Page 21 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

A dair did not attend the feast, and Bradana worried for him. She fretted that some other terrible harm had befallen him, perhaps at the hands of her stepbrothers. Or that Kendrick had somehow persuaded him to board his little boat and sail back to Erin. That she would not see him again.

But nay. Adair would not do that. As she felt for him, he felt also for her.

She had dressed again in her new green gown, and her mother’s woman had fussed with her hair. Mother still felt unwell even after her sleep, but she had dragged herself up and given Bradana a smile.

“Ye look beautiful, daughter. Will ye play your harp for them this night?”

“I am no’ certain the men from the north appreciate the harp, Mother.”

“Nonsense. Let them see what they are getting.”

Long boards had been arranged down the length of the hall and streamers hung. Despite the rain that fell steadily outside, scores of torches made the large chamber bright as day. So long as the torches did not set the streamers alight and burn the place down.

Bradana almost hoped they would.

The boards groaned beneath the weight of food, and the mood seemed merry enough. As soon as Bradana entered the room, Kendrick summoned her to sit beside him. On his other hand sat Mican, and his son beyond.

Most the men of the clan filed in, many with their women.

Not Adair MacMurtray.

Bradana ached to ask Kendrick where Adair was, if he’d been forbidden to attend or sent off. Kendrick wanted Adair gone and no bumps in this path he’d chosen.

That much became evident when he rose to speak.

“Welcome all to my hall here tonight. And a most hearty welcome to our honored guests. Tomorrow’s handfasting will see the forging o’ a powerful and important alliance that will benefit not only our two clans, but all of Dalriada. A grand step toward making good our claim to conquer all of Alba. Let us drink to the success of the union, and to many swords raised as one.”

His listeners drank with enthusiasm. They stamped their feet until Mican rose in turn.

“I agree wholeheartedly with what my host has said. The only way we will keep hold o’ this land is by standing together. We at Clan Gillean feel fortunate to welcome Mistress Bradana, who will bear a new generation o’ Albans.”

Cheers arose. They did not cheer for Bradana but for a chance to end the fighting, to sleep safe in their beds at night. To own this land they had come to love.

No one expected, nor would they welcome, Bradana getting to her feet and lending her voice to this chorus, even though she was the means to the end they sought, and her body would bear those children.

Her mother, seated on her other side, sent her a worried glance, as if she feared Bradana might indeed arise and speak up.

So much depended upon this. Upon her.

Mother still did not look well. Her skin had a grayish tinge, and she kept placing her hands on her belly. She had eaten almost nothing. How could Bradana upset her further by making a scene?

She leaned toward Mam. “Are ye all right?”

“I only wish this feast would end.”

“Are ye still having pains?”

Mother shook her head.

There was music, though, to come. Kendrick’s bard, an aged man called Kallen, told a long and winding tale of Kendrick’s ancestors. Then Mother bade Bradana take up the harp in turn.

She rose to do so, if reluctantly. Earrach and his sire had showed little appreciation for her playing last time, but the crowd was far larger now. Her own clansfolk would surely listen with courtesy.

She sat between the tables on a stool one of the servants had placed for Kallen and took up his instrument, since it was at hand, and hers was not.

Her mind went blank. Pinned by all the staring faces, including Earrach’s dark visage, she could not remember a note to play.

Kallen leaned toward her. “Something simple, mayhap, mistress? Anything will do.”

But Bradana could think only of Adair. Of her longing for him. If only she might play for him as she had when he lay so sore hurt in his quarters.

If only she could make a song that expressed what she felt for him.

And all at once, that song came. It arose unbidden from the longing in her heart and wove up through her, a glorious, bright, and lovely shower of notes. It wound through the air of the chamber, dancing with all she felt for the man of her heart—friendship, loyalty, and love.

It wove a spell that touched every one of her listeners, that warmed them and held off the rain. A song of love eternal.

When she stopped playing at last, there was silence. She sat with her head bent, fingers suspended on the strings, and the no one made sound until Earrach began clapping.

He rose to his feet and stood looking at Bradana, a terrible, dark desire in his eyes.

The rest of the feast passed without Bradana marking it. She left while the men still drank and told stories of past battles and helped her mother to bed, made sure her woman was with her, and that she did not need the midwife.

“I will stay wi’ ye, Mother, if ye like.”

“Nay, I am well enough now. Go back to the feast.”

But Bradana did not return to the hall. Instead, she stood in the rain for several moments before following an impulse far stronger than any will and moving forward through the dark.

*

Adair had been long alone in his narrow quarters, struggling with dark feelings. Earlier, sometime before the feast began, Kendrick had come to him. Said he thought it best if Adair did not attend.

“After all, nephew, the goings-on here ha’ little to do wi’ ye, and this wedding in particular.” He’d fixed Adair with a stern eye. “Ye will no’ be welcome in the hall this night. In fact, the best ye can do is leave for home.”

That, Adair could not do. He would not leave Bradana until she sent him away.

And yet tomorrow—tomorrow she would handfast with another.

Halfway through the evening, Wen came to him out of the wet.

“Aye so, ye have also been banished, eh?” he asked the hound. He could hear the sounds of festivity from the hall, music and voices raised in speech.

He wondered what he should do on the morrow.

Might he challenge Earrach for Bradana’s hand? Propose a contest at arms, the matter to be settled between them as warriors? He was not a bad hand with a blade, though unlike many men of his clan, he did not focus all his intent upon practicing at arms.

He’d been blessed with swift reflexes and reactions, a goodly measure of endurance, and speed. Was he not descended from one of the greatest warriors his people had ever known?

He could best Earrach, aye, for Bradana’s sake. But…

Should this not be a choice she made, and a fight she fought? She was a living, breathing woman, not a prize to be won by dint of swordplay. He might stand beside her, aye, and might well fight to the death for her sake. But it must be at her bidding.

He could still hear sounds of feasting when at last he snuffed out the rushlight and took to his bed. Wen settled on the floor beside him.

He never heard her enter the chamber, though no doubt the hound did. Adair was half asleep when a pair of hands closed on his wrists and a soft body came down upon his.

“Bradana.” He breathed her name, for he knew her instantly by her scent, by her feel. By her spirit that embraced him as completely as her body.

“Hush,” she said, and made sure of it by pressing her mouth to his.

His brain exploded with desire. It felt the way he imagined the kiss of lightning must, hot and powerful and instantaneous, traveling all along his veins and searing him from within.

Desire, need, love. At that moment he could not tell the one from the other and did not care. Bradana was here, her body in contact with his, her lips wooing his apart as she drank of him, drank even as she gave to him.

His arms came around her without conscious thought. Soft and warm she was beneath the smooth fabric of her gown, trapped between them. He held her tight and tighter while the kiss went on and on and the pieces of his world fell into place.

This, this was what he’d wanted always. While a young man back in Erin growing with his two brothers ahead of him. Searching for a place, for friends, for an occupation. Searching later for lovers and finding many for whom he cared—but not enough.

Never like this. For Bradana answered the yearning that had driven him, unacknowledged, every day of his life.

Sanity returned slowly, but it did return. He tried to break the kiss, but she would not allow it, winding her arms around him and wooing him back in. At last, very gently, he caught her face between his hands and, with regret, eased her away.

“Bradana, is this wise?”

Her voice, when it came, was no more than a breath. “Did I no’ tell ye, I want it to be ye? Ye, and no’ him. I want ye this night, Adair MacMurtray.”

Well, that was plain and honest. She was an honest woman, was his Bradana. A surge of joy uplifted him before sanity struck again.

“We cannot.”

A sob broke from her throat. “All my persuasions to Kendrick have failed. I must—I must handfast wi’ Earrach tomorrow. Go to his bed. But I will gi’ myself first to ye.”

“My darling. My heart.” Now his hands, the same that had halted the kiss, caressed her. He felt tears on her cheeks. “There must be another way.”

“There is no’.”

“I could challenge him on the morrow. Fight him for ye.”

She stilled. “Ye would do that for me?”

“I would.”

She caught her breath. “And—should ye lose?”

“Bradana, have ye so little faith in me?”

“I believe in ye, above all things, Adair MacMurtray. But he is a hardened warrior. A brute with a high reputation. If ’twere a fight to the death—”

“Then I would kill him, or die. But I would declare before all the world what ye mean to me.”

Her tears now fell in earnest. “And should such a contest go badly, a great light would go out o’ the world. Out o’ my world. I do not think I can live wi’ that.”

“Bradana”—he wove his fingers into her hair—“All my life has been spent in waiting—waiting for ye. If I spend my hope for a future attempting to hold ye, now that I ha’ found ye—will it no’ be well spent?”

“Nay. Nay. Adair, I will no’ see ye spend yoursel’ for me. Let us become one this night—here and now. No one can then take that from us, not even death. If I ha’ that memory to hold to me, I believe ’twill be enough. Tell me ye will love me this night.”

He gave her the only answer he could. “I will.”