Erinsong

by Mia Marlowe

  “I promised to wait till your wanting exceeded my own,” Jorand said, his voice ragged with need. “Are we there yet?”

  “Oh!” She ran a teasing hand over his chest, giving some of the hairs around one nipple a light tug. “ ‘Twould seem we’re not quite done, are we?”

  “Not if there’s a god in that Christian heaven of yours, we’re not.”

  He covered her mouth with his, taking her lips with a feverish urgency she answered with passion of her own. As the kiss deepened, she slid a hand down and brushed the side of his stiff phallus.

  “What are you doing?” He grabbed her hand.

  “Only what ye did to me,” she said with feigned innocence. “I’m a gifted student, Jorand. I learn very quickly. Did I never tell ye that?”

  When she stroked him again, his eyes rolled back in their sockets. “You’re gifted all right.”

  “Then let me pleasure ye.” He allowed her to push him onto his back and then folded his hands under his head with the air of a man about to undergo torture. She touched his shaft again, enjoying the smoothness of his taut skin and the way the big thing raised itself, seemingly of its own accord, to meet her hand. Brenna had the feeling she was making friends with an unknown beast, one she wasn’t entirely sure was safe.

  He is monstrous big.

  How in the world was she to take him in? She chewed her bottom lip. After all the pleasure he’d shown her, would it still end in the pain she dreaded?

  “Stop, Brenna.”

  “Have I hurt ye?” She jerked her hand away.

  “No, I can’t take any more, and I don’t want it to be this way.”

  “Then how is it to be? What would ye have me do?”

  “I’ve given that some thought.” He lifted her and set her astraddle his hips. “Don’t do anything that hurts you. But do something soon,” he said through a clenched jaw. “Please.”

  Brenna looked down at him, wondering at his willingness to let her take the lead. She had no clue where to start. So she leaned forward to kiss him, finding honey under his tongue. His hands massaged her breasts again and warmth spread down to her womb. She gasped as she felt the tip of him enter her.

  Their eyes met.

  “Trust me, Brenna,” he said. “I’m trusting you.”

  She nodded wordlessly and sat back, letting more of him in. He filled her snugly and she expanded to hold him. But his forward progress was stopped by her thin barrier. Brenna knew there was much more of him to come. She pulled forward and he slid out. They groaned together, each despairing of the lost connection.

  Brenna suddenly realized why she ached. She longed for him to fill her, whether it hurt or not. Using her hand, she guided him in again.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” she said with wonder. “Saints above, it doesn’t hurt.”

  She threw her head back and impaled herself on his full length. A cry escaped her lips.

  “Brenna?” He reached for her.

  When she looked down, a single tear slid down her cheek. “I only hurt for a moment. Now ‘tis wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

  She leaned down to kiss him again and they began the ancient dance, old as Eden itself, starting slowly and building to a new fevered pitch.

  His breath came in ragged gasps as he strained under her, meeting her with strong thrusts. He gripped her hips as he suddenly held her still. Deep inside her, his seed erupted in satisfying jolts and, as if in answer, her secret place contracted around him in welcoming joy.

  When it was over, she sank down to rest her head on his chest, comforted when the wild thumping of his heart returned to a steady rhythm.

  “Will that do, then?” she asked.

  “Ja, princess, that’ll do,” Jorand said, running a hand over her damp hair. “But only if we do it often.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “The rabbit is nearly done,” Brenna announced as she turned the roasting carcass on an improvised spit.

  “Good.” Jorand came up behind her, pushed her hair aside, and planted a kiss on the nape of her neck. His lips sent little shivers of delight down her spine. Brenna wondered if he tasted the saltiness of the light sheen of perspiration on her skin from the exertion of their most recent tussle.

  “You’ve worn me out again, woman. I can see that as your husband I’ll need to keep up my strength.”

  Brenna smiled. She’d always been a quick student, but who’d have guessed she’d be such a willing pupil of the carnal arts. In the last few weeks of their travels, he’d taught her all he knew of the game of love. Once she understood the basics, she dreamed up some exquisite variations for their lovemaking. Brenna surprised herself by being more than willing to add her own creations to her husband’s repertoire of pleasures. Where she had once been fearful, she was now bold. Once terrified of being taken, she now gave—and took—willingly.

  They sailed on each day, carefully avoiding inhabited coves. Brenna feared it would be difficult to explain that the Northman she traveled with was her husband before some Irishman tried to put an arrow into him. The little boat Brian Ui Niall had christened the Una proved sturdy and seaworthy, rounding the rocky points of Erin and finally slipping into the wide estuary that narrowed into the river Shannon.

  Before they left Donegal, Brian Ui Niall had lent Brenna the only map of the island he possessed and she copied it faithfully. So far, the landmarks proved accurate. Brenna wasn’t sure, but judging from the symbols on the leather chart, she thought Clonmacnoise was nearby.

  “Don’t you think it’s time you told me?” Jorand tore a piece of stale flat bread in half and handed her a portion.

  “Told ye what?”

  “What’s so important at Clonmacnoise?” He took a bite of the bread, chewing it without much enthusiasm. The map of Erin was spread out before him and he traced a finger around the outline of the land mass. “If we’d kept going round the island, by my reckoning we’d have been in Dublin by now.”

  “Ye promised me we’d divert to the abbey.”

  “It’s not that I mind the diversion.” He slid a hand up her arm and back down to link fingers with her. “In fact, I’ve greatly enjoyed the diversion, but,” his face grew serious, “I think the time for secrets between us has passed, don’t you? What compels you to Clonmacnoise?”

  Brenna sighed and slipped her hand away from his. This was one secret she’d carefully guarded because it could end all others they might someday share. But Jorand was right. He was her husband. He, of all people, should know the whole truth.

  “I’ve told ye what happened to me sister at the abbey.”

  He nodded soberly.

  “I haven’t told ye what happened after. Not even Da knows of it.”

  His eyes blazed on her behalf. “Did the Christians there blame you?”

  She had no doubt that if she asked him, he’d personally sack the abbey in retribution for her.

  “Aye, they did, and rightly too. If not for me, Sinead would have stayed safe behind the abbey walls. But that’s not the worst of it. The blackguard left me sister with child.”

  Jorand remained silent, his face unreadable. What if her shameful revelation turned him from her? She swallowed hard and decided to keep going. If she was going to be damned, better to be damned for the truth.

  “When I first realized Sinead was bearing, I tried to convince her to rid herself of it.” She cast her gaze into her lap and folded her hands together to keep them from shaking. It still hurt her heart to remember urging Sinead to make that solitary trip through the glen.

  “There’s an old wise woman who lives not far from the abbey,” Brenna explained. “She makes potions and such. Much as we hated the bairn’s sire and the manner of its getting, I thought Sinead would be tempted.”

  “But she wasn’t?”

  “No, she wasn’t. Sinead saw the coming child as a gift, a way for God to bring some good from all that was vile and ugly.” Brenna hung her head. “Me sister was made of much finer stuff than I.”

&nb
sp; Sinead had given birth in the abbey, she told him, attended by women for whom men were a mystery and childbirth an unthinkable event. The nuns were kind and full of pious advice, but uniformly unhelpful.

  After Sinead languished in childbed for the better part of two days, the abbot relented and called in a midwife, the very wise woman Brenna had counseled Sinead to see about doing away with the child. The crone reputedly knew as much about bringing a bairn into the world as sending one off to the next, and her sister delivered a healthy babe. One that was whisked away from her before she’d even held it once.

  Brenna stared at the fire without really seeing it, the remembered scent of blood and birth water fresh in her nostrils. “She was pale as dawn, Sinead was.” A shudder wracked her frame. “She told me to see to the bairn and then between one breath and the next, she was gone.”

  “And your father doesn’t know your sister is dead?”

  “Once a novice takes the veil, she’s dead to her earthly family. Da thinks Sinead is a true Bride of Christ, safely beyond the shame of the Northman’s rape. I couldn’t bring meself to tell him different.” Brenna thought she’d cried every tear she had for her sister, but a new spring of guilt welled up. Jorand reached for her, but she straight-armed him. She didn’t deserve the comfort he might offer.

  “The abbot tried to bring the babe to me, but I refused. The little demon killed me sister, I said, and I’d have nothing to do with it.” She hid her face with her palms. “I was mad with grief and, God help me, if they’d forced it on me, I might have done murder. So they took it away.”

  Jorand moved closer to her, near enough for her to feel his heat, but not close enough to touch her.

  “At first, I was glad not to have seen it, glad not to have the babe there a constant reminder of the calamity me sin had wrought,” she said, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Then, it started to fret me that I didn’t even know if the bairn was a boy or a girl. The abbot would tell me not a word.”

  Silence stretched between them. Why didn’t he say something, anything to let her know what he was thinking? She was afraid of what she might see in his face, so she kept her eyes downcast.

  “I never knew what became of the babe. I’ve always assumed the abbot fostered it out somewhere. He kept saying ‘twould be best if I knew nothing and put the whole sorry mess out of me mind.”

  Brenna passed a hand over her eyes, seeing for a moment the tiny wailing bundle the midwife swept away from her sister’s bedside. A stone settled into her chest. Why had she not honored her sister’s request and asked for the child right then?

  “But I found I couldn’t bear not knowing,” she said, picking at a loose thread in her woolen brat. Anything to keep her from looking up and seeing disapproval in Jorand’s face. “Sinead laid the bairn’s care on me and I failed her. Again. Then when I began to bedevil the Holy Father about it day and night, he sent me home. Said I’d never make a nun if I couldn’t obey his orders any better than that.”

  All Brenna heard was the steady clatter of the river as it rustled past them.

  “Will ye not say something?” she finally asked.

  Jorand touched her then, resting his hand lightly on her knee. She looked up at him.

  “I have to agree with your abbot,” he said wryly, one corner of his mouth lifted in a grimace. “You’d never make a nun.”

  The crinkling lines around his eyes told her he didn’t despise her, even though she despised herself. Now, would he understand the rest?

  “So ye see, then, why I have to go back.”

  “Of course,” Jorand said. “You want to see about the child, make sure it’s well. That makes perfect sense.”

  “No, ‘tis not all. I mean to take the bairn away with me when we leave.”

  “Brenna—”

  “No, me mind’s made up.” She tucked her knees under her chin and clasped her arms around her legs, rocking slightly. “I’ve been vexed for months, nearly a year now, fretting about this child. God forgive me, I tried to convince Sinead to end its life, as if that would take away me sin. And I was relieved at first not to have the bairn, still hating the man who gave it to me sister.” She heaved a sigh. “But then the dreams started coming.”

  “Dreams?”

  “Aye, in the night, the child appears out of nowhere. Always ‘tis in some kind of danger and I have to save it.” Brenna gnawed her bottom lip. “And in me dreams I usually can’t. ‘Tis a sign, I believe. The babe must be in peril and I must needs see to it.”

  “You can’t set much store in dreams,” he said, reaching to take the rabbit from the spit and slice off a chunk of meat for each of them. “Dreams are nothing but fancies.”

  “Nothing till they make a body see things clear. This child may have had an ill begetting, but it doesn’t change the fact that ‘tis me sister’s child. Sinead’s own flesh. Me own kin.” She waved away his offer of food. “How can I not know how it fares?”

  The life of a child, even one coddled and cared for, was a dicey thing. Between famine and plague, accidents and interclan warfare, children were the most vulnerable of beings. To raise a bairn to adulthood was an accomplishment even if the youngster was well-cosseted. For a fosterling, a child tossed aside, Brenna knew the odds of survival were even slimmer.

  “ ‘Tis the burden Sinead laid upon me. Perhaps ‘tis me penance for the sin of rebellion, but I must care for this child.” She swiped her nose on her sleeve. “Perhaps ye can’t see the reason of it, but I’ll not rest till I can take the bairn back to me father’s keep and show him his true heritage.”

  Brenna’s lips quivered. Her marriage was still so tenuous. True, they had found delight in each other, but she realized she had no right to ask Jorand to take on another man’s child. Even if it meant he cast her aside after their handfast time was spent, she intended to keep the child.

  “I will raise this babe,” she said with force, as if she were trying to convince herself as well as him. “And I will love it.”

  “Have you thought about what this means?”

  “Whether ye agree to it or not, makes no difference.” Her voice faltered, but her will was determined. “The child has a prior claim on me. I must see to it.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I was thinking about the child’s foster parents. Mayhap they care for the child. What if the babe is happy and safe where it is? Or...”

  “Or what?”

  “What if the child is dead? Would you really want to know?” he asked quietly. “Would it not be better for you to be able to think of it alive?”

  “Why would ye say such a thing?”

  “The way things are now, you can imagine the child however you like. Boy or girl, whatever you please. Strong, healthy, afraid of nothing.” Jorand’s faraway look told Brenna he might be imagining a child of his own. “You’ve been given a gift, princess. In your mind and heart, you can hold a perfect child for your sister.”

  “But what I imagine may not be true.”

  “Does it matter? When I first came to you, not being able to remember worried me day and night. Now, I’ve decided if my memory never comes back, perhaps it is for the best.”

  She stared at him incredulously.

  “What if there are things in my past I don’t want to know?” His brows nearly met over his straight nose. “What if I were a different sort of man altogether before I washed up on your beach?”

  Brenna laid a hand on his arm. “We are what we are. I think ye have always been the same, Jorand. Ye are a fine, fine man. And I’ll have words with any who says different. If ye have things in your past ye’d be less than proud of, it only means ye are a true son of Adam, neither more nor less.”

  He cast a lopsided smile at her, beaming under her backhanded praise. “If you want this child, I’ll see that you have it, even if I have to snatch it for you from its crib.”

  “That’s exactly what Mother used to tell us girls the Northmen would do to us if we misbehaved.” She suppressed a giggle.
“Who’d have thought I’d have need of Finn-Gall cradle robber meself?” Then she sobered. “But I’m hoping it won’t come to that. I’ve brought the silver that was me dowry and stand prepared to compensate whoever is fostering the babe. The real trick will be making Father Ambrose tell us where to find the child.”

  “I think you can safely leave that to me,” he said, the set of his jaw leaving no doubt he’d enjoy forcing the information from the abbot. He caught up her hand and dropped a kiss into her palm. “Haven’t you learned you can trust me yet, Brenna?”

  She felt herself falling headlong into the blue depths of his eyes. Aye, here was an ocean she could launch herself upon and fear no hurt. Brenna pressed a palm to each of his cheeks and poured herself into a kiss.

  The rabbit was cold and greasy by the time they got around to eating it. Neither of them much cared.

  ***

  Brenna wasn’t sure what actually woke her. One moment, she was curled up beside her husband and the next she was lying, body tense, ears pricked, straining to catch the sound again.

  The moon had risen, cold and full, every blade of grass doubled by its own sharp shadow. Their fire had sunk to dully glowing embers. She raised her head to listen. There, she heard it again.

  It was a voice, low and full of guttural grunts and sibilance. She couldn’t make out the words. The sound faded in and out as if it were sometimes amplified by water, sometimes buffered by the thick woods.

  She eased herself away from Jorand without waking him and glided in silence to the river’s edge. The voices were louder now and she realized why she couldn’t understand the words. The men were speaking a foreign tongue.

  Norse.

  A rough laugh broke the quiet of the night, unnaturally loud on the water. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was the sound of one who rejoices in another’s suffering.

  Brenna’s soul froze. She knew that laugh.

  A longship drifted into view around a bend in the river and standing in the prow, behind the serpent head, was the man whose face had haunted her nightmares. The silvery light made it impossible for her to see the dull russet of his hair and beard, but his coarse features and unmistakable laugh were burned on her mind. She’d watched him violate her sister not just once, but over and over again in a thousand evil dreams. She’d know him anywhere.