Erinsong (18 page)

A small swell sent the
craft rocking and Brenna
wobbled
uncertainly. He caught her before she could
topple over. By the gods, she felt good in his arms, soft and
delicate, and the top of her head fit snugly
under his chin. When she didn’t jerk away, he pulled
her closer, the need to hold her overriding his
better judgment. He struggled to control his breathing, afraid even
that small movement would spook her and she’d wrestle
free.

“Me Da says I’m not fulfilling me promise,”
she said, her voice small and hesitant.

“What promise?”

“To bed ye, as a proper
wife should.” She looked
up to meet his
gaze, her eyes darkening as the pupils dilated. The fear was still
there, but he could see she
fought to
master it. “I took a vow before God and man and must needs honor
it.”

His pulse quickened as his shaft
hardened.

“I’ve no great need to wait for a bed,
princess.”

He tightened his grip,
taking care not to crush her,
and reveled
in her softness. For a blink, he thought he
felt her stiffen but he shoved that possibility away. He
buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent, sweet as
rain-washed grass.

“Brenna,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted you
so.”

His lips found her neck,
her earlobe. He narrowly
resisted the urge
to bite down on the soft flesh.

He took her mouth and
poured all his frustration
and longing
into the kiss. Her mouth softened under
his, but there was no mistaking now. Her body was tense as a
drawn bow.

Her arms were clamped to
her sides, so he took
one of her hands and
brought it around him. Her icy
fingers
trembled on his ribs.

When he cupped her buttocks with his palms,
her breath hissed in over her teeth. Her whole frame shuddered.

Jorand grabbed her by the shoulders and held
her an arm’s length away. Brenna’s face was pallid as a corpse and
a shudder rippled over her. He felt himself shrivel.

“By Loki’s unwashed
backside, woman!” He
pushed her away.
“What are you trying to do to me?”

“I thought ye wanted to—”

“What makes you think I
want to lie with a shiver
ing,
whimpering—” Jorand bit back the harsh words threatening to explode
out of him. He stomped away from her, heedless of the wild rolling
of the craft un
der him, and plopped down
next to the steering oar.

Brenna dropped to her knees
and grasped the
sides of the boat. A
single tear was swiftly followed
by a
flood of others, but she covered her mouth to muffle her
sobs.

“Stop crying,” he ordered,
dragging a hand through
his hair in
frustration. “Brenna, please.”

“You’re ... leaving.” The
words slipped out be
tween gasps for
breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And
now
ye won’t take me with ye.”

His face scrunched into a confused frown.
He’d never understand this woman. “You still want to come?”

“Aye,” Brenna said,
breathlessly. “Give me another
chance. I
can do it, I know I can. Use me body as ye
wish. Only please take me when ye leave. I have to go to
Clonmacnoise.”

“Why?”

She swiped her eyes, but
refused to meet his gaze.
“Because I
must.”

“
Ja,
I’ll take you with me.” Jorand dragged a hand
over his face. Why was he agreeing to more of this?
He began to suspect Brenna was more a witch than
a
follower of the Christ, a dabbler
in
seid
craft
who’d learned to control those around her. She only need
shed a few tears and he was willing to do
anything to
make her stop.

To his surprise, she
lurched over to him in the
swaying boat
and covered his hand with kisses.

“I thank ye,” she repeated.
“I’ll serve ye well, ye’ll
see.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” He pulled
his hand away. “I don’t want you to. We’ll go on as before.”

His chest constricted at the look of stark
relief flooding her face.

“Thank ye, Jorand.”

“You may not thank me once
we get underway.”
His voice sounded more
gruff than he intended, so
he softened it
as he went on. “As you can see, travel
ing
in this boat means close quarters. You’re going to
have to get used to being near me.”

He settled to lie down and
lifted a hand to her.
“Come, princess.
I’ll not harm you. If we’re going to
travel together you’ll at least have to sleep near me for
warmth and protection.”

She took his hand and he
steadied her until she set
tled herself
beside him.

“Lay your head, girl,” he said wearily.

Brenna slid closer and
haltingly rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder. She still
held herself stiff
and brittle as a piece
of weathered oak.

“Be easy,” he said, patting
her head as though she were a two-year-old. “Nothing will happen to
you, I
promise. I won’t hurt you,
Brenna.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hush,” he said, tired to
his bones. “Just get used
to being near
me. I won’t bite you.” He grimaced, remembering his urge to nip
her gently on the ear.

“Ye truly are good to me.” She sighed.

Little by little, he felt
the tension drain out of her
limbs as she
relaxed against him. Their breathing fell
into rhythm.

“Am I not pleasing to you, then?” she
asked.

He inhaled deeply, willing
himself not to voice the
frustration he
felt. “Brenna, you’re more than pleas
ing
to me. I want you so badly, it’s like a sickness. But
it must go both ways, you see. If you don’t want
me, what pleasure can there be for me in that?”

“Other men—”

“When are you going to
learn that I’m not other men?” He allowed himself to stroke her
hair, tor
menting himself with its
softness. “I’ll never take you unwilling, princess. In fact, I’ll
make you a promise. I
won’t take you till
your wanting exceeds mine.”

She expelled her pent-up breath in a
satisfied sigh.

As soon as the hasty vow
passed his lips, he realized his mistake. By that measure, he’d
never bed her. She’d never get over the panic of her past
long
enough to enjoy dallying with him in
her present. He
had no reason to expect
she would ever let him love her, but the way his heart still
thudded against his ribs when he tugged her closer, he knew he
still hoped.

“But you have to promise me something in
return,” he said.

“What?” she asked warily.

“You have to agree to spend
time with me like
this.” He tipped her
chin up so he could look into her
eyes.
“Close. Me touching you. You touching me. And starting tonight, we
sleep in the same bed. Agreed?”

“And you won’t...” Her eyes widened and she
bit her lower lip.

“Not until you want me, too.”

He brushed her forehead
with his lips and she set
tled against him
again. He ran his hand from her shoulder to the small of her back.
He was painfully aware of the softness of her breasts pressed
against
his side. His body roused to her
again, but he forced
himself to lie still.
It was agony, but he wouldn’t chance frightening her
again.

Perhaps when Brian Ui Niall
had spared his life, he
did him no favors
after all.

Brenna gulped a tepid sip from the waterskin,
then swiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her stomach
cavorted wildly. Sweat gathered on her upper lip as she fought to
quell the rising nausea.

“For the love of God, can we please put in to
shore?”

“
Ja,
princess, as you wish,” Jorand
said as he cast a squinted glance toward the westering sun. He
reefed the coracle toward the opening of a small cove. “We’ve
covered a goodly
distance today.”

Brenna nodded, nearly
quaking with relief at the
idea of solid
ground under her feet. A swell rose beneath them and the boat
surged forward, leaving her
stomach
behind. Brenna gave up and emptied her belly into the greenish
waves.

“That’ll make you feel
better,” Jorand said with unsympathetic cheerfulness as he handed
her a
small cloth. “ ‘Tis no shame, you
know. Until you get
your bearings, it’s
bound to happen. Another couple
of days
and you’ll be fine. We’ll make a sailor of you
yet.”

“If ye don’t make a corpse of me first,”
Brenna muttered. She dipped the cloth over the side and dabbed the
coolness over her face.

Remember why ye wanted to
go,
she commanded
herself.

They’d left Donegal
immediately after Moira’s wed
ding feast.
The boat had been finished two weeks earlier, but Brenna insisted
on waiting till she saw her sister safely wed.

The night before the
ceremony, Moira came to her with panic in her usually carefree
face. “Mother tells
me nothing. She
expects me to go to the marriage bed
ignorant as a nun, but ye must help me. Tell me how
to please a man, Brenna.”

Brenna was at a loss for an
answer. “All men are different,” she finally said. “Ask your groom.
He’ll
have an inkling what he prefers,
I’ll not doubt.”

It was a beautiful
ceremony, a full mass with Fa
ther Michael
in exceptional voice. The chiefs of the
clan Ulaid came to witness the marriage and subsequent
coronation of Moira as their future queen.
They roared their approval when the circlet of bronze
glinted amid her fiery curls.

Brian Ui Niall asked Brenna
if she regretted her simple
handfast
ceremony after Moira’s grand rite. She had
no complaints on that score. Brenna remembered the
look on Jorand’s face as he said his vows and
con
trasted it with Domhnall’s son,
Fearghus.

Since she wanted to see her sister happy, she
couldn’t say it eased her mind.

Even when her sister was in
the room, the heir of Ulaid had a disconcerting habit of eyeing the
children who cavorted about the keep as though they’d
left their shifts behind. He was clever enough
not to let Brian Ui Niall catch him at it, but seemed to
de
light in Brenna’s discomfort whenever
she met his cold-eyed gaze.

Jorand disliked the man as
well, though he claimed not to be able to say
exactly why. Brenna’s marriage
might
not be a love match for the ages, but at least
Jo
rand didn’t have a roving eye. Against
all her expec
tations, he treated her with
courtesy and respect.

Still, Moira was a bride.
She was deliriously happy
on her day, the
queenly title that accompanied her match sending her into raptures.
Brenna hoped it would be enough.

“Feeling better?” Jorand asked.

She nodded. Strangely
enough, she did, and when
the bottom of
the boat scraped against the sand, she nearly did a jig.

When they sailed south from
Donegal Bay, the
coastline was rocky.
Sheer cliffs made it impossible
for them
to beach the craft last night. Jorand had
tossed out the anchor stone and they lay side by side
in the curved hull of the boat. If Brenna hadn’t
been
fighting a queasy stomach, she’d have
enjoyed watching the stars winking on one by one, like candles
being lit in a chapel vestry.

To her surprise, she was
beginning to enjoy sleep
ing next to the
big Northman. Of course, the sturdy bed at home was more pleasant
than the swaying coracle, but she was comforted by Jorand’s
deep,
even breathing and solid warmth.
Once in his sleep,
he reached for her and
pulled her close. His breath
caressed the
back of her neck and she felt the steady
thump of his heart against her spine. The contact was
so basic and simple, just a small thing really,
but it made her chest ache. She wished things were different
between them.

Brenna climbed over the
side of the boat, splashing
up to her
knees in the surf. Jorand was already out and shoving the prow as
far up onto the beach as he could. Then he came around to the front
and hauled the boat out of the water with a stout rope.
Brenna
shook out her tunic and found it
stiff with crusty salt.

“That should hold it,” he
said, tying off the line on
the smooth
trunk of a red arbutus. “If you’ve found
your land legs, we’ll walk a bit.” Jorand pointed into
the distance. “There’s a stream emptying into
the
cove and the water will be less
brackish farther in.”