Warriors in Winter

by Michelle Willingham

  When they were out of earshot, Bevan drew back to speak with Arturo privately. ‘If you hurt my daughter in any way, you’ll answer to me, Spaniard. She’s been isolating herself for the past few months, and this is the first time I’ve seen her leave Laochre. I won’t have you making her miserable.’

  He met the older warrior’s penetrating gaze with his own steadiness. ‘She is a beautiful woman, and we understand each other.’ He saw the darkening disquiet brewing, and he continued, ‘I won’t deny that I wouldn’t mind taking a new wife back to Navarre. But the choice is hers. If she does not care to be courted, I won’t ask for more than she’s capable of giving.’ The words seemed to reassure the man, and he said nothing more.

  * * *

  They arrived back at Laochre Castle after nightfall. More people had arrived, and seeing the vast crowds, Arturo didn’t envy his sister. So many of the MacEgan tribe members were speculating about their wedding, and he knew Adriana loathed being the centre of attention.

  Bevan and Genevieve went to speak with the king and queen, while Arturo gave their horses over to a young boy to be stabled. Brianna started to walk home, when he caught up to her. ‘Will you attend the feast this night?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she hedged. ‘It’s been a long day and I’m tired.’

  He lowered his voice. ‘I won’t apologise for kissing you earlier. But I vow that I won’t press you any further.’

  ‘It felt wrong,’ she whispered, opening the door to her home. The interior was dark, and after she lit an oil lamp, her breath clouded in the night air. Outside, a few sparse snowflakes drifted upon the wind. Brianna laid a few evergreen boughs over the hearth, and the heady scent of pine filled the room.

  He didn’t know what to say. To him, the kiss had been deeply arousing, and she’d responded with her own passion.

  ‘You were the second man I’ve ever kissed,’ she confessed, her gaze turning downward. Arturo kept his distance, waiting for her to continue.

  ‘I gave in to temptation, and I lost myself in it. In that moment, I forgot about everything I intended to do. I betrayed his memory.’

  ‘He’s dead, Brianna.’ The words were cold, he knew, but he wanted to lash out against the pedestal she’d set her husband upon. ‘He can’t blame you for wanting to live again.’

  ‘I know it.’ Her voice came out in a whisper. ‘Murtagh was a kind man. But sometimes I can’t sleep at night, thinking of how he died.’ She crossed the room to stand in front of him. ‘You said you loved your wife.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have minded growing old with her.’ He rested his hand against the door. ‘But as the years passed, I knew she wouldn’t have wanted me to be lonely and never have children of my own.’

  Brianna was listening to his words, and within the golden light of the lamp, her face grew pensive. ‘Perhaps.’

  He moved toward her and tilted her face toward his. Leaning down, he brushed a light kiss upon her lips. ‘I won’t apologise for that, either.’

  She caught his hand before he could leave. Though she looked embarrassed and a little nervous, she held his palm, as if pleading with him.

  I need more time, her eyes seemed to say. Arturo studied her, wondering if the two of them could possibly heal the loneliness in each other.

  * * *

  Brianna sat in the dim light of her hut, with a small fire burning within the hearth stones. She touched her fingertips to her lips, the confusion filling up inside her. Ever since Arturo de Manzano had come to Ireland, he’d shaken her life apart. She hadn’t wanted to be attracted to the handsome stranger, but she was drawn to him in ways she didn’t understand.

  The kiss had evoked sensations she’d forgotten, making her stare at the lonely bed with regret. Her thoughts confused her, tearing her apart with longing for a husband and children...and wanting to avenge Murtagh’s death.

  She rose from her seat and donned a mantle, pulling the hood over her hair. A walk was what she needed right now. A chance to clear her head and breathe in the frigid night air.

  But when she reached the inner bailey, she found utter chaos. Connor MacEgan was gathering up a group of men. His face was lined with worry, and his wife, Aileen, stood nearby with her hands gripped together.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s Rhiannon,’ Aileen confessed. ‘She went out on her own yesterday and still hasn’t returned. I pray nothing has happened to her. I can’t imagine anything worse than finding her hurt or...’ Her voice trailed off with fear.

  Connor barked an order to a group of soldiers, commanding them to search the different parts of Laochre.

  Brianna recalled her cousin’s enigmatic words, that she planned to seek her own husband. ‘Have you spoken with my brother and sister? They were with her yesterday.’

  Connor nodded. ‘They were separated during the snowfall and thought she returned last night. We’ve sent out small groups to search, but haven’t found anything.’ In his eyes, she saw the unfathomable fear for his eldest daughter.

  ‘What about the island? Could she have gone there?’

  ‘We searched there already.’ He shook his head, his face turning grim. ‘Now, we’ve sent men to Gall Tír.’

  A cold chill spiralled into her stomach. ‘She wouldn’t go there.’ The idea of her cousin seeking shelter among the Lochlannach was unthinkable.

  ‘I’ll search every last blade of grass until she’s found,’ Connor said. His brothers Patrick and Bevan joined his side.

  ‘There was no sign of her along the coast,’ the king said. Placing his hand on Connor’s shoulder, he said, ‘We’re postponing the feast tonight until Rhiannon is safely home with us.’

  ‘We’ll find her,’ Brianna said softly. ‘I’m certain of it.’

  ‘I pray you’re right.’

  * * *

  A few hours after dawn, Rhiannon returned. Tired and silent, she would not say where she’d gone, but that she’d found shelter on her own. Her father, Connor, had raged at her for causing them worry, but not a word would she say.

  Not to them.

  But when Brianna met her cousin alone, while they hung greenery around the castle, she whispered, ‘I’m so glad you’re all right.’ With a pause, she predicted, ‘You met someone, didn’t you?’

  Her cousin froze, holding a pine bough. Instead of sharing the secret, Rhiannon looked stricken. All she would admit was, ‘I was lost in the forest, and he rescued me. It was too dark to find my way back, so I stayed with him.’ But she wouldn’t meet Brianna’s eyes, as if consumed by guilt.

  ‘Was he handsome?’ she prompted again, trying to understand what had happened.

  ‘He was...like no one I’ve ever met before.’ A mask of determination came over Rhiannon’s face. ‘I’m going to see him again. I don’t care what anyone says.’

  ‘I’ll give you my help, if you’ll tell me who he is and where you were.’

  Rhiannon reached for another pine branch, sadness spreading over her face. ‘I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t approve of him. Nor would anyone else.’

  ‘Then why risk it? You only just met him.’

  ‘Sometimes a few nights is all it takes.’ Rhiannon finished with the greenery and added, ‘He needs me. Like no one ever has.’ A flush came over her cheeks, and she sent Brianna a soft smile before returning outside.

  Arturo entered the donjon, casting a glance at Rhiannon before he greeted Brianna. ‘They found her, I see.’

  She nodded, noticing that he was wearing chainmail armour again. The silver links outlined his muscular form, and she tried to push away the traitorous thoughts. But when her gaze slipped up to his mouth, the shield of her willpower began to crack apart. His lean, tanned face held a bristled texture from not shaving. ‘If you keep staring at me like that, belleza, I’ll forget the reason I came to see you.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Did you still want a lesson in fighting?’ He eyed her manner of dress, as if it were unsuitable for what he’d
planned.

  ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘Then come.’ Arturo extended his hand, and Brianna left her basket of greenery behind. Outside, the sky was heavily clouded, an omen of more snow. He led her through the grounds until they reached the training area.

  To her delight, she saw her Aunt Honora, dressed in lightweight armour. Beside her stood Uncle Ewan and their two children.

  Brianna welcomed them and complimented the little girl’s miniature léine and overdress, trimmed with ribbon and silk. The child curtsied prettily, then walked demurely off to join the other children.

  ‘I believe the faeries switched my daughter by mistake,’ Honora remarked. ‘Lora has no interest in fighting, but spends all her time sewing and behaving like a lady. My sister’s daughter hates gowns and cut her own hair with a knife, pretending to be a boy.’

  Glancing at Honora’s armour, Brianna offered, ‘I suppose Lora doesn’t want to learn to fight.’

  ‘No, but my son does.’ Her hands rested on the boy’s shoulders. ‘Kieran has begun his fostering, and I believe he’ll be a strong warrior one day.’

  ‘Like his mother,’ Ewan teased, kissing his wife. He greeted all of them and then said, ‘I’ll leave you ladies to spar with one another.’ Taking his son’s hand, he departed the grounds.

  While Honora led her through a few training exercises, Brianna was intensely aware of Arturo watching. She moved, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her.

  ‘He’s a good match for you,’ Honora murmured, adjusting Brianna’s hands upon the spear. ‘A Spaniard, is he?’

  She nodded. ‘But we’re just friends.’

  Honora sent her a sidelong glance and murmured, ‘He wants to be more than that, from the way he’s watching you. But is that what you want?’

  Colour rose over her face. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘The solstice will be celebrated in a few hours,’ Honora reminded her. ‘The night will be longer than usual. And you know what that means.’

  She did. After spending most of the afternoon and night in darkness, the wine prompted men and women to spend time in each other’s arms. It loosened inhibitions, and often wicked games were played on that night. Many believed that a woman was more fertile, more open to conceiving a child upon the winter solstice.

  Brianna shivered, unsure of whether she wanted to join in or not. A part of her wanted to cast aside the past and spend one night without the burden of sadness. She wanted to be like the other women, celebrating the midwinter with joy. But if she succumbed to Arturo’s invitation, she knew it would not ease her grief. It would only tempt her more.

  She forced her attention away from the thought. Grasping the spear, she practised thrusting it into the bag of sand, over and over. In her mind, she imagined the cold eyes of the Viking, and promised herself that if he ever set foot upon Laochre again, it would be his last moment alive.

  The longer she practised, the more her body grew warm with perspiration. She was conscious of the way Arturo was eyeing her, and she quickened her pace to try to block out the distraction of him.

  ‘You’ve done enough,’ Honora pronounced, reaching for the spear. ‘Go and prepare yourself for the celebration.’

  Arturo was waiting, and he held out a flask of cool wine. Without a word, he gave it to her, and she drank, tasting the sweet fermented grapes while he watched.

  ‘Will I see you tonight?’ he asked.

  She nodded, her hand brushing against his as she gave back the wine. Already the day was waning, the night moving ever closer. He shadowed her as she returned home, and when she reached the door, she stopped for a moment. ‘On this night, we sometimes exchange gifts.’

  ‘There is one I brought with me from Navarre,’ he said. ‘I believe it will please you.’

  ‘I have nothing to offer in return,’ she said. ‘I fear that—’

  Leaning in against her cheek, he murmured, ‘There is only one gift I want from you, belleza. And you already know what it is.’

  A night in her arms. She couldn’t suppress the tremble that fired within her skin at the thought. He tempted her more than he should. And she suspected, if she were to ignore the voices of reason, claiming one night to fight against the loneliness, it would change her for ever. She would want more from him.

  When he departed, she closed the door and lowered the bar across it. The fire had burned low, and she added peat to it, the bitter aroma filling up the room. She set a kettle of water to heat, and pulled out a gown she’d not worn in many years.

  The overdress was dark green, the colour of evergreen branches with a gold léine meant to be worn beneath it. Made of the finest silk, Brianna had put it away after her marriage, for it only reminded Murtagh of the difference in their status. She’d thought about selling it but never had.

  Tonight, it seemed fitting to wear it. She didn’t know what decision she would make about Arturo, but she wanted to look her best.

  While the water was heating, she removed her clothing until she stood naked before the fire. She sat upon a low stool and brought the bucket of warmed water beside her. With a sea sponge, she dipped it in the water and began to wash.

  The droplets slid lazily over her skin, puckering her nipples. She washed away the grit and sweat, and with the cleansing, her mind fell into a greater turmoil.

  Arturo was right. Murtagh wouldn’t have wanted her to bury herself away from life. He’d have wanted her to seek happiness.

  She wept openly as she drew the sponge over her naked skin, grieving for what she’d lost. For her husband and the love they’d shared. For the child she’d never conceived. And for the woman she’d let herself become.

  When her bathing ritual was finished, she walked naked across the room and reached for a small wooden box, given to her by Rhiannon’s mother, Aileen. Inside it lay healing herbs and a few vials of oil. She reached for one and poured a few droplets on to her fingertips. The soft fragrance reminded her of summer wildflowers as she anointed her throat, sliding her hands over her bare skin.

  The solstice was here, and outside she could hear the sounds of her kinsmen celebrating. She pulled on her shift, followed by the golden léine and the emerald overdress. Reaching behind her, she struggled with the laces of the outer gown. Last, she unbraided her hair, letting it slide across her shoulders in waves, falling just above her waist.

  With a last glance at the spear resting in the corner, she steadied herself for the night ahead.

  Chapter Four

  The castle was filled with candles. Arturo stepped inside the Great Chamber and saw nearly fifty hollowed-out turnips with beeswax candles burning brightly. Greenery and holly were hung throughout the room, and mistletoe sprigs were tucked within the boughs. Lady Genevieve and another woman nearly the same age, were both seated upon the dais, playing a lilting tune upon their harps.

  Someone handed him a cup of mead, and he spied a group of people sitting on the floor near a giant of a bard who was telling stories with a small boy on his lap. Adriana stood on the far side of the room, wearing a gown the colour of silver. Although the feast was in her honour, she seemed less nervous around the guests. Liam kept his arm around his bride, and wonder spread over her face at the sight of the festivities.

  The gleaming candles cast a spell over the night, transforming it into a hallowed magic. Arturo’s gaze passed over the people, searching for Brianna. When at last he spied her, she stole his breath away. Dressed in green and gold, the gown outlined her curves, while her black hair was crowned with a wreath. Her cheeks were rosy from the warmth of the room, and a smile played upon her mouth as she looked around at the decorated chamber.

  The queen passed through the crowd to greet her, and she tucked a sprig of white berries into Brianna’s wreath. The young woman laughed and embraced Isabel, giving Arturo the chance to approach them.

  ‘I have gifts for both of you,’ he said, bowing before the queen. Isabel drew back and merriment glimmered in her eyes.

  ‘Something from
Navarre?’

  He nodded. ‘There is a special wine I’ve brought with me. As well as these.’ Opening the small bag he carried, he showed them the oranges.

  Isabel reached for one, fascinated by the fruit. ‘I’ve never tasted one before.’

  ‘Remove the peel with a knife,’ he advised. ‘You’ll find the fruit sweet and filled with juice.’ The queen thanked him for the gift, and he took one orange back, before handing the remainder to Isabel.

  When they were alone, he gave the last orange to Brianna. She held the sphere in her palm, studying it with interest. ‘Am I meant to try this now?’

  Arturo took it back. ‘Later, I’ll share it with you.’ He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. ‘When we’re alone.’

  A slight moue of worry creased her lips. ‘Perhaps.’

  With their hands joined, she led him through the Great Chamber, introducing him to her extended family. He came to understand that she had five uncles, and all of them were married with sons and daughters of their own. The MacEgan tribe spread throughout southeast Ireland, and three of the five men were married to Norman brides.

  As the night continued, they feasted upon beef that had been freshly slaughtered the day before. There were platters of roasted geese and boiled goose eggs, as well as fish, eels, and tart apples. He chose food for Brianna, offering her the best portions. As they ate and drank, he saw her beginning to relax and enjoy herself.

  ‘Is it always like this?’ he asked.

  ‘Usually. Last year I didn’t celebrate with them,’ she admitted. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘It still hurts to be here without Murtagh,’ she said. ‘But it’s easier to bear it with a friend.’

  Arturo squeezed her hand, though he didn’t want to be her friend this night. The kiss she’d given him had haunted him all last night and this day. He didn’t know where it would lead, and already he was letting his mind spin off with ideas of bringing her back to Navarre. But he didn’t know if she would want to leave her home and family.