Erinsong (12 page)

“Ye expect to wed a daughter of the house and
make a sea widow of her in the selfsame day?” the king
demanded.

“Not at all,” Jorand said.
“Brenna can come with
me if she wishes. In
fact, I hope she will. She told me
some
Northmen have set up a town on the river Lif
fey. Dublin, she called it. I mean to go to this Dublin to
find out if I have kinsmen there.” A frown spoiled
the even line of Jorand’s dark brows. “I know
my
true name now, but not my true self
yet. I hope find
ing some familiar faces
will bring back my memory.”

“And what if your memory includes a wife
elsewhere?” Brenna asked softly.

“No need to borrow trouble,
daughter,” the king
said, then turned back
to Jorand. “A wife must follow
her husband
if he wills it, but if me daughter wishes to stay here, ye must
swear to allow it. Brenna has a
home
within me keep as long as I hold Donegal. Are
we in accord?”

Jorand nodded.

“Is that all then?” Brian asked.

“No,” the Northman
answered. “I need to speak to
Brenna in
private before I give my final answer.”

The king nodded and strode to the door.
“Speak your piece then. I’ll be back directly.”

Brenna felt as though all
her support trailed
Brian Ui Niall out of
the keep. “No, ye’ll not bargain me away like a heifer with a
blemish! Surely there’s
some other way,”
she called after him. “Don’t make me do this, Da.”

Her legs went limp and she
sank to the stone pavings in a small heap. To be haggled over
instead
of wooed, to have her future
dictated to her without a
choice—it was
unbearable.

Her shoulders quaked in silent sobs. She
covered her face with her hands and wept.

Then she felt a hand slide
over the crown of her
head, warm and
gentle. Brenna opened her eyes and
looked
up.

“It’s not so bad as that,
princess.” Jorand squatted
beside her and
offered her a small square of cloth. “I
won’t be such a bad husband. You’ve no need to fear.
I’ll not be harsh with you, I swear
it.”

Brenna gulped and wiped her
eyes. Then she blew
her nose like a
trumpet.

“I’m not afraid of ye.” Her voice quaked
uncertainly. “But it does me heart no favor to be wedding a man who
thought he was agreeing to marry me sister.”

“If that’s what you think,
you shouldn’t worry,”
Jorand said. “If I
were given my choice, believe me,
Brenna,
it would be you.”

He was being polite,
nothing more. She supposed
she should be
grateful. To start a marriage of convenience with courtesy was
surely not a small thing.

Then why did her chest still ache?

He ran a hand through the
length of her hair again
and she
trembled.

“You’re sure you’re not afraid?”

She shook her head. “Ye’ve
given me no cause to
fear ye.”

Yet.

“Good,” he said, still
smoothing down her mass of
curls with his
long-fingered hand. “That’s a start, at least. But I need to know
something.”

“What?”

“What was it you almost said tonight?
Something about your father not still blaming you for... what?”

Brenna sat up straight and met his gaze
directly. “Ye may as well know from the first, then.” Her voice
faltered but she forced herself to keep looking at him. “If ye
marry me, ye’ll not be wedding a giddy innocent. I know full well
what passes between a man and a woman.”

“That explains a thing or two.” If he was
surprised, he didn’t show it. Brenna looked away. Did unholy
knowledge leave a mark? A visible sign for all the world to read
like too much sun left freckles?

“I can’t say for sure,” Jorand went on, “but
if we marry, you might not be wedding a virgin either.”

Saints and angels, he’d misunderstood her.
Just because she knew what men were, he thought her unchaste.

If it were only that simple...

The truth was too painful to explain. He’d
learn soon enough. “That’s different. Ye are a man and ‘tis
expected a man have... experience.”

“If I do, I have no memory of it. Answer me
this, Brenna.” His voice dropped to a low rumble. “Do you love this
other man?”

“Ye don’t understand.” She balled the soiled
kerchief in her fist. “When I think on him at all, ‘tis only to
wish him dead.”

She stared across the room, her eyes not
focusing on anything in Brian Ui Niall’s keep. Her sister Sinead’s
screams echoed in her mind.

“Ye’ve been given a gift,
Jorand. Have ye never thought that
not
remembering could be a
boon?
Blessed forgetfulness. I yearn for
it with all me heart.”

The tears erupted afresh
and Jorand settled himself beside her on the pavings. He wrapped
his arms
around her, rocked her slowly,
and let her cry.

“A man who can’t remember and a woman who
wants to forget,” he said softly when her sobs subsided. “Aren’t
we a pair?”

“Aye.” Brenna laughed in spite of herself and
swiped at her eyes. “I guess we are.”

“Then you’ll have me for a husband?”

“Aye, if ye still wish to take me to
wife.”

Jorand cupped her chin and
forced her to meet his
gaze. “More than
anything.”

“Then we’ll marry,” Brenna
said, trying to control
the strange quiver
in her gut. “But I place on ye two conditions.”

“Name them.”

“One, ye take me to Clonmacnoise Abbey on the
way to this Dublin ye seek. I have some ... doings there I must
needs finish.”

“Easily done. And the other?”

“Our marriage will be a
handfast only.” When he arched an inquiring brow, she explained.
“We wed
for a year and a day. At the end
of that time, we may
make the marriage
permanent, or part company with no ill will.”

“This handfast is a true marriage?”

“Aye,” she said with a slight flutter in her
chest. “A true marriage in all its parts, save only in its
brevity.”

“Why do you wish it so?”

“Ye don’t know what ye’ll
find in Dublin. Da may
be willing to
dismiss it, but ye can’t say for certain ye don’t already have a
wife and family waiting for ye. I
need to
remember that, and so do ye.”

“True enough. It seems
sensible to swear only to
what we know we
can keep,” he agreed and held out
a hand
for her to clasp. “A handfast it will be.”

“For a year and a day.” Brenna gripped his
palm and made the mistake of looking into his eyes. She knew she
must guard her heart or else when he parted from her at the end of
the appointed time, there’d be nothing left of it.

“Here now,” Moira said as
she swept back one of
Brenna’s curls and
tucked it under the elaborate plait
of
braids crowning her head. Her sister slipped another sprig of
flowers into the mass of hair above
Brenna’s left ear. “Much better. Ye are the most
beau
tiful bride I’ve ever seen, Brennie,
and that’s God’s truth.”

“Wait till your own wedding
a month hence,” Brenna said. “I’ll be a crow to your dove. Ye’ll
be
made not only a bride, but a queen as
well.”

Moira’s smile held an
understandable lift of smug
ness. “ ‘Tis a
good match Da has made for me, isn’t it?”

“Fearghus of Ulaid has the
best of the bargain, I’m
thinking. Ye know
nothing of him, sister. How can ye
be so
blithe about this marriage ye are pledged to?”

“And what do ye know of
Jorand save that he has a
pleasing form
and a stout heart?”

Brenna shrugged. “Not much, I grant ye. His
past is a closed book, even to himself.”

“Then ye must write his
future with your own fair
hand.”

“For a year and a day, at least,” Brenna
said.

“And here is the crowning
piece.” Moira fished in the pocket pinned to her tunic and drew
out
a shimmering silver chain. “Mother
sends this to ye.”

An ornate cross dangled
before Brenna’s eyes. It was the silver necklace her mother had
worn for as long as she could remember. She’d always told
her
daughters it would go to the first
bride among them.
Of course, Brenna always
expected Sinead would re
ceive it, but her
older sister set her heart on a reli
gious
life when she was a very little girl. The passage
of years did nothing to dissuade her.

Brenna flushed with
pleasure as she slipped the symbol of faith over her head. The
silver chain was
cool on her skin ad the
cross nestled snugly in the hol
low
between her breasts. The necklace was the finest
thing she’d ever owned. It felt like her
mother’s
benediction and she was grateful
for this tangible evi
dence of her distant
mother’s care. “Mother knows I’m to wed, then.”

Moira’s smile trembled.
“She knows there’s to be a
wedding in the
keep at least. Last evening when I
helped
her to bed, she took it off her neck and asked
me to give it to the bride.” Moira wrapped her arms
around Brenna. “Oh, Brennie, she wouldn’t know
ei
ther of our names if her hope of heaven
depended upon it.”

“Then we must be grateful it doesn’t,” Brenna
said.

Moira was unable to sustain
melancholy for more
than a handful of
heartbeats. She grinned wickedly and leaned down to whisper in
Brenna’s ear. “Just
think, this very night
ye’ll lie with a man, sister. Ye must tell me all after ye have
been with your North
man. If it’s left to
Mother,
I’ll
go
ignorant to me bridal
bed.”

“As ye should,” Brenna said
primly, her face color
ing with heat.
She’d avoided thinking of that aspect
of
her impending marriage. But each time the vision
of Jorand naked in the stream loomed up to haunt
her. She felt her spine wilt.

Lord above, grant me
courage to go through this ordeal
and may
I not hate the man hereafter,
she prayed
silently.

“Brenna, wipe that pained
expression off your face,” her sister scolded. “Honestly, ye’d
think ye
were destined for a bog instead
of the arms of an ex
ceedingly fair man.
I’m not privy to all the particu
lars, but
from the little I’ve heard, the marriage bed is
not at all an unpleasant prospect.”

Brenna was saved from
making a reply by a soft
rap on the door.
Father Michael’s gentle voice asked
for
admittance. Brenna scurried to let her old friend and teacher into
the cramped cell.

The priest made signs of
blessing over both the
girls. Then Moira
slipped out, with eyes rolling, to allow Brenna the privacy of the
confessional.

“Since ye were a wee girl I
dreamed of saying mass
over your marriage.
Then when ye went to Clonmacnoise to become a bride of Christ, I
thought never to
see ye wed. And now
this.” The thicket of wrinkles
around
Father Michael’s eyes deepened with concern. “Ye are certain ye
wish it thus, my child?”

“Aye, I do.” Brenna
adjusted the enameled silver brooch holding the blue
brat
at her
shoul
der. She fumbled with the catch and
pricked her
finger. A bright red drop
welled up and Brenna let
a curse slip from
her lips before she bound her finger
tip
with a small strip of cloth. “Forgive me, Father.”

The priest made the sign of
the cross in the air.
“There are two kinds
of folk I always absolve of un
clean speech
with no penance at all—women in labor
and
brides about to wed.”

“I thank ye.” Brenna
grinned and hugged her men
tor. “And thank
ye for agreeing to the handfast. ‘Tis
best, believe me. But it does ease me heart to know ye’ll be
saying the blessing over us.”

“Any girl set to marry a
pagan Northman is in need
of
blessing.”

“What a thing to say! Did ye not baptize
Jorand yourself with your own hands?”

The Northman had become a
nominal Christian at
least. It was the
only way Father Michael would con
sent to
officiating, but the way her heart hammered against her ribs,
Brenna couldn’t say the old priest
wasn’t
right. Jorand was so different from the men of
Erin—larger, full of foreign eccentricities, and not
quite safe. What was she thinking when she agreed
to this match?