Page 20 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

W hen Bradana approached her stepfather some while later, there amid the morning bustle of the hearthside, he met her with impatience.

“I ha’ no’ time for ye now, Bradana,” he told her briskly, not meeting her gaze. “I am to sit wi’ Mican and his man to go over the terms o’ the agreement and mak’ sure all is set right.”

“’Twill be best for us to speak together first.”

“And then,” he went on as if he had not heard her, “there is a feast to arrange. Since your mother is no’ feeling well, all that will fall to me. Unless”—he lifted a brow—“ye will help wi’ it.”

“I will, aye, but only if ye can spare a few moments for me.”

“Everyone wants to bargain, and I grow weary o’ it. D’ye no’ ken the weight that lies upon me, keeping us all safe, fed, and alive?”

“But I—”

“I shall have a few moments this afternoon while your brothers take our guests hunting. Chief Mican has said he wishes to go along o’ his son. But do no’ forget, before that ye are set to entertain your bridegroom.”

“I do not forget.”

Kendrick moved to the door. “Och, and I do believe our other guest will be leaving for Erin sometime this morning.” He glanced at Mam, who had just come into the chamber, her shawl wrapped around her body. “He will no’ need a grand send-off.”

Mam nodded, and Bradana stood still, caught by consternation. Had Adair not told her he would not go? At least, not without her.

An icy feeling crawled toward her heart. What had Kendrick said to him that made him so confident Adair would go? Had there been threats? Did she even now put the man she loved in danger?

Better to wed with Earrach than do that. Better to enter into a lifelong sentence of banishment and misery than be the cause of harm to Adair.

If Kendrick thought Adair the reason the alliance lay in peril, he would be more than capable of removing his nephew. And that did not merely mean sending him off back to Erin. If Adair proved recalcitrant…

Och, what had she done in sending him to Kendrick?

Glancing up, she caught her mother’s gaze. Nay, Mam did not appear well. Swiftly, Bradana crossed the floor to her.

“Why do ye not go and lie down? I will finish making the breakfast.”

“Och, daughter, do I look so poorly? I did not sleep well. Beset by pains all night.”

“Not labor pains?”

“False labor, I believe ’tis called.”

“Go back to your bed. If there is aught I can do for ye…”

Mother hesitated. “Do no’ make waves. I know, daughter, you are not easy in this marriage. But ’twill be best in the end.”

Bradana wanted to cry out at that. To ask if she did not deserve the chance for love. Her mother’s pale face caused her to hold her tongue.

She would wait and marshal all her arguments for Kendrick when the time came.

*

That day tested Bradana. It drew on every nerve and fiber and made her question all she was. She’d always considered herself a strong woman. Uncowed and unflinching. Able to speak her own mind.

Yet it did little good to speak one’s mind if no one was willing to listen.

She made the breakfast and directed the servants, headed by Genna, to set up the hall for the evening feast. She checked on her mother, who slept deeply. Before she knew it, Earrach was waiting for her, ready for the promised walking tour.

She’d had no chance to change the gown she’d donned in haste to meet Adair earlier that morning. No opportunity to comb out and arrange her hair. Earrach made her feel the lack as he eyed her from her dirty hide shoes to the locks tumbled in disarray.

“Forgive me, Master Earrach. It has been a busy morning.”

He himself had dressed in a fine embroidered tunic with a pin at his shoulder and had tied back his cloud of dark hair, showing some effort. He appeared large, formidable, and not particularly pleased with her.

“Mistress Bradana, d’ye always dress no better than a servant?”

“Frequently, I am afraid,” she answered blithely, denying her annoyance. “If ye wanted a fancy sort o’ wife, ye should ha’ gone looking elsewhere.” Maybe she could turn his interest away from her. A wild stab, but worth pursuing at this point.

“A woman as well-favored as ye should mak’ the most o’ her endowments.” His dark gaze lingered on her breasts, making it clear of what endowments he spoke. “Then again,” he continued with a wry twist of his lips, “I will no’ have to wait long to mak’ the most o’ those mysel’.”

Och, aye, he would strip her naked, would this man, and take what he wanted. His manner made that clear. Even more than his wife, she would be his possession.

She asked sweetly, “Would ye prefer to wait while I change my clothing?”

“Nay, nay, let us walk out.”

They did, she and Wen leading him about the confines of the settlement, and farther. He showed interest in the things that interested her not—the numbers of their warriors, how the guard was situated. The armory and the forge. Far less attention did he give to the beauties of the land, the vistas of shore and sea.

The rain held off, but she worried the whole time that she was missing her chance to speak with Kendrick. At last, they turned back, and she breathed out a sigh.

Conversation had been at a minimum. Earrach asked her only utilitarian questions, few personal ones. At length he did remark, “Ye will be looking forward to the wedding.”

Looking forward was not a term she would employ. Dreading came closer.

Not waiting for a reply, he stopped walking and faced her. “A kiss, perhaps, to anticipate what is to come.”

What was to come. Herself in his hands. Her body, his to claim. She could not.

“D’ye think it proper, Master Earrach? I would prefer to wait.”

He did not like that. She could tell by the flash of annoyance in his eyes.

“Verra well, mistress. But I would hope ye will welcome me more warmly tomorrow night.”

She had no words in reply to that.

Fortunately, he walked off toward his quarters.

Desperately, she sucked in air. Though she’d kept her eyes lively throughout their walk, she’d caught no glimpse of Adair.

She needed to see him. To ground herself in the strength and safety of his presence.

But not now.

Swiftly she went to the family quarters, where she found Kendrick standing outside the door speaking with Mican and his man.

“Father”—she used the title deliberately—“ye promised me a moment.”

All three men stared in affront. “When I am free, Bradana.”

“But ye said—”

“Aye, so. I will be along.”

She and Wen waited at a distance, unable to catch the words the three exchanged. The fat drops of rain began to fall as they waited.

“Come inside wi’ ye,” Kendrick called when the other two moved off. “Wha’ is all this, then?”

Nothing more—or less—than a bid for her future.

Servants occupied the family place when they went in. She could hear others moving in the great hall beyond.

“Father, I need to speak wi’ ye alone.”

He looked weary and put out. “If this is about Adair MacMurtray, I spoke wi’ that young man this morning. All is settled.”

“It is not.”

He sighed again. “Then come.”

They went to an alcove that Kendrick usually held as private, his alone. Cramped and narrow, it held his personal weapons and other belongings along with a bench. He sat upon one end of this and gestured Bradana to the other.

“Well?” He lifted a brow.

Bradana struggled to master her thoughts. She would have one chance at this, and only one.

“Father, ye ha’ been good to me all these years,” she began. “Like my own father, in truth.”

His expression eased a little. “I think o’ ye as a daughter, Bradana. And care for ye as one.”

Did he? He’d never said so before, though there had been a measure of kindness, aye, and laughter sometimes.

“I hope ye will hear me as a daughter now and understand—I do no’ welcome this marriage.”

It was what Adair had insisted she must convey to Kendrick, that though she held obligations toward him, she did not approve the match. Something she had never done.

His expression changed and grew stern. “Why is this? For a year and more ye ha’ known o’ the match. And ye ha’ met Earrach before. Ye expressed no objections.”

“’Tis easy to believe we may accept events that remain at a distance. Now it is come…”

His eyes moved over her face carefully. “Now that it is come, it is come. Bradana, this is an important alliance. Your failure to go through wi’ it would destroy our good relationship with Mican MacGillean. Not only that, but it would cause great and terrible affront to Mican and his son that could well turn them into enemies.”

Dismay poured through Bradana and stole her words.

“Perhaps ’tis just anticipation getting the better o’ ye.”

“Nay.”

“Or—is this about Adair MacMurtray after all?”

Her gaze came up to meet his.

“My nephew is a gey charming young man. Even I like him, despite the trouble he causes me. And when we are young,” he said almost grimly, “we sometimes let fancy take hold and get the better o’ us. Ye fancy him? Ah, that will pass.”

It would not. An unending stream of lifetimes would not put an end to what she felt for Adair. How could she explain that to this man?

“It is a good match.” He covered her hand where it rested on the bench. “And I need for ye to go through with it.”

Bradana’s eyes filled with tears, which she tried to convince herself were born of anger.

She blurted, “Earrach will not let me bring Wen with me when I go north. He says his hounds will savage him.”

“Is that what all this is about? Let me speak wi’ Mican. Ye will be allowed to tak’ your hound. Now go. The feasting begins soon.”

She stumbled to her feet, pierced to the heart.