Branded By Etain (6 page)

“My lord?” she whispered.

He frowned, having liked the way she spoke his name, as if lingering over a sweet treat. “Brand, Étaín.”

“Aye, my lor—Brand. Do we have much to do on the morrow?”

Inform her father she had wed not only a Viking but a bespelled berserker, prepare for an invasion, and determine the source of his and Nikolas’s tingling necks. He stifled another sigh and replied, “Your father and I must speak of the marriage contracts.”

“Oh.” She yawned making a tiny delicate sound like a kitten’s mew. “Aught else?”

“My langskip is in the harbor, and I must see to unloading the cargo.” Brand fell silent, stared at the rafters, and mused about her father’s reactions. He hoped all would go well, but what needs be done would be, even if it meant capturing the castle by force.

His petite, fairy-like bride emitted a snore worthy of a fat little piglet. He grinned and swept a glance over her face.

She had fallen asleep like a babe, one instant awake, the next not.

Though ’twas full dark, his beast vision allowed him to see her nostrils flaring and the sudden twitching of her lips.

Was she all she seemed, his elusive truthsayer wife?

The myriad years spent in the Danish courts living amidst constant deceit and scheming had taught Brand and his brothers to trust none.

Memories of his first wife surfaced and left a bitter taste in his mouth. It had been a marriage of alliance, and she had come to him with another’s babe in her belly. Not that he knew it until the child was born and had the coloring of a Moorish King who had visited the courts the winter past. None had dared contest his declaration of divorce.

Brand gritted his teeth. Nay. ’Twas not the time to dwell on his first wife’s savage revenge on him and his entire family.

They had survived the banishment to the isle of Bärvik. That the fire-spewing mountains of the island had sparked some enchantment in them did not matter. The dreams that bedeviled them for three long seasons had showed, with the coming of spring, the path they all had to follow, the beasts of Bärvik.

Once again, he examined his slumbering wife.

Did such purity still exist in this wicked world?

Tempted though he was to weave his way into her dreams, Brand did not do so. Time enough for that after he had secured his kingdom. He lay awake analyzing and planning until the first rays of dawn filled the cracks in the shutters.

The bunched muscles in his neck relaxed when he surveyed his sleeping wife yet again. Not for a moment did he attempt to repress the smile of pure pleasure that tugged at his lips.

In repose, Étaín resembled the angels he had heard the priests describe down to the ring they called a halo. Sunlight formed a circle above the wisps of her hair and deepened the peaches in her cheeks.

He slipped off the bed and stood staring at her. Fisting his hands, he vowed not to let his heart soften to her. Any more than it already had since his first glimpse of her laughing and twirling and lifting her face to the sky.

•●•

“’Tis time to greet the day!”

Cedilla’s booming greeting startled Étaín awake. Wincing when her nurse banged the shutters open, she knuckled the sleep from her eyes.

Memories of Brand and his magnificent pecker surged. She scanned the room. Disappointment sank low in her belly when she glimpsed Cedilla tending to her trunk.

Where was Brand? Had she dreamed all again?

She levered onto her forearms. The sheets slipped away and she grabbed at the linen as an icy draft wafted across her bare shoulders. Slumping back onto the bed pillows, she shifted her legs, and all at once recalled Brand cleansing her woman parts.

Surely, she had not dreamt such an unheard of thing?

Cedilla lumbered to her side and thumped onto the mattress. “How fare you this morn, me lassie?”

Étaín blurted, “It happened then? I wed Brand of Bärvik last eve?”

Her nurse’s graying brows vaulted. “Aye. You remember naught?”

“Nay. Aye. I recall the all of it.” And indeed she did, the images of their coupling tumbling a carnal waterfall in her mind. Embarrassed, she snatched a bed cushion and set the cool fabric to her burning cheeks. His scent infused the pillow. She breathed in his spicy maleness and hid a broad smile.

“I have ordered a hot bath. ’Twill ease the pain from his breeching of your maidenhead. Was it bad?” Cedilla tucked a curl behind Étaín’s ear.

She shook her head. “Nay. ’Twas but a sharp, momentary prick.”

Prick, was that why men called their shaft a prick? Étaín grinned. She stretched her arms over her head, arched her back, and pointed her toes. A knock sounded on the door.

“That will be the boys with the buckets and tub. Enter,” Cedilla called out.

Étaín dragged the covers to her chin. She was only half-aware of the bustling activity in the room, too busy recollecting all the details of the night before.

“Child, have you heard a word I’ve said?” Cedilla shook Étaín’s shoulder. “Make haste now. I must strip off the sheets and see to their hanging. You are to break your fast in your da’s chamber.”

“Da’s chamber? Why?”

Étaín frowned, slipped off the mattress, skipped to the wooden tub, and hopped into the hot water. Steam rose from the rolling surface in long curls. She hummed with sheer hedonistic glee when the sloshing scented liquid covered her bare shoulders. Dried peachy petals bobbed a merry dance around the tub. Étaín flicked an errant flower from her collarbone.

“Methinks he wants to judge how you fare this morn. He fair paced the ramparts last night. Dunk.”

Étaín complied with her nurse’s order, broke through the surface, and wiped her dripping face. “Did Da and Brand speak?”

It gave her a secret thrill to speak his name aloud and in front of another.

“Aye. From the crack of dawn until not long past. I fear your step-cousin’s trying to cook mischief ’tween the two of them.”

“What did you hear?”

Cedilla had her ears attuned to every bit of gossip running through the settlement. Étaín oft believed the older woman knew what was going to happen before it did.

“Sean the Sad says Lord Irvin objected to your choosing Brand of Bärvik. He says Lord Irvin tried to bribe Father Peter to refuse to wed the two of you.”

By the time Étaín finished bathing and dressing, Cedilla had filled her in on all the events she had missed the night before because she had been too enthralled with Brand to pay attention to anyone or anything but him.

“Think you Irvin really intended to press Da for my hand? We are cousins. ’Tis against the church’s dictates.”

Étaín sifted through a small basket of ribbons, chose one the color of burnt umber, and gave it to Cedilla to weave through her single braid. She picked a woven leather braid that matched her gown and slipped the worn hide over her right hand, touching the scar on the underside of her wrist thrice, as was her habit.

“Step-cousins. The church would have allowed it. I trust not the man, and that one wants killing. Howbeit, Lord Irvin and his men boarded their ships and left on the morning tide. We are well rid of him and his scum.”

Étaín heaved a huge sigh of relief. Though Irvin had always been kind and polite to her, ’twere times when his presence felt as if all the children in the village had piled themselves on her chest.

Cedilla tied off Étaín’s braid and turned her attentions to the canopied bed. “There. Now, hie you to your father, and I will see to the sheets.”

Gavin and Larkin awaited Étaín in the hallway.

“Good morn,” she greeted them. Biting her lips, she worried about the wisdom of asking the whereabouts of Brand, but curiosity proved too strong. “Have you seen my husband?”

“Aye. He and his brother are in the bailey.” The downcast set of Gavin’s mouth signaled annoyance.

“Aye. He, his brother, and mayhap ten score of their men.” Larkin fingered the hilt of his sword. “I tell you they are Norse. I can smell it on them.”

Alarm slowed Étaín’s quick pace. “Da does not forbid Norse traders.”

“Nay. But he encourages them not. None has forgotten Diarf the Devil’s pillaging ten and nine summers afore.” Gavin’s grim mien had Étaín’s pulse skipping.

“When Da accepted the one God, he forgave his enemies,” she protested and crossed her fingers for good luck.

Both Gavin and Larkin halted, shot incredulous looks at her, and shook their heads.

“No king forgives the death of his family or the killing of his people,” Gavin declared as they arrived at her da’s room at the base of the second tower. “We will await you here, Princess.”

“My thanks,” Étaín murmured and glided through the open door into the sitting area off her father’s chamber, the room he called his office. ’Twas here he spoke with important visiting warriors and allies. ’Twould’ve been here he and Brand met this morn.

Da sat behind a wide table piled with quills, scrolls, and tablets. His steward, Declan, selected a parchment from a conical container. When the door clicked shut, both men glanced her way.

Étaín flashed a quick smile and curtsied. “Good morn, Da, Declan.”

“I bid you good morn, Lady Étaín,” Declan murmured, his focus on the scroll he unfurled.

“Étaín.” Da rose and made his way to her. He captured her hands in his. “Leave, Declan. We will continue after the noon meal.”

Da squeezed her hand. “You look none the worse. Are you well, daughter?”

Étaín waited until Declan left and sealed the room before answering, “I am fine, Da. ’Tis no need for you to worry. I chose well. He was gentle with me. Brand is no like Eachan. He would ne’er abuse me.”

She bore his intense scrutiny without flinching. Da hated any mention of her abductor’s name.

Da sighed. He drew her into his embrace and kissed her forehead. “Your husband and I spoke at length earlier.”

A flare of panic burned her insides. She drew back to meet Da’s gaze. “And?”

“He fears Gunnar the Godless plans to invade Caul Cairlinne and is adamant we must prepare for a siege—”

“A siege? ’Tis not possible, is it?”

After Da had regained control of Caul Cairlinne, he had remarried, taking as his wife Áine, the daughter of King Egogabal of the Tuatha Dé Danann. The fairy king had stayed at Caul Cairlinne to oversee Da’s courting of Áine, and when he became bored had bestowed several magikal gifts on select members of the settlement.

Da lifted both shoulders. “Nay. Howbeit your new husband pointed out the flaws in our security with appalling clarity this morn. Then his brother joined us and informed us that his scouting langskip spied a half-dozen ships led by Gunnar the Godless anchored off the isle of Rathane. The two men are anxious we prepare immediately for invasion by Gunnar.”

Étaín jumped when the door banged open. She craned her neck to see around her da’s broad chest and pushed away from him.

Brand stalked into the room, accompanied by the man who had lingered in their chamber last night. Her husband halted when their stares collided.

To her delight, Brand’s smile was immediate and reflected in his twinkling eyes. He inclined his head, strode straight to her, clasped her hand, and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “I bid you good morn, wife.”

Étaín shivered and curtsied knowing from the heat in her cheeks, she blushed. “Good morn, my lord.”

“What news have you?” Da demanded, his voice gruff.

“Naught that is good. King Fagan the Fire-eater has joined Gunnar at Rathane. They are seven ships strong,” Brand replied.

“What evidence have you they intend to invade?” Da stood, arms akimbo, his features contorted into a furious glower.

“When Irvin set sail this morn, I set a skiff to follow him and his boats. He heads in the direction of Rathane.”

Étaín studied the man who spoke. He must be Brand’s brother.

Brand signaled the man forward.

He bowed. “Forgive my discourtesy, my lady. I am Nikolas, brother to your husband, and now, your new brother.”

Absently she dipped a curtsey. “’Tis my pleasure to meet you, Lord Nikolas. Does this news mean we begin preparations for an invasion and siege?”

“Irvin has long had his eye on Caul Cairlinne. Though I forbid him visit with more than one ship to accompany him, he arrived for The Choosing with five. If he aligns himself with Gunnar and Fagan, it can only be with one intent, to take Caul Cairlinne.” Da folded his arms and scraped his cheek as was his habit while pondering serious matters.