Branded By Etain (4 page)

“Da, Darren knew naught. I, alone, am to blame.” Étaín hold on Brand’s forearm tightened.

“You would have me believe Margie knew naught?” The monarch jammed thick beringed fingers onto his hipbones.

“I beseech you, my king, do not punish Margie. ’Tis my doing and I will bear any penalty you deem fit for my actions.”

King Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh shifted to face Brand. “I would know your true thoughts on my daughter and my holding. Truthsayer, to me.”

Brand stifled the urge to grasp the hilt of his sword.

Étaín transformed in the space of a heartbeat.

All expression and color drained from her features. Her eyelids fluttered to half-closed. She stiffened and crossed around to stand on Brand’s left. She stood sideways to him and set her palm to his chest.

The pounding of his heart drowned any other noise. Brand felt the steady thudding in her fingertips and could not move a muscle.

“Are you Brand of Bärvik?”

He bowed to no man and answered to none, not even a king. Brand clamped his lips together. To his utter astonishment words jumped out of his mouth. “I am.”

Étaín droned, “He speaks the truth.”

“Do you intend harm to any at Caul Cairlinne?”

“I do not.” What magik was this that Brand had no control over his own tongue?

“Truth.”

“Will you cherish Princess Étaín?”

“I will.”

“Truth.”

King Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh met and held Brand’s gaze. “Will you be true to Princess Étaín?”

“I will.” He fought the other declaration leaping up his throat to no avail. “Princess Étaín will lose my respect and my favor if she cuckolds me.”

“He speaks truly.” Étaín’s voice had lost the musical quality of this morning.

An audible sigh rumbled around the great hall and echoed off the wooden rafters.

Étaín crumpled and Brand had to dive to collect her into his arms. The blue-green veins in her temple were clearly visible. The thick fringe of her lashes cast shadows on cheeks that held no dust of peach.

Brand stifled a coarse oath when he noticed the gray cast to her normally ruby lips. He snarled at the monarch, “What did you do to her?”

“The truth saying saps her strength. ’Tis always the same after her trance. She will recover shortly.”

“You would force this on her? E’en knowing the consequences to her? She is but a tiny female. I tell you now, if she is harmed, king or no king—you will pay,” Brand snapped. By Freya, she had scared his pecker flaccid.

The king’s lips twitched. “Étaín has chosen wisely. Brand of Bärvik, I cannot deny my daughter’s choice, but I can withhold my approval. I make you a bargain this day. Wed Étaín in the Christian way when she awakens, and I will give this union my blessing.”

Since Brand had every intention of consolidating his marriage with Étaín by getting her with child long before the year and a day ended, he said, without a pause, “Call your priest. ’Twill be done as you say with all here as witnesses.”

•●•

Étaín interrupted Margie’s third iteration of what to expect when Brand consummated their marriage. She had not a shred of worry that the act would be anything but wondrous. “Be done with it, Margie. My head fair throbs with thoughts of peckers, stones, pearls, and quims. I trust in Brand. Did he not say he would cherish me when Da asked? I am a truthsayer. He spoke truly.”

“He is a very large man.” Margie picked up a tortoise shell horsehair brush and stroked Étaín’s springy curls.

“So is your Darren.”

“I am twice your height and weight. ’Tis easier for a woman like me to accommodate a large pecker. You must not overexcite him, otherwise he will be rough with you.”

“How could I overexcite him?” The mere sight of him made her woman parts moisten. Did the same happen with men?

“Do not caress his willy and touch not his balls.”

“Willy? Balls?” ’Twas a new language to be learned for this bedsport.

“Pecker, stones. Men have scores of names for their parts. Some e’en name them. Darren says his brother, Padraig, calls his prick ‘Olympus.’”

Étaín’s heart skipped a few beats when the sound of stomping feet reached her ears. “Did you hear that?”

“Aye. They approach. Quick, under the sheets. I will leave after the last man departs.” Margie drew the linen covers to right under Étaín’s chin and gave her a quick hug.

The doors slammed open, and the men of Caul Cairlinne, carrying a naked Brand above their heads, tramped into the room roaring the limerick Prick Her Well. The words ricocheted around the chamber:

Prick her well,

And her belly will swell,

Fill her with your seed,

And ease your need,

Make her see stars,

And sons be your rewards

The singing faded into the background when the men dumped Brand onto the other side of the bed. He quickly slid under the sheets, scrabbled to the middle of the mattress, and gathered her close.

The side of her breast skimmed the coarse hairs on his chest, her leg brushed a thigh forged of iron, and his male aroma, soap, some spice redolent of pine, and the yeasty smell of ale, intoxicated her senses.

“Out!” Da bellowed. “Out. At once.”

A momentary silence ensued, and then the crowd began streaming out of the room singing yet another naughty limerick. Étaín was too busy trying to absorb the details of her husband to notice anything or anyone until there was another quiet.

She flinched, glanced up, and fire roasted her skin when her gaze collided with her father’s. Mother Mary have mercy and let not her carnal thoughts show on her face.

“You can yet change your mind, Étaín. Do you still choose Brand of Bärvik?”

Concern and worry furrowed deep lines in Da’s forehead.

“I do, Da.”

For a few moments, the monarch’s cheeks puffed and hollowed. He stared at the far wall. Then he blew out a long exhale. “Be gentle with her.”

Margie curtsied to the king. “My liege, may I walk with you to the hall?”

Étaín fisted her hand against her mouth. Da looked so forlorn. She yearned to rush to him and give him a hug of reassurance.

Da offered Margie his arm, and the two of them left the chamber.

’Twas only then she noticed the lone man standing in the far corner of the room. A warrior of the same height and build as Brand, but with hair the color of a fire-streaked dawn.

“Leave. Post guards at either end of the hallway,” Brand ordered.

“Aye.”

The second the man eased the door shut, and Brand jumped out of the bed, stalked to the heavy metal bar lying against the wall, and then heaved it into place. He scanned the room, moved to the fire, tossed two logs from a heap in a wire basket into the blaze, and poked the charred logs until plumes skirted the high stones topping the hearth.

Étaín could not drag her stare from him. The harshness of his male beauty proved mesmerizing. She winced at the jagged scar that ran from the small of his back to his shoulder. What pain he must have borne from such an injury.

Twin dimples at the top of his buttocks winked at her when he rested the poker to the side of the fireplace.

He turned around.

She gasped and lurched to sitting.

In truth, Margie had been right to have been worried. His pecker jutted thick and high. ’Twas of an enormous girth, and when he strode forward, it bobbed. The closer he came, the more the thing swelled and lengthened. She licked suddenly dry lips and swallowed, once, twice.

When he slid under the covers, she stifled the sudden impulse to flee the chamber.

“Come, wife. Talk with me a while.” He curled an arm around her waist and drew her down to the mattress.

Étaín stared at the tented sheets and blurted, “Does it move on its own?”

He chuckled. “Aye. At times. Has Margie told you what to expect this eve?”

She worried her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut trying to regain some composure.

“To me, Étaín.” He cupped her chin and gently slipped her lip free. “Have you spoken with Margie?”

Her cheeks warmed, and she focused on the fine fuzz clinging to his jaw. “Aye. I know what to expect, but ’tis one thing to speak of and another to behold. My lord, I cannot see how we will fit. ’Tis obvious you need a woman twice my height and one who is strong-boned.”

“Brand. When we are alone, I would have you say my name.” He tilted her head back and forced her to look into his eyes.

She had forgotten how brilliant a blue they were.

“Brand, Étaín, say it.” His smile proved pure enchantment.

“Brand,” she repeated.

“Again,” he commanded and kissed her bare shoulder.

’Twas delicious, the feel of his lips on her skin. A shivery tingling stole up her spine. “Aye. Again.”

“This?” His mouth brushed the cusp.

“Aye. Delicious.” She arched her neck, and he obliged her silent plea by feathering soft kisses to the ridge of her collarbone. When his tongue, hot and coarse, licked the base of her neck, she moaned.

“Delicious, wife. You smell of spring and taste like a feast.”

All the while, his lips and mouth made magik on her throat. Lava flowed hot and molten through her veins.

When his finger grazed her nipple, she clutched at his arms. Sensations crashed through her. Her lewd dreams surged anew, and she tangled her hand in his hair and urged him to her breast. He suckled her, long hard pulls, his tongue laving without mercy. Each tug of her engorged bud created a corresponding burning in her woman parts. She was fevered and dizzy with wanting something, but knew not what.

“No,” she protested when he freed her flesh.

He glanced up at her and grinned. “Aye. ’Tis a rule. What you do to one titty must be done to the other. In equal parts.”

“Oh.” Titty; what a wicked word. “Methinks ’tis a prudent rule.”

But, ’twas a falsehood, for not only did he pay attention to one breast, but with his hand and mouth attended to both. He lapped one swollen peak and blew over it.

“More,” she begged, shameless with need.

She dug her heels into the mattress when he transferred his attentions to the other mound and closed his teeth softly over the swollen tip of her breast.

He tugged on the other bud and then switched.

Étaín squished the sheets with her hands.

The nub between her woman’s folds itched and prickled.

His hand pressed hard against her mound. She lifted her hips to increase the pressure.

“Thanks be to Freya. You are wet and ready.” He nudged her legs apart.

Her eyelids flew up and she froze at the blaze in eyes that held not a hint of blue.

“Take your pleasure, Étaín. Watch me give you the stars.”

She had to obey him and fixed her gaze on the lascivious sight of his bronzed thumb grazing back and forth over her reddened nubbin, the pearl Margie had described earlier. Her breath came in sharp pants. “Faster.”

“Nay. First this.”

He inserted his middle finger into her sheath.

She levered off the bed.

His finger stretched her, and his thumb continued the sweet, slow dragging over her secret woman’s flesh. ’Twas incredible. She was on fire from inside and ready to explode. He pinched her there, and she shattered. Her sheath clamped and released around his finger. Again and again, the contractions burst through her. The sweet ecstasy continued until spent, she collapsed into a boneless heap.

He rolled on top of her.

She clung to him, her fingers slipping on the dampness coating his back.

His mouth took hers. He nipped her lip, she mewled her pleasure, and he thrust his tongue inside. The staggering carnality shocked and intoxicated her senses.

He lifted her hips and drove his pecker into her sheath.

Pain, sharp and piercing, tore through her.

She beat fists on his chest and tried to tear her mouth away from his.

He held her fast and sipped softly at her lips. “’Twill ease. I swear. Kiss me back. ’Twill distract you.”

She opened her eyes and found him inspecting her with a predator’s intensity.

“Touch your lips to mine.”

The stinging in her woman parts eased a tad. She began to breathe again.

“Like this,” he coaxed and swept his lips in agonizing slowness across hers.