Erinsong (16 page)

A stab of guilt lanced her for making him bed
down on cold stone.

He peered out from under
his arm. “You wanted
me last night, at
least for a little while. I’m sure of it.
What happened to change that?”

“ ‘Tis nothing ye did,” she said. “Or didn’t
do.”

“Then what, Brenna? I’ve watched you over the
past weeks. You may be sharp-tongued, but I’ve yet to see you be
cruel.” He sat up and leaned toward her. “Do you love another? Is
that what kept you from giving yourself to me?”

“No,” she said, sighing. “ ‘Tis nothing to do
with love. Only with lust.”

“I told myself I’d never
ask, but I’ve got to know.
Who was
he?”

“Like ye, he was a
Northman,” she said miserably.
“I don’t
know his name and never want to. Ye mis
understood me before and I was content to let be, but
I see I must tell ye all now.” Her voice was
broken by
a sob and she covered her face
with her hands and wept.

After a few moments she became aware he was
stroking her hair, smoothing out the tangles and crooning something
in Norse that sounded like the same thing she’d heard him mumbling
to one of the horses when it shied.

“Tell me,” he said simply.

“ ‘Twas me own fault,” she
said between sniffles.
“Me stubborn
prideful will at the root of it all. Ye see,
Father Michael taught me to read and write and when
I went to Clonmancnoise Abbey with me sister
Sinead,
I expected to spend me days
happily in the vast library there.”

Jorand’s face screwed into a puzzled
frown.

“But they wouldn’t let me
work in the scriptorium.
Illuminating
manuscripts wasn’t a fit occupation for a woman. ‘Twas just for the
menfolk to do. The abbot judged me talents would be better used
scrubbing the already clean pavers.” Her chin quivered as she
continued. “I disobeyed the abbot and crept out of the abbey after
vespers. While walking the banks of the Shannon, I stumbled upon a
Northman. I suppose I should be grateful there was but one of them
at first.”

She took a shuddering breath.

“I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I
turned and ran, but he followed. Then on the path, I found me
sister, Sinead. She’d missed me and knew I’d hie meself to the
river from time to time. We ran together, but he caught me. I tried
to fight him, but he was too strong. I couldn’t stop him.” She
covered her mouth with her hand, unable to go on. Wracking spasms
shook her frame and she felt a warm arm slide around her. Suddenly
her head was against his chest and he cradled her gently.

“Sinead leaped upon his back, fighting and
biting like a she-wolf. That’s when he let me go and turned on her.
‘Run,’ she said, and to me shame...” Brenna’s face crumpled. “I
did.”

“I... I must have lost me
wits, because there are parts I don’t remember and parts I cannot
forget, no matter how I try.” She chewed her bottom lip, hearing
again her sister’s screams while she cowered in paralyzed terror in
the nearby brush. “But by God’s mercy, I must have fainted. When I
finally came to meself, I found Sinead alone on the bank and a
whole crew of
Ostmen
sailing away, just rounding the bend.”

She’d never forget the livid red wool of the
Northmen’s sail. It matched the blood streaking her sister’s
thighs.

“The fault is not yours.” Jorand’s grip
tightened around her.

“Is it not? If not for me,
she’d be safe yet.” Brenna
trembled with
guilt. “But for her courage, it would
have
been me. It should have been me.”

There was worse yet to
tell, but she couldn’t bear it
now. Even
Da didn’t know the rest.

“I can’t undo your past, Brenna, any more
than I can remember my own,” he finally said. “So now what
happens?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s plain you don’t mean to be a wife to
me.” He made no move to release her, but he did loosen his grip.
“I’ll not bind you to me unwilling any more than I’d take you
unwilling.”

“Ye mean to turn me out?” It would shame her
as badly as the truth for him to repudiate her after spending the
night with her.

“No, I ... This changes everything. I don’t
know what you expect me to do.” His eyes had taken on a faraway
look.

He meant to sail away. “If
we’re not married,” she
whispered, “ye
fear ye’ll not be given leave to go.”

He shrugged. “There is that.”

“Me father can be a hard
man when he believes he
has cause to be,”
Brenna admitted.

Brian Ui Niall tried to be
a genial man of peace, but
he was also
capable of demanding and getting the
blood
of a rival’s firstborn. Brenna wondered some
times at the tales of ferocity in battle she’d heard
about her father. When Brian’s slate-gray eyes
blazed
in anger, she realized the tales
were undoubtedly
true. Her father would
see Jorand dead before he al
lowed Brenna
to be shamed. She couldn’t let that happen.

“I know your freedom is important to ye. I
would not keep ye from it.”

“What are you proposing?” He cocked a brow at
her.

She ventured a hand on his arm. “No one but
we knows what passes between us.”

“Or doesn’t pass between us,” he said, his
lip curling.

“Aye,” she conceded. “But
in the eyes of the world,
we are husband
and wife. Could we not continue as
such?
In the fullness of time, ye may have your freedom and I will bear
your name. If ye can bear such a
coward as
meself.”

“For at least a year and a day,” he said,
looking at the bandage on his hand.

“Aye,” she said.

Outside the hut, Brenna
heard hacking coughs and
the slamming of
the heavy keep door, the first stirrings of the wedding
guests.

“They’ll be here soon,” she said.

“Who will?”

“Those who mean to make
sure a true marriage
has been made.” Her
eyes met his. “The linens are in disorder. If we act the part,
they’ll believe.”

She’d told him her hardest truth. It was time
for another.

“When ye caught me with
your knife, I was after leaving a blood stain in the bedding.” She
looked
away. “I was trying to cover me
shame.”

“The shame isn’t yours,
Brenna,” he said, cupping
her chin in his
hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You didn’t intend to deceive
me. There’s no reason
for the rest of the
world to know if you don’t wish it.”
He
spat the words out as though they pained him as they passed through
his teeth. “Who else knows the truth of this?”

“Only me Da.”

“Good.” He stood and
unwound the cloth on his palm with purpose. When he flexed his
hand, the gash broke open and beads of red welled up along
the cut. He smeared the center of the bed with
several
drops of blood. “Will that
do?”

Tears pressed against her
eyes. She’d hurt him by refusing to bed him, and yet he protected
her.
“Again, I thank ye. Ye have covered
me shame. Honor
is satisfied.”

He looked at her blankly. “I’m glad something
is.”

“Brenna, me heart, a word in your ear.”

“What is it, Da?” She balanced the full
basket on her hip and waited for her father to join her on the
path. When he came even with her, Brian Ui Niall swept up the
weight of her load and balanced it on his own shoulder.

“Is it fresh bread I’m
smelling?” The king sniffed
appreciatively. “I’m thinking your Northman’s big
enough already. If ye keep feeding the man this
well,
daughter, there’s no telling how
tall he’ll grow.”

“I only hope I can get him
to stop long enough to eat. Unless I take food to him, he’ll work
on that infernal boat without a scrap of supper and not even
notice his belly’s complaint.” Brenna glanced
side
ways at her father. “Are ye after
giving me advice on
the care and feeding
of husbands, then?”

“Not exactly, but now ye’ve
brought the subject to
the
fore, I’ve wondered how married life is
agreeing
with ye.”

“It’ll do,” she said with a shrug.

“It’ll do? Ye sound less
than pleased. Ah, Brenna,
that’s not what
I’d hoped for ye.” Brian’s dark brows drew together over his fine
straight nose and a mur
derous glint
sparked in her father’s eyes. “Has the man been mistreating
ye?”

“No, Da.”

“Good then. I’m glad I’ve
not lost me touch when it comes to judging a man’s character.” The
king filched a small barley bun from the basket and bit into the
warm pastry, rolling his eyes in delight.
“Still, I thought the Northman would be the right one
for ye,” he said between bites.

She arched a brow at him.
“Don’t be playing the
doting father with
me. This pairing was for your con
venience. Ye needed me safely wed so ye could make
Moira’s match, and there’s the end of it. None of
the
local lads were to me taste and ye
know it.” She wres
tled the basket back
from him. “Jorand was me only
choice.”

She glared at her father, further irritated
when Brian’s shoulders hunched in agreement.

“But, Brenna, did ye never think your
Northman was also the fitting choice?”

“How do ye mean?”

The king sighed. “I know
ye’ve been hurt, daughter. No maid should see what ye’ve seen. But
I
thought marrying the same kind of man as
hurt your
sister might help ye heal.
Sinead would want ye to go
about whole
hearted again. Have ye not found solace
in
the Northman’s bed, then?”

“I very much fear he’d say he’s found none in
mine.” Brenna pursed her lips together. If Da wanted to have it
direct, then she’d give it to him.

Brian frowned and ran a hand across his
mouth, tugging at his chin as if that would help him find the right
words. “I know ‘tis not the sort of thing a girl wishes to speak of
with her father, but—”

“Mother’s not about to speak of it with me,
now is she?” Brenna interrupted him with a trace of annoyance and
more than a little embarrassment. Still, when her father’s
shoulders sagged, she wished she hadn’t spoken so quickly. Una had
shown a brief flicker of interest in life when Jorand repaired her
chair. Everyone hoped it would last. But the queen of Donegal
retreated once again into her dark, solitary sadness where none
could touch her. Brenna felt guilty for reminding her father how
alone he was.

“No, daughter, your mother’s not much help to
ye, I’ll grant it.”

Brian reached for another barley bun and
Brenna narrowly resisted the urge to slap his hand away. She’d
baked them for her husband, after all.

“Your mother, God grant her peace, is no
help, even to herself. Which is why I feel bound to take it upon
meself—”

“Da, I mean no disrespect to ye, but given
the state of your own marriage, I don’t think ye are the one to be
giving advice to me.”

“But ‘twas not always thus with your mother
and me. Loved each other fine, we did.” Brian’s voice trailed away
as he seemed to follow the wisp of a nearly forgotten time. “I only
wish the best for ye, me heart. And the way of a man with his wife
is truly one of God’s wonders in the world.”

“The wonder ‘tis so many women put up with
it,” Brenna said bluntly.

Brian raised a questioning
brow at her. “I thought
ye said he hadn’t
mistreated ye. If that man’s given ye even a moment’s pain—” The
king grasped her shoulders, forcing her to face him. “Say the word,
daughter, and I’ll fetch me ballocks shears and see the blackguard
unmanned before sunset.”

Her father would do it
without a qualm. Brenna
felt the blood run
from her head at the thought.

“No, Da,” she struggled to
keep her voice even. “He hasn’t ... I mean, I wouldn’t let ...
There’s no need for ye to take such a notion.” Brenna heaved
a
sigh. “Ye may as well know our wedding
night was a
fraud. Jorand hasn’t been near
me because I won’t al
low it. I told him
what happened at Clonmacnoise
and he’s
stayed away from me ever since.”

“But that was none of your
doing. Don’t tell me the
man holds it
against ye?”

“No, Da,” she said,
avoiding his direct gaze. “I’m holding it against him. And whatever
else Jorand is
capable of, he at least
hasn’t forced himself on me.”

“Brenna! He shouldn’t have to. The man is
your lawful husband.” Her father’s tone was reproving. “Did ye not
take the vows?”

“Aye, but—”

“No buts, daughter,” Brian
said. “Ye swore before God Almighty to give the man your body, and
by all
that’s holy, ye must honor your
oath.”

Tears trembled on the edges
of her eyelids, blurring her vision. She stumbled a bit and might
have gone down, but her father caught her in time and
held her in a tight embrace. The basket of food
clat
tered to the ground, one of the buns
falling out onto the long green grass.