Page 16 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

D ays passed and Adair healed. Everyone left him alone, save Bradana and Wen. Despite what Kendrick had told Bradana, he did not make an effort to talk with Adair. Whether or not he did speak with his two wild-headed sons, Bradana could not tell him.

Bradana. She filled his days and haunted his nights. He did dream of her, lying alone in his narrow bed—of kisses they’d not yet shared. Of other pleasures as yet untasted. How could he know how it felt to kiss her, when he never had?

It was as if he’d lain with her already, even though he had not. His body knew the heat of hers, the willingness with which she would come to him. It had him in a state of near-constant arousal.

But he did not touch her and she did not touch him, save for the merest brush of hands when they passed one another a cup or played at draughts. In truth, Adair felt afraid to touch her, the response was so bright.

He only guessed she felt the same.

They grew acquainted with one another on a far more ordinary basis during those days. He learned what made her laugh, how swift and clever was her mind, and how well she guarded her emotions with everyone but him. They sat long together and, as he healed, walked far up the shore. She showed him her Alba, the land she loved.

She played the harp for him.

The first time she brought the instrument to his sleeping place, he thought it looked odd in her hands, a harp being so often a man’s instrument. Save for Forba, back home, he had never known another woman to touch one.

That was before she began to play.

She possessed a rare talent, did Bradana, one that transported him. From the first gleaming notes, she lifted his heart and his spirit. As if the music gave him wings that carried him to another place and time, he traveled.

“I did not know ye played,” he whispered after that first time, unwilling to break the spell she had woven. “In Erin—”

“In Erin?” She lifted a brow.

“I was learning to play because I so loved the sound.”

She put the harp aside. “Is that not an odd thing for us to have in common?”

“I do not play a touch as well as ye. ’Tis magic when ye touch these strings.”

“I play Alba,” she confessed. “The hiss and chuckle of the water. The wind in the forest. The very heartbeat o’ the land.”

“It has a heartbeat?”

“Och, aye.”

How could he thus ask her to leave here with him? Become an exile from her beloved land for his sake? Even though it had become the dearest wish of his heart.

“I began playing many years ago because my mother fancied it. ’Tis one o’ the few things to please her when she is in a foul temper.”

“I can see why. ’Twould please me to lie here so wi’ my eyes closed and listen for as long as ye will play.”

“For ye, Adair, I would play as long as ye wished—till my fingers bled.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Before the feelings could grow too intense, she asked far more lightly, “Who was teaching ye to play, back in Erin?”

“A lass called Forba.”

“Och, aye?” Bradana crooked a brow. “And should I be concerned about this Forba? What is she to ye?” She lowered her voice. “Ye said ye had no lover.”

“I did not.” Though indeed, Forba might have wished to become that. “I was seeing her, but there was naught in it.”

“Good thing I am no’ a jealous woman.” She reconsidered that. “I never was a jealous woman.”

“Ye ha’ no reason, Bradana. None at all.”

Serious now, all the teasing flown, their eyes met. She caught her breath. “Well enough.”

“Make a song for me,” he challenged her in another effort to keep things light. “A planxty. ’Tis what the best of the shanachies do.”

“I am no’ a shanachie.”

“Ye play as well as any I’ve heard. And the songs ye make…” He had no words for them.

She gave him a long look. “I will have to give that some thought. I am no’ at all convinced I could express my gratitude for ye, or that mere music could capture all ye are to me.”

“Your music might. So, what am I to ye, then?” He should not ask. That was dangerous ground.

“Och—quick and bright. Witty and charming. With the soft green o’ the hills at the heart. ’Tis in your eyes, that green.”

He sobered instantly. “To be fair, I am no’ sure I could capture all ye are either, in words or song. What ye are to me.”

“Well then. Give me some time and I will work at it.”

But they had not much time. The days passed swiftly. One morning Bradana came to him and said, “I will ha’ to absent mysel’ from ye this afternoon.”

“Why?” He lived for each moment she spent with him.

“My mother insists upon it.” She avoided his gaze. “Earrach arrives in two days’ time.”

Earrach. The man she was to wed.

“Mother wishes to fuss over me,” Bradana hurried on before Adair, appalled, could speak. “She has had her women making me not only one but twa fine new gowns. She mentioned something about my hair—”

“I love your hair.” He should not say so, which was evidenced by the expression in Bradana’s eyes when she looked at him. “’Tis perfect already.”

“Ah, but she insists I must look just so when my bridegroom arrives. She insists a man treats a woman better when he finds her beautiful. All her life, she has traded in beauty, ye see. And she wants for Earrach to treat me well.”

Dismay and anger hit Adair in a furious blow. He did not want Earrach anywhere near Bradana. Not for any reason.

“Bradana.” He caught her hand, forgetting all his intentions to keep from persuading her. “Leave here with me. We can sail tonight.”

That made her gaze at him long. Did she consider it?

“Ye cannot go off to live with Earrach.” He squeezed her fingers. “Ye cannot.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But ye can imagine the breech it would cause if I break wi’ this agreement.”

“I understand.” She was a strong, intelligent woman and he must let her make her own choice. Without the pressure of what he felt for her.

What did he feel for her?

He pondered that later when she was off preparing for her marriage. She’d left him the hound, and the two of them wended their way up the shore whence he had walked so often with Bradana. And he comprehended just what this place meant to her, for he could almost feel her there with him, sense her heartbeat in the thump of the waves and her voice in the cries of the gulls.

Could he ask her to give up what she was and go away with him? Could he forsake in turn the land of his birth, where he ached to return?

It did not matter, because Earrach was coming. Earrach, who would claim what should belong only to Adair.

What already did belong to him.

He would not leave her. Not till she dismissed him and sent him off. Given the pressures of all that rested on her, that day might well come.

*

Mam did not feel well. Bradana could see that much as soon as she entered the hall, where the two of them were alone, save for Mam’s woman, Genna. Though she bustled around the place, Mam’s movements were not brisk. She looked pale, and new lines had appeared around her mouth and eyes.

“Mam?”

“There ye are. I have sent Kendrick off about his business and barred him from coming back a while, that we may ha’ some peace.”

“Aye, but—” Bradana exchanged looks with the serving woman, who shook her head. “Mayhap we should do this another day.”

“There is no’ another day.” Mam tossed her hands in the air. “Mican and his son will be here in two days’ time.”

“Still and all. Pray, sit down. D’ye need somewhat to drink?”

“I canna take anything on my stomach, be it food or drink.”

“Ye ha’ not eaten this day?”

Mother shook her head and sat, easing down the bulk of her child. “I ha’ no’ slept. I keep having these random pains.”

Bradana stared in dismay. “But ye are no’ due yet.”

“Nay, but I am thinking I miscalculated. Look at the size o’ this babe.”

“Aye, so.” Bradana sank down beside the place her mother had settled. “Mayhap ye should rest now.” Her mother and she did not always get along easily and often enough butted heads. She did not know whether they were too much alike, or their ideas were too different. But Bradana did not want to lose this woman, one of the few people who had been present all her life.

“This wedding is mistimed. Can we no’ put it off till after the birth o’ the child?”

Mother’s eyes widened. “Nay, ’tis too long to wait. Listen to me. Ye ha’ not had much congress wi’ men. One thing ye must learn is, they want what they want, when they want it. They are happy when they get what they want, when they want it, and ’tis often gey important to keep a man happy.”

Bradana experienced an inner stab of rebellion. “Wha’ if what my husband wants is no’ what I want?”

Mother made a face. “Often it is so. A woman has her duty.”

“Mother, I will sell my soul and my will to no man.” Though Bradana would gift her soul freely. Indeed, she might well already have done. A terrifying thought, for how could a woman live without her soul?

“Listen to me,” Mother said again, gripping Bradana’s hand hard. “A man who’s displeased is difficult to live with. He can raise his hand to ye and use other cruelties to make your life a misery.”

“Mother, if ye think Earrach is such a man, why d’ye countenance this marriage?”

“Your father was such a man.” Their eyes met. “I was sent young to him, in marriage. My father, who loved me dearly, did not suspect what lay behind his smile, and I did not know wha’ to expect. I would no’ have ye endure the same. I learned late that my beauty alone spared me some o’ his wrath.”

Bradana stared, stricken. She did not remember more than vague impressions of her father, and Mam but rarely spoke of him.

She whispered, “He raised his hand to ye?”

“He could be a violent man. Mostly he did not direct that violence toward me. As I say, I made mysel’ pleasing. But there were quarrels every time I tried to stand up for mysel’. I told ye he died in battle? ’Twas a quarrel wi’ a neighboring chief that took him.”

“I am sorry ye had to endure that.”

“I did no’ love him. And I learned much from the union. That is why when Kendrick came along—well, I fell for him hard. I was a widow and could choose. I made certain that in my second marriage, I had a voice. But it has no’ been an easy match either. Though he has been good to ye.”

“He has treated me like his own.”

“Now he and I quarrel as I never dared quarrel wi’ your father. I learned to speak up for myself. So perhaps the way things are now is my fault.”

“I think your experience taught ye that ye need to stand for yoursel’. And so do I.”

“Aye.” Mother touched Bradana’s face. “But be careful. I would no’ wish to see ye hurt or harmed.”

Before Bradana could frame a reply, or say that being sent away into this marriage would harm her terribly, Mother rushed on.

“Speaking o’ which—I could no’ help but mark ye have been spending much time wi’ yer cousin from Erin.”

Bradana’s whole body came on alert. “Adair? He is no’ my blood cousin. And I merely keep him company some afternoons while he is healing. Keeping him occupied until he can be sent on his way. His treatment at the hands o’ this family has been shameful.”

Once more, Mother’s gaze met hers. “Are ye certain that is all? He is a very good-looking young man wi’ a lot o’ charm and a ready tongue. Do no’, daughter, let his charm beguile ye. He will soon be gone, and ye ha’ far more important things to occupy yer mind.”

A flush rose through Bradana’s body, one she hoped her mother did not see. “Do I seem the sort o’ woman who might be beguiled by any man?”

“No’ in the ordinary way, no. But as I say, Adair MacMurtray is remarkably attractive.”

He was the sunlight of her world. Though she could scarcely say so.

Whereas Earrach—aye, he was dark and brooding and looked always displeased. To be sure, she did not know the man, and one could not judge merely by appearances. And yet…

“Be careful wi’ your heart,” Mother whispered. “Sometimes ’tis a woman’s only possession. Now, try on your dresses and let us decide how best to arrange your hair for your wedding.”