by Heidi Hanley
She offered one of the rings to Brath. “King Brath, this is the lady you have chosen to live your life with, to work with, and to raise children together with, should Maker will it so. Will you love her faithfully, protect and defend her with your life and promise to treat her as your equal in all things?” This last line was Briana’s idea. Brath had raised eyebrows but agreed without argument.
“I will,” he promised, “and may Maker be my judge if I should fail.”
“Briana, this is the man you have chosen to live your life with, to work with, and whose children you shall bear, should Maker will it so. Will you love him faithfully, protect and defend him and his house with your life and promise to treat him as your equal in all things?”
“I will,” she affirmed, “and may Maker be my judge if I should fail.”
Kneeling in front of her, Brath placed the band on her finger and kissed it. She, in turn, reached for his hand and kissed his sovereign ring. Staring into her face, he pressed his lips to hers, the final seal of the contract between them. They stood, King Brath and Queen Briana of the House of Taranian of Uisneach.
A cheer rose up and reverberated off the walls. On a whim, she initiated a second kiss, to a roar of applause. The butterfly lighted briefly on her head, circled once more around her and Brath, then spiraled up and over the walls.
Brath walked her to the thrones that had been brought out for the celebration. Musicians found their places. Rushes were lit as dusk began to settle around them. Drums sounded and hearts began to stir at the primordial beat. Uilleann pipes evoked a sense of sacredness and sorrow. Above them, Silas walked beside the parapet wall slowly, reverently, and in his lilting voice, began to sing the song he’d written for her.
“Come ye, good people of Uisneach lands.
Hear the tale and celebrate,
the prophecy unfolding, a king and kingdom saved and new queen crowned.
From deep inside the oak she came,
emerging from between the worlds.
Brave Briana, beautiful healer and warrior at heart.
From Baigsith and the gnomes she left,
across a rainbow bridge to Tynan Ibor,
making friends across the land, in orchards, forests and village greens.
A map to lead, a crow to guide,
she trusts the knight and bard.
A witch to teach magic and lore, the ancient ways of old.
Devoted hound and mystical sword,
dryad from the Uisneach tree.
Briana and her trusted two, battle evil in the fort, victorious but scarred.
A journey of the heart and soul,
from Appleduir to Ard Darach.
Discovering her ancient roots and royal history.
Crow’s nest a restful place with friends
Gray mare given, friends for life.
Heart wide open, grows in grace, a queen she soon becomes.
Rune stones and warrior bones,
feathers wrapped in ivy.
Beating heart her soul’s true home, across the span of time.
All roads lead to Evalon,
faeries dance and heart grows strong.
Love of Uisneach leading ever forward, guiding her to home and throne.
The crow and witch, medallions two,
Knight, bard and queen make five!
Their power sent to save the king, Uisneach free once more.
So here we are, a joyful time,
the wedding day is here!
Let’s jubilate this royal pair, King Brath, the great and Mouse turned queen –
Briana, brave and true!”
Rune stones and warrior bones, feathers wrapped in ivy! There it was, the meaningful surprise. If he only knew what his reference to the runes really meant. Overwhelmed, she was helpless to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. Silas walked down the stone stairs and stood in front of her. She saw her own sorrow reflected in his eyes, but could only watch as he kneeled before her.
“To your house and your person as Queen of Uisneach, I, Silas of Cedarmara, pledge my fealty to you. If anyone should threaten or harm you, I will be your protector and avenger. I offer this fealty knowing that should I fail in any way to uphold my oath, my life will be at your mercy. Will you do me the honor, my queen, of accepting this oath from my lips?”
“I will, Silas of Cedarmara, with gratitude.” She held out a shaking hand to him and he kissed the ring upon her finger. His lips remained a second longer than necessary.
He moved to the king and repeated the vow.
For the next hour, she accepted the blessings and oaths of her subjects. Her hand was nearly worn out from the kisses, and her heart faint. Darkness fell as the last person went into the great hall to dance, feast and toast the marriage of the king and queen. The monarchs stayed behind for a quiet moment alone.
Brath faced his bride and circled his arms around her, laughing when one of his hands tangled in the train. “Well, my queen, we are married.”
“So we are.”
“Regrets?”
Looking into his eyes, so hopeful and loving, she answered, “Not one.”
“Thank Maker. For a moment this morning, I feared the outcome of this day, but I’m grateful and happy you went through with it.”
“And now it’s time to celebrate. Shall we join our guests?”
She started to turn, but his hand on her arm stopped her. “One moment, my lady.” Lips, warm and promising, claimed hers. She responded with vigor and a promise of her own.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Promises and Blessings
Blessings and well wishes rang out as the king and queen entered the hall and took their seats at a table overflowing with food. Succulent roast pheasant and venison, poached salmon and rabbit stew graced the table beside mountains of vegetables, herb-scented gravy, fruited jellies, delectable pies, tarts and pastries and freshly baked bread.
“Mrs. Flannigan has even prepared us a quiche Lorraine,” Briana exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight.
“Is it really your favorite dish?” Brath asked, handing her a slice.
Briana, too nervous to eat most of the day, felt a rumble in her belly. “No, but she thinks it is, and for her to make this especially for us is so sweet.”
He grinned. “You are going to be a great queen, my lady.”
She cocked her head sideways. “Because I like quiche?”
“Because you helped the cook out of a tight spot and made her think she was doing something remarkable.”
Laughter, storytelling and poetry accompanied the music performed by Silas and a host of local musicians who volunteered their skills to celebrate the royal wedding. The songs were beautiful, romantic and joyful, to honor the king and his new queen.
“My lady, I believe it is customary for us to take the first dance.” Brath stood from the table and reached for her hand. “Would you do me the honor?” With a curtsy and a bow, they took the floor. A capable dancer, Brath made it easy to follow gracefully as he twirled her around.
“Who taught you to dance?” she asked.
“Sigel.”
“What?” She rocked back. She held on to her husband as she tried desperately to control the laugh threatening to erupt from her belly.
“I know. We had a dance instructor once, but she died unexpectedly, and like most things, it went to Sigel to teach me. Beautiful as my mother was, she couldn’t dance to save her soul. Two left feet.”
“Well, you certainly don’t take after her.”
“Good. I want to make you proud, my lady.”
Cailleach was right; she was not disappointed by Brath’s looks or manners. Remarkable in so many ways, he’d make any girl be happy to be his bride. For the most part, she was happy to be that girl. If not for…
While Brath and Briana danced to the music of a local harpist, tables were rearranged and the thrones moved to the head of the room. When the song finished, Brath led her to the throne she would sit on for the first t
ime. Shivering at the import of this moment, she looked at him for reassurance, which he gave with a smile. He held her hand while she stepped up and settled onto the polished wood.
“A perfect fit,” he said, inspiring her with confidence.
Silas began the next song. Couples spilled out on the floor in traditional dances and slower tunes meant to allow a closeness between real or would-be lovers. Briana and Brath alternated between dancing and chatting with each other and their guests.
Sir Jameson was guiding Briana across the dance floor when she noticed Sigel whispering in Brath’s ear. Anger blazed from Brath’s eyes, and he nodded. Sigel immediately left the hall. Briana excused herself when the dance ended.
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing, love,” Brath replied, an authentic smile in place.
“What did Sigel tell you?”
“Nothing to worry about. He’s just being Sigel.”
His vague response did nothing to ease her concern, which he must have seen from her expression. “Not tonight, Briana. Nothing is going to trouble us on this night. In fact…”
She watched his eyes change from marble-green to smoky hazel. Butterflies began to rouse.
“I suspect our guests would be happy to see us bring this to a close.”
She looked away nervously.
He drew her chin back to face him. “Are you ready to go up to our room?”
Her stomach looped, but she nodded.
Hand in hand, they stood as one. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Silas leave the room as a harpist continued to play.
“Queen Briana and I would like to thank everyone for sharing in this joyful celebration with us. Too much jubilation, it seems. We find ourselves fatigued…” a twitter rippled around the room at this, “and would bid you good night. Please, stay and dance as long as you like. We’ll see you in the morning.”
He led Briana down from the dais to the door leading upstairs to their chambers to the discomforting cheers of their friends. Dara traipsed along behind, staying as close to his mistress as her dress would allow.
They didn’t speak on the way up. Briana was acutely aware of warmth spreading across her lower back where Brath’s hand rested. He opened the door and gave her an encouraging smile as she walked into what would now be their room.
A low fire crackled in the fireplace. A padded bench had been placed in front of the hearth and draped with a rabbit fur coverlet. Fragrant flowers sat on a nearby table, with a flagon of wine and two goblets. The green ríocht board and small table from her room had been moved here.
She smiled. Dara sniffed around and grumbled at his bed, now situated beside Brath’s – their – bed. She looked at her new husband.
“Thank you.”
“I assumed the hound would be sleeping with us, and the ríocht – well, if things don’t go well tonight, we can always play a game.” Seeing the worried look on her face, he said, “I was joking, Briana. There will be no ríocht tonight.” He removed his jacket, laying it over a chair before pouring the wine and handing her a glass. She sniffed it.
“It’s not plum wine, Briana. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Of course not.” She took a large sip and moved toward the balcony.
An unexpected crack and flash of light made her jump. “I guess we’re going to have a storm.”
“Are you afraid?” At her startled expression, he clarified, “Of storms?”
She shook her head. “Not of storms.”
“Are you afraid of anything? Of tonight? Of me?”
“No,” she squeaked, surprised by the nervousness she heard in her voice. She cleared her throat and repeated. “No, I’m not afraid.”
“No? I am.”
She snorted in disbelief. He stretched out his hands, showing the light tremor of his fingers.
“Why? This is not your first time.”
“It’s the first time I’ve made love to a queen.”
The butterflies lifted.
“And the first time it mattered so much to me to do it perfectly. I want this night to be a blessing to you.”
Rain began to fall harder, threatening to wet them.
“Let’s go sit in front of the fire,” Brath suggested, taking her hand.
They sat next to each other on the bench, sipping wine, watching the fire dance seductively, saying nothing for several minutes.
“Would you mind if I freed your hair from that braid?”
“You don’t like what Gael spent hours doing to my hair?”
“It was lovely for the ceremony, but at the moment, I’d rather see it falling down around your shoulders.”
Multitudes of butterflies took flight.
Turning enough to allow him space to work, she tried to steady her breath while his fingers worked through the strands of hair, massaging her scalp where the braiding had resulted in tight and sensitive skin. His touch was gentle, warm and relaxing. She leaned back, losing the desire to control anything. Her body turned more liquid than solid as his scent and essence surrounded her like a sheltering cloak.
“Turn around,” he said, thickly. He lifted her hair, then released it, letting it cascade down around her. He sat back, looking at her like she was a work of art.
When his stare became uncomfortable, she bent toward him. “Would you mind kissing me or something? I feel like a live version of the Mona Lisa.”
“I don’t know what the Mona Lisa is, but I’m more than happy to kiss you.”
Keeping his eyes open, he pressed his lips to hers. She responded by putting one hand against his cheek and opening her mouth, urging him to do more.
“You’re not making this easy, Briana,” he whispered against her mouth.
“What?”
“I’m trying to take it slow and make this night last, but if you keep kissing me like that, it will be over before it’s begun.”
She pulled back. “Oh, well, what’s your next move, then?”
He chuckled. “Are we playing ríocht now?”
“It kind of feels like it.”
“We’re not,” he assured her. “Tonight there is no strategy, no trying to one-up the other. We both get to win.”
Briana stared into the fire, but its rhythmic sway and crackling only made her more conscious of the need growing within her. “I think I’m going to need help with the laces on this dress.”
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, quietly.
She turned and he pushed aside her hair, pressing a petal-soft kiss to the back of her neck that sent a shiver down her spine. His fingers accomplished the task proficiently, smoothing the cloth away from her back. He ran his fingers lightly down her skin. “So soft,” he murmured, lips trailing fingers.
Turning her to face him, he slid the gown off her shoulders and down the slope of her chest until it pooled around her waist, revealing her firm, rose-tipped breasts.
“Beautiful.” His hand caressed one soft orb as a thumb grazed its hardened tip. She sighed at the sensation of his palm and fingers on her hyper-sensitized skin.
He groaned and crushed his lips to hers, apparently forgetting that he wanted to take things leisurely. He tasted of mint and mead, making her drunk from his kisses. Her tongue dueled with his, thrust for thrust, until neither could breathe.
She arched into him, moaning, as his hands cradled both breasts, kneading gently, teasing and tormenting her.
The entire kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight.
She reached for the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head, instantly missing his touch on her skin when he raised his arms. His hands returned to their exploration as she began one of his body. Touching, kissing and nipping aroused them both past a point of wanting to take anything slow. She stood, letting the dress fall to her feet. She stepped out and kicked the material aside.
He closed his eyes, swaying slightly, and she put a hand on his arm to raise him up. When he stood, she reached for the laces on his trousers. Taller than her by se
veral inches, with strong arms and legs and broad shoulders, he had the body of a warrior. The cinnamon hair so becoming on his head looked just as enticing across his chest and down his abdomen. Clothing gone, they explored each other with passionate curiosity. Slippery heat spread between her legs, igniting her. She slid his hand off her breast and slowly down her ribs and belly. Following her cue, he eased the hand lower, finding her silky, swollen bud. She groaned, pushing herself against him.
“Sweet Maker, Briana.”
“Could we take it slow some other time,” she said, breathless.
He eased aside the canopy curtains to a bed already turned down for them.
He was gentle and her young body yielded, the music of their passion floating around them like a symphony. She clung to him at the moment of penetration and cried out.
“Briana?”
“I’m all right,” she said, as the stab of pain lingered briefly then disappeared, leaving her with an impression of being filled and somehow reborn. From the chrysalis of her youth, she emerged, fully woman, fully butterfly.
Brath’s lovemaking was thorough and pleasant, his kisses passionate, his hands expert at finding the most sensitive places on her body. Seeking, stroking and arousing, he repeatedly carried her to the pinnacle of pleasure.
Intuitively touching, stroking and kissing, she did the same for him.
Afterward, he kissed her and gently covered her with the blanket before falling asleep with her in his arms.
She listened to drops of rain beating against the slate tiles on the roof. “I promise to be a good wife to you, Brath,” she whispered into the darkness.
*
They were making love. His hands roamed her body, his mouth devoured hers, and she smelled his muskiness as their bodies interlocked in a timeless dance of ecstasy. She tried to whisper something to him, but he smothered her words with his lips and tongue, turning her words into a hungry moan. Gazing into her lover’s eyes, she found, not the green-brown eyes of Brath, but Silas’ old-soul eyes that looked so deeply into hers and made her whole. Guiltless, as one can only be in a dream, she welcomed his hunger, his kisses and caresses. Suddenly, his hot body was cruelly ripped away, leaving her cold, heartbroken and lonely.