Branded By Etain (10 page)

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 clogged 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.”

“Truly? You saw this? Why did you not flee at once? Should such a thing happen here, all would be gone in a thrice. ’Twould be called the work of Satan and the land condemned by the devil.” The priests and monks would surely see it that way.

“I was too young and unaware of what had happened. I know the tale only from what others have said. My brothers and I were sent to foster on other isles that summer. I returned to Bá Brestá Isle to find the village had grown and prospered, and that all had accepted a smoking and flaming mountain with a lake at the summit instead of a peak as the norm.”

Étaín doubted that she could relegate fire and smoke spewing from a mountain to being normal. And what had such to do with her dreams?

“The mountain began rumbling again, the land trembled daily, and one late summer’s night the lake exploded and drained.”

“Nay. Did many die?” She fiddled with the red braid decorating the neck of his tunic

“Not a one. The settlement was too far away. But the smoke and ash clouded the sun and settled everywhere. If you walked outside for but a moment, the ash coated your hair, skin, and clothes. If you opened your mouth, you tasted it.”

“Did many sicken?”

“Aye.”

Étaín grimaced when he told her about the foaming cattle and the bulls’ slaughter of each other. His expression turned bleak. She stroked his shoulders in an effort to offer him comfort.

“Then the dreams started. At first, none spoke of the strange ability to see another’s dreams. But when one warrior caught another lusting after his wife in his dreams, the whole of the cursed magik began to be revealed. Soon one man was pitted against another and battles to the death raged. The slightest offense sparked berserker fury and a madness infected many of the adult males on the island.”

“’Twas because of the ash, think you?” She had seen a witless man once and witnessed his violent outburst before he was restrained. He had had the strength of a score men when out of his mind.

Brand shook his head. “’Tis the only reason we could find to explain not only the affliction, but so many affected.”

“What happened next?”

He shrugged. “Those of us who were not afflicted left to find other lands to settle.”

It all came to her at once. She clasped her hands together tightly, hoping to choke back the nausea welling in her throat. “’Tis why you came here and why you put yourself in my dreams. ’Twas for land.”

“Aye and nay. We had heard of Caul Cairlinne from Gunnar. I came to see if ’twas as rich and fruitful as he boasted. Then I saw you playing with the children, twirling them around and around and laughing.” He stilled her twisting fingers. “Look to me, Étaín. You were mine from that moment. I decided to have both you and Caul Cairlinne.”

She studied him, craving naught more than to believe him. “Woulds’t you consent to Da asking you of this with me as truthsayer?”

“Aye. Shall I have your father summoned?” Brand relaxed when her lips curved into a dazzling smile.

“Nay. ’Tis enough that you would consent.” She ducked her chin and a riot of color dusted her throat and face.

Her shyness and passion charmed and beguiled him. ’Twas a heady combination and he hardened in immediate response. Desire slashed lightning bolts across his groin.

“You wanted me?” she whispered, peeking up from under her thick lashes.

“Nay. Not wanted. Want. Feel.” He placed her hand on his arousal. “’Tis been so since that first moment on the pier, and since I withdrew from your sweet pussy last night. I had intended to spend the day fortifying the settlement and my place in it. Meeting with the council. But when I saw your sorrow and hurt, I wanted only to offer you solace.”

A tear leaked from one eye.

He flinched. Naught undid him more than a woman’s tears. Brand drew her closer and cupped her face. “What is amiss, sweetling?”

“Naught.” She sniffed. “I have not cried since Eachan killed Enid. My tears displeased him, and then he killed little Cavin. He said that for every tear I shed a babe would die.”

“Cry, then, Étaín. Shed the tears you have damned up inside.” He pressed her cheek to his chest.