a nod to Bridei before turning to Hea, favoring her with a conspirator’s wink. “See you later, Hea.”
She watched him leave, his boots scuffing on the stone steps, and fought the urge to follow him. She did not want to be alone with Bridei.
“Good eve, Hea.” Bridei’s voice, soft and tinged with amusement, made her turn toward him. “I hope you’re not looking to Heolstor as your savior. These days, his loyalties lie with the Picts.”
Hea stiffened, straightening her back as she met his eye. “I hadn’t considered escape,” she replied. “Something tells me I wouldn’t get far.”
His gaze narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
Hea folded her arms across her chest, lifting her chin. “Good eve to you too, Bridei. I suppose you have a reason for calling me up here?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “I thought you might be interested to learn of your fate.”
Hea inhaled deeply. She was quickly tiring of this game, of men making decisions for her. She longed to be free as she once had been, living with her mother. They had been poor, for flowers and herbal potions did not earn much, but it had been a simple, happy life.
“Go on then,” she replied crisply.
He frowned. “You’re in a prickly mood this eve. What’s wrong … have I offended you in some way?”
“No … to do that you’d actually have to speak to me.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “I was trying to be respectful—to give you time to adjust to the new way of things.”
“What? The fact that I’m your slave? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”
Bridei crossed to an oaken table sitting against the wall and poured out two cups of wine. Unlike the wooden or clay cups Hea was used drinking from, these two were ornate: bronze and studded in garnets—kingly cups.
“You’re not my slave, Hea,” Bridei said quietly.
Her breathing stopped. “So if I wished to leave here I could?”
He shook his head, a rueful smile creasing his face. He then approached Hea, passing her a cup of wine. “You aren’t a slave, but you are my subject. You won’t be returning to Bebbanburg, but I give you leave to live in peace and safety here in Dundurn.”
Hea watched him, her fingers fastening around the cup. His words were too smooth; she did not trust them. Her recent experience with Ecgf
rith, and the way he had turned on her in the end, had made her wary of men. She had not told a soul of what he had admitted to her … that she was his bastard daughter.
She could barely admit it to herself.
“I imagine you want something in return,” she said finally, “all men do.”
He inclined his head, frowning. “So bitter … I don’t remember you being like this in Bebbanburg.”
Something twisted inside Hea as she held his eye. “I’m not the same person I was in Bebbanburg.”
Bridei lifted his cup to his lips and took a sip, still watching her. “There are two things I’d ask of you,” he said gently. “The first is that you put your skills with herbs and potions to use. We have a healer at Dundurn, but the woman skilled in herb lore died last winter. I would have you replace her.”
Hea nodded, taking a drink from her cup to hide her surprise. She had always enjoyed working with herbs and healing folk, but had not thought she would get the chance to go back to her old profession. “And what’s the second?”
Bridei gave her a slow, sensual smile that made Hea’s toes curl inside her boots. Her heart started to pound, and she took another gulp of wine to calm her nerves. The predatory look in his dark eyes both alarmed and excited her.
“You will reside inside this broch … and will sleep up here.”
Panic flowered in Hea’s breast. “With you?”
Bridei stepped toward her, closing the gap between them. “I’d happily share my furs with you—if that’s what you want—but until then we can sleep apart. There’s plenty of space up here.”
Hea glared at him. The man’s arrogance was breathtaking. “Until then? You think yourself irresistible?”
“No.” His voice dropped to a low, intimate purr as he reached out with his free hand and lightly stroked her cheek. “But you are … I lied earlier when I said I stayed away out of respect the past days. The truth is I can’t think clearly when you’re near.”
Hea swallowed. His touch sent a trail of fire along her heated skin. “And yet you’d have me sleep up here.” She choked out the words, forcing herself to concentrate. “Just a few feet away from you … is that wise?”
He laughed, a low rumble in his chest. He was standing so close that she could smell him: the warm musk of his skin mingled with the smell of leather. “I tire of being wise. I wish to cast the rest of the world aside and lose myself in you, Hea.”
Desire fluttered at the base of her belly, but she fought it.
Months ago in Bebbanburg she had longed for this … would have thrown herself into a passionate affair without thinking twice. Yet now she saw the world differently.
She was indeed her mother’s daughter.
Lewren had once let passion rule her, and it had broken her inside and turned her bitter. A selfish king had used her for his pleasure, and then cast her aside after her womb quickened.
The wheel had turned, and years on Lewren’s daughter was following the same path. She walked a precipice, one there would be no returning from once she stepped over the edge. If she gave herself to this man she would be lost; and if he turned on her like Ecgfrith had with her mother her heart would never survive it.
Not only that, but Bridei did not know who she really was. He had loathed Ecgfrith—how would he look upon her if he discovered his enemy was her father?
“I would prefer to be wise,” she murmured, stepping back from him. She saw disappointment flare in his peat-dark eyes. “I will sleep up here with you, if you command it, but I will not share your furs.”
Silence stretched between them for a few moments. Bridei watched her, and she could see he was bemused by her coldness. But after a few moments he nodded. “I’d never force you, Hea … surely you realize that?”
Hea nodded in reply, not trusting herself to speak. She took another step back from him and glanced about her, desperate to shift the focus from the attraction that shimmered between them.
“What about the others you’ve brought here?” she asked. “Will they also be freed?”
Bridei’s expression grew serious, and he shook his head. “Rinan and the others will remain slaves … and will serve me and my men till I decide otherwise.”
Hea considered this a moment. The Northumbrians who awaited their fate in the yard below deserved better. Most of them now hated her, but they were warriors who had fought bravely … and they were her people. She had failed them, and she did not want to see them suffer.
Watching her, Bridei’s mouth twisted. “Don’t look so horrified, Hea—it’s the way of war. Any man unlucky enough to survive on the losing side of a battle faces a life of slavery. All of them knew it before they marched north to do Ecgfrith’s bidding.”
Chapter Twenty-six
The King of the North
Dundurn held a great feast to welcome Bridei and his men back. The tables lining the fire pit inside the broch groaned under the weight of the spread—as women carried out never-ending platters of roast fowl, pork stuffed with walnuts and apples, and venison pies, all accompanied by boiled turnip and carrot mashed with butter, and huge loaves of bread.
Bridei sat at the center of the table upon the platform above the hearth, Heolstor flanking him to his right and Fearghus to his left, and watched as the last of the food was brought to the table. Then he rose to his feet and held a great drinking horn, filled to the brim with mead, aloft.
“Dun Nechtáin was a turning point for our people.” Bridei’s voice echoed across the cavernous space, quietening the hum of excitement within. “The day we reclaimed the north.”
Cries of approval boomed off the smoke-blackened beams overhead.
“No longer will the Angles march on our lands.” Bridei’s skin prickled as he said the words. “No longer will they take gold from our villages and demand we kneel before them. From now on we are free.”
Fearghus lurched to his feet then, face florid for he was already well into his cups. “From this day forth Bridei mac Beli kneels to no man. All hail the King of the North!”
“The King of the North!”
Bridei listened to their cries and witnessed the adoration on their faces, the fierce pride glittering in their eyes. Watching them, his people, the exhaustion sloughed off him and he realized that he had been born to rule. It was not an easy mantle to bear at times, and often the weight of responsibility could isolate a man—as it had his father—but at that moment Bridei had never been more proud of who he was and how far he had come.
He raised the drinking horn to his lips and took a deep draft.
Applause thundered through the broch, as all hailed their king.
Bridei sat down, signaling that the feast could begin, and the feasters fell upon the rich spread before them. He helped himself to a slice of roast pork, his gaze shifting to the stairwell leading upstairs.
A moment later, Heolstor spoke from beside him. “Is Hea not joining us?”
Heolstor never missed a thing. The warrior had seen the direction of Bridei’s gaze and was now watching him.
Bridei scowled at him and shrugged. “You can’t blame her. We’re celebrating our victory—the defeat of Ecgfrith and his fyrd—it’s best she remains upstairs.”
“She’s a striking lass,” Ciara commented, brushing a lock of dark hair out of her sea-green eyes. She sat snuggled up next to her husband, while Heolstor slung a protective arm around her shoulders. “I can see why you’re smitten.”
Bridei gritted his teeth. After his conversation with Hea earlier, which had not gone the way he had envisaged, he did not want to speak about her. “You shouldn’t listen to your man,” he growled. “He’s a teller of tall tales.”
“Not this time,” Heolstor replied, before taking a bite of venison pie.
Bridei bit back a sharp retort, knowing that it would merely encourage the pair of them, and focused on the pork. It was succulent, but as he ate, Bridei barely noticed its taste.
All he could think about was Hea.
Now
that the excitement of speeches and toasting were over, he was starting to feel deflated. She had not reacted as he had expected. Contrary to her accusation, he had not thought she would throw herself into his arms, yet her coldness surprised him. That was not the Hea he remembered—not the lusty maid who had turned his head in Bebbanburg. He had been attracted to the wildness in her, but these days she took great pains to tame that side of her character, almost as if it scared her.
Was she bitter over his treatment of her?
Or perhaps it was less personal? Since she had been loyal to Ecgfrith, she was likely still coming to terms with Northumbria’s defeat.
I handled that badly, he told himself, thinking of their conversation earlier. He had used the attraction between them as a lure, thinking she would not resist him. He had not told her what was in his heart. He had not told her he had missed her.
These thoughts were souring his mood, and so Bridei pushed them aside and held up his cup for Una to fill. The servant smiled at him, and did as bid, although her eyes were cool. The playful, coy invitation he had once seen there was gone. No doubt she had seen Hea go up to his quarters and remain there.
“Welcome home, Lord Bridei,” she said demurely, ducking her head.
Perched above the revelry upon a nest of furs, Hea tried not to weep.
This whole situation was a mess; one she did not see a way out of. The boom of drunken voices and the rise and fall of singing and music made her flinch, causing her breathing to constrict. She was just moments away from letting panic completely seize her.
Calm yourself. She dug her fingers into the furs and gripped tightly, taking long deep breaths. This isn’t a death-sentence.
It was not, but it still felt as if her life was over. Bebbanburg was lost to her; she would never return to that little hovel with its sheltered garden of flowers and herbs. Someone else would claim it, would clear out her stock of dried herbs, tinctures and potions. It would be as if she had never lived there.
