Page 17 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

M ican MacGillean and his party duly arrived two days later with a certain amount of fanfare, despite the fact that it was raining. Bradana tried not to take the weather as a bad omen. She had worries and distractions enough already.

They had advance notice from their outlooks that the party approached, and despite the downpour, she, Kendrick, and Mam were standing outside when the MacGilleans arrived. The group was not a large one, just Chief Mican himself with Earrach, another, older man who looked like an advisor, and a company of three guards.

They dismounted swiftly in front of the hall, where Kendrick had lads waiting to take the weary ponies away.

Bradana could not help but look at once to Earrach. The man she was to wed. When they had met before, she had managed to dismiss that eventuality from her mind. At least, she’d told herself it did not yet threaten her. Now it had crept up on her, full force.

Much as she remembered him did he appear. He was perhaps of an age with Adair, but a bit taller and more broadly made, with heavy shoulders and a build that argued a large allowance of muscle. His dark hair, nearly black, lay upon the shoulders of his fine cloak in a wild mane. His heavy brows made him appear to be always scowling.

He turned his dark gaze to her also, almost at once. Eyes black as the wing of a raven made a swift inspection. Did he approve of what he saw? Was Mother right, and such approval might ease her way with him?

“Mican, my friend!” Kendrick exclaimed. “We are honored to ha’ ye here. Come in out o’ the rain.”

They went together with Mam in the lead—Kendrick, Mican, and the older man. Earrach hung back so he could follow Bradana, and she could feel his gaze at her back.

“Welcome to our home,” said Mam, once they entered the hall.

“Mistress MacCaigh.” Mican gave her a bow before turning to Kendrick. “Aye, man, and I see ye ha’ been keeping busy. Like mother, like daughter, eh, Earrach?” He turned to his son. “Ye will soon ha’ the daughter in a like state.”

An icy silence fell.

“Forgive my ready words,” Mican said to Mam, not to Bradana. “We are a rough and ready lot up north. We maun be. Do we no’ hold the northern gate against the savages?”

Savages. Bradana was being sent to live among those who called their neighbors savages.

“Will ye no sit down?” Mother invited him sweetly. “Warm yourselves. Bradana, please serve the heather ale.”

Bradana shed her cloak and hurried to serve. She wore one of her new gowns, soft green—a color that reminded her of Adair’s eyes.

But she could not let herself think of him. Could not compare anyone else to him.

“Aye, well. Thank ye.” Mican gave Bradana a frank look as she bent to pour his drink. He had the same dark eyes as his son and a broad, heavy face.

“She is a beauty, Earrach, and no mistake. Cursed if I would no’ take her mysel’, if it were not yer place ahead o’ me. I am a widower, ye ken,” he said to Bradana’s bosom.

Mother and Bradana both stared at him in affront.

Kendrick, with a quick glance at Bradana, cleared his throat. “I scarcely think that appropriate talk, Mican. Our agreement concerns the young folks. My daughter—”

“Aye, aye, the agreement stands. Can an old man no’ admire a bonny woman?”

“Well, so.” Kendrick did not look happy. But the rules of hospitality forbade him offering a guest—even one who commented in such a frank manner—anything but welcome.

Bradana bent close to Earrach in order to pour his drink. He too looked at her boldly, an openly assessing stare. “A bit more ale, woman,” he said. “Fill it up.”

Ah, well, it was to be that way, was it? He thought he would give the orders and she would meekly obey. He would soon discover she was not the woman to be treated thus.

Bad enough to lose her home—to lose Adair. She would be cursed if she lost herself also.

Yet as the meeting continued, her distress only grew. She remained silent, refilled the ale cups, and helped Genna distribute food and other comforts. She sat and listened to the things the men discussed—the state of their holdings and the situation with the Caledonian tribes in the north. Fighting there. How firm a grip Dalriada had here in Alba.

Once, she had believed—aye, if in a distant sort of way—that she could do this. Wed this man, make the sacrifice for the sake of home and family, and live with Kendrick’s agreement. She would have preferred not to marry at all. But she had been raised to accept that it was what a woman did.

All that, though, had been before Adair MacMurtray.

How could she marry Earrach when she loved someone else?

Sitting there with folded hands, playing at obedience, following the conversation that expanded to include her two stepbrothers when they came in, she acknowledged it in full for the first time.

She was in love with Adair.

The truth of it made her go hot and cold in turns. She became a mere shadow of herself, rushing to serve food and drink, responding when someone spoke directly to her, all with her heart somewhere else.

In Adair’s keeping.

How could she do this thing? How could she go away to live somewhere without her heart?

“Our Bradana is quite talented,” she heard Mother say suddenly.

“Aye, so,” Kendrick agreed. “She rides a pony as well as a lad.”

“She knows this land better than we do,” Toren put in.

“She will put a knife in your back if ye are no’ careful,” Kerr told Earrach.

Mother glared at him. “She plays the harp most beautifully. Bradana, go and get your harp, and play for our guests.”

Bradana froze. She played, aye, often at gatherings. Of late, it had become an intimate thing, one she did only for Adair.

She recalled the expression on his face, one of almost pained bliss, as he listened to her play, eyes closed, captured in spirit as her fingers wove magic upon the strings.

“Go,” Mother told her gently, with desperation in her eyes.

Bradana left the hall for her own quarters, where she’d left her harp. In the corridor she leaned against the wall, feeling every bit of her strength drain away. She could hear the rain crashing down outside, could hear voices from beyond. She could feel Adair in his own quarters. How was it she could feel him?

She fetched the harp, brought it back to the hall, and sat with it on her knee. At least this gave her leave to sit a little apart, as a harper tended to do. But her fingers felt wooden, too stiff to play. Indeed, the first few notes came clumsy. And her heart… When the music came, it filled to bursting.

She might be here in this chamber with strangers, but she played for Adair still. Every note destined for him.

No one paid her much heed. She became part of the background, like the ale and the rain. Kerr began to bait Earrach about something—how many ponies his father owned or some such. The conversation heated.

“Come, come,” Kendrick said at last, with a reproving look at his son. “We are allies, are we no’?”

“We should fight it out,” Kerr suggested to Earrach, “if only for fun.”

“Fun, is it?” Mam questioned.

“My son will defeat you,” Mican told Kerr disparagingly. “He is a warrior before whom few may stand.”

Was he?

“We will spar tomorrow,” Kerr, always the more aggressive of Kendrick’s sons, promised Earrach.

And what if they do? Bradana wondered. What if things grew heated and incautious, and Kerr did her the favor of killing her bridegroom? Would she then be free of this terrible destiny laid upon her?

The man Chief Mican had brought with him was, so it seemed, their clan elder, who would perform the handfasting here before the entire settlement, two days hence. Tomorrow would be a grand feast. Following their joining would come an even more elaborate one. She would depart here for the north as Earrach’s bride.

And would he claim his rights as her husband here, even before they left? No doubt. She would be as a sacrifice to him.

She eyed him as she played, fingers now moving by rote. He ignored her and seldom glanced in her direction.

What would it be like, to be touched by him? Taken by him? Prey to those hands and those lips.

She plucked a sour note. No one noticed, save perhaps Mam, who rose and came to her.

“Lay the harp aside for now,” she bade. “Come and speak wi’ your betrothed.”

“There will be time for us to talk together in the morning.”

“Now will be better. Ye maun get to know him.”

“Mam, I feel unwell. May I be dismissed?”

Mam’s gaze met hers. “I fear not, love.”

So she went and sat beside Earrach. He did look at her then.

“Pray, Master Earrach,” she said as the others talked around them, “tell me o’ your settlement.”

“’Tis a vast place, mistress.” He glanced around the hall. “Perhaps no’ so grand as this. We are too busy fighting off the natives—even after all these years—to spend time on niceties. But I hope to someday make it the strongest holding in the north, for my sons.”

“A fine ambition,” Bradana said. His sons. The ones he expected her to bear. “Is it beautiful, your land?”

“I think so. Worth fighting for, and won by blood. Ye will learn o’ men, true men.” He held her gaze even as he drank from his cup. “I am no’ afraid o’ a fight.” He cast a brief look at Kerr. “I am no’ afraid to tak’ on yer brother.”

“I ha’ a pony and a fine hound, Wen, whom I mean to bring wi’ me.”

“We ha’ plenty o’ hounds. Best to leave yours behind and choose a new one there.”

“I am bringing him.” She met his gaze with determination.

“You will do as ye wish, I am sure. But our hounds are fierce and may no’ accept him. Would ye bring him only to see him savaged?”

“He is most important to me.”

“Then leave him here wi’ yer brothers, that he may survive.”

“Wen comes wi’ me, or I do no’ go.”

Earrach looked interested. His dark eyes latched on to her face and something dangerous moved in them. “I was no’ told ye were stubborn.”

“Master Earrach, I am giving up much to wed wi’ ye and move awa’ from my home. I will no’ give up Wen.”

“Ye gain much also. Many fine hounds. A hall o’ yer own. A husband who will die, and kill, for ye.”

A shiver chased down Bradana’s body from head to toe, precisely as if an evil wind moved through her. An omen of things to come.

“Ah, but,” said Earrach, his eyes still pinning her, “let us no’ talk o’ death at a time o’ such joy, eh?”

Aye, but Bradana found no shred of joy in her heart.