Page 23 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

A dair paced the confines of his chamber, which now felt like nothing so much as a prison. He could still feel Bradana’s hands upon him, the slide of her fingers across his skin and the heat of her mouth. Each touch a gift. Each a blessing.

She had given herself to him this night without restraint. Opened herself to him, not just in body but in spirit.

And he had done the same.

Even though she’d voiced her desire for that time together, he had not expected her to slip in through his door that way. Even more, he had not expected any woman ever to claim his heart, his life.

Back home, he’d lived so lightly. Performed his duties and sought out pleasure. Here in Alba—everything had changed.

He’d not imagined a love such as he felt for Bradana, but he should. From the moment he’d seen her, she had pulled at him, spoken to him, sung to him. Called upon the very root of his soul.

And he had just watched her go from him to handfast with another man.

How could he let that happen?

He could not.

The Adair he’d been back in Erin might. He could possibly have turned a shoulder, declared it not his fight.

The Adair who stood here in Alba did not take this lightly. He had iron in his backbone, was a warrior who would not flinch from the battle.

Indeed, Bradana’s love had so transfigured him, he scarce recognized himself.

He knew what he must do, and by all the gods, he would do it.

What then? What if he felled Earrach MacGillean? He and Bradana would need to get away. He would have to take her back to Erin with him—her and Wen—whether she liked it or not.

He felt a measure of relief in that. He longed to be in Erin and would not mind having Bradana there with him.

And if it started a war between cousins? One fought across a narrow stretch of the Celtic Sea?

Then war would come. His father would have to understand.

They had trained long and hard for the field, had Gawen’s three sons, Adair behind his two brothers. Baen possessed a measure of prowess with the sword. Would he not one day lead the clan? And though they battled not for territory these days, the King of Ulster could call upon their ties of fealty at any time.

Daerg had dutifully gained competence also, Father insisting he stand at Baen’s back. What Da truly meant was Daerg must be able to take his brother’s place, should the worst happen.

Adair had been left mostly to his own whims, it being assumed both his other brothers would not fall.

But he had liked training in the field. Liked the feel of a sword in his hand. The effortless sensation of working his muscles and, even in play, besting an opponent.

He’d never expected to face some challenger in earnest, especially for such a reason.

What sort of opponent would Earrach make? A fierce and brutal one, no doubt. A big man. Earrach had something merciless about him.

Adair could not leave the woman he loved in the hands of such a man.

When he went out into the morning, the sun just peeked over the eastern rise. No sign of Bradana or Wen anywhere. And there had been no outcry. He could only imagine she’d got back to her room without being seen.

He walked down to the shore where his boat was situated. The small craft had been hauled well up onto the shingle and the two men who had sailed with him, Flynn and Nolan, had made a camp.

They were just rising when Adair arrived. Nolan, the leader of the two, gave him a swift look.

“Young master, are we leaving today for Erin?”

Adair heard hope in the man’s voice, and Flynn looked up sharply. They must be bored near mindless here and anxious to go.

“Aye. Be ready to leave by tonight. At short notice, if need be.”

“Aye, so. Have ye then accomplished what your father sent ye to do?”

He had not, and facing Father would be hard, especially if he brought retribution on his heels.

“In truth, nay. But there may be trouble this day.”

They exchanged a swift look. “What sort o’ trouble?”

“The kind that will require a fast departure. Are ye both armed?”

Now they appeared startled. “Aye, but we are guests here, surely.”

“Unwelcome guests,” he reminded them.

“Aye, but there are laws o’ hospitality,” Nolan said.

So there were. They extended only so far when it came to bloodshed.

He told them, “If somewhat should happen to me”—if Earrach proved a better fighter than he could handle—“get yourselves away, hear? Do not wait back.”

“And go home to your father without ye? His favorite son?”

“I am far from that.”

Flynn snorted. “I’d sooner lose me head.”

“Still and all.” Adair looked them in the eye, each in turn. “I do so order it.”

They exchanged another look. “Aye, so, let us hope it does no’ come to that.”

There was always hope.

*

To Bradana’s alarm, she found her mother’s woman looking for her when she reached home.

“Mistress,” cried the distressed Genna, “where were ye? I began to think the worst.”

“The worst?”

“That ye had fled.” Genna bit her lip. “I have not missed the fact that ye be no’ overanxious for this handfasting.”

Bradana looked at the woman sharply. What else had she noticed? “I could no’ sleep. Wen and I went walking early up the shore.”

The woman nodded.

“Why are ye here so early, Genna?”

“There is much to be done—your bath and your new gown to put on, your hair to arrange, all before Chief Kendrick calls for ye. Ye will wish to be perfect today, o’ all days.”

But Bradana was not perfect, far from it. She did not always keep to her place or guard her tongue. She often chose her own path even if it be a stony one. She went about with dirt on her shoes and tears in her clothing. She was too open, not humble or modest enough. Adair loved her anyway.

Adair loved her.

Just as she loved him, without reservation.

There in her chamber she drew a deep breath. Whatever happened during this day to come, she could let no harm come to him. Even if that meant sacrificing herself.

She thought about that as Genna prepared her for a far more tangible sacrifice. As she stripped off the fine green gown, now crumpled, and led her to the bath. Helped wash her hair.

She had believed it would be enough, having Adair once. She’d supposed one night with the man she adored might provide a kind of bulwark against a future wherein her body was no longer her own.

She’d been wrong, woefully so. Having Adair for one night only made her want him more. It had tightened the bonds that held them, one to the other. They had sworn themselves to each other, man and wife.

How could she go to another man?

Her mother came at noontime, when Genna still worked at arranging Bradana’s hair in a wealth of small braids.

Bradana leaped to her feet. “Mam, how are ye feeling?” Tavia still did not appear well. Her skin retained a gray tinge, her face a pinched expression.

“I am well, daughter.”

“I think ye are not. Have the pains stopped?”

Mam shook her head. “They but come and go. Never mind it now. This day is about ye.”

“If ye be unwell, mayhap we might put off the joining…” Bradana clung to it.

“Nay, och nay. There is no putting it off. Let me look at ye.” Mam’s blue eyes, so like Bradana’s own, made a swift inspection before filling with tears. “Ye will be a beautiful bride.”

“Mother—”

“Aye, I know ye feel uncertain about the match and apprehensive about Earrach. But ye maun trust it is for the best. Do no’ all women go eventually to their husband’s bed?”

“Many of those feel love for the man who will be their husband.”

“And many do not. Daughter, we ha’ spoken o’ this. Perhaps I ha’ given ye too much freedom while growing and let ye escape your duty far too often. It has made ye headstrong. For the sake o’ everyone involved, I ask ye to accept your fate gracefully.”

Should she tell Mother she was in love with another man? Nay, for it would not make a whit of difference. Duty was duty.

“Here, let us see how the dress looks. Genna, slide it over her head. Ye can finish her hair then. Ah, here is Maeve.”

Bradana’s friend slipped through the door, already clad in what Bradana knew to be her finest garb. She smiled cautiously at Bradana before she said, “Ah, I am in time. Mistress Tavia, let me help. Och, is that no’ a beautiful color?”

The dress was indeed a wonderful shade of blue—pale and soft, it picked up the hue of Bradana’s eyes. Once the women had it on her, straightened and pulled, and tied to their satisfaction, Maeve sighed.

“Ye be so beautiful.”

“Is she not?” A little color had come to Mother’s cheeks. “Earrach is a fortunate man, and will think himself so when he sees her.”

“How soon must we go to the great hall?”

“Soon. There will be speeches and declarations. The handfasting. We will feast the rest o’ the afternoon and night.”

Bradana’s eyes met Maeve’s and slid away. She wished she could talk to her friend alone, if only for a few moments.

But Mother had pulled a small packet from her robe, wrapped in soft leather.

“Bradana, this is for ye. My mam gave it to me before my first wedding and I wore it on the day.” A pained smile stretched her lips. “I am sure ye were conceived that very night.”

“Oh.”

“I wish for ye to have it.”

“Your blue brooch?” Bradana searched her mother’s eyes. “But ’tis one o’ your fondest treasures.”

“Nay, daughter, ye be that.”

The tears did fall then, all around. Mother pinned the brooch to Bradana’s shoulder—an elaborate scroll forming a pony, worked in blue metalwork—with hands that trembled.

“There now. Ye shall tak’ a wee bit o’ me with ye to your new home.”

Bradana wanted to collapse into her mother’s arms. To weep and wail. To beg for a way out of her dilemma. She was, however, no longer a wain who wept or begged.

“Thank ye, Mam.”

“Ye have all the courage ye will need”—Tavia looked her in the eyes—“to face what will come.”

Bradana could only trust that she did, with all her heart.