by Jayne Castel
“Gurid!” Bridei bellowed, swinging down from stallion’s back and striding toward the brawl. “Get off him.”
It was then they all realized their king had returned.
The felled warriors scrambled to their feet, cursing and cradling their injuries. Meanwhile, Bridei strode into their midst and pulled Gurid off Rinan by his scruff, shaking him like a dog. “What is the meaning of this?”
“It’s that straw-haired letch,” one of them mumbled, clutching his bleeding nose. “We caught him rutting Una, milord.”
It was then that Hea, who had ridden up silently behind Bridei, caught sight of a tall, slender figure cowering a few feet behind Rinan.
Bridei’s expression turned thunderous. “Una,” he called. “Come here.”
The young woman came forward, although she did not walk to Bridei’s side but Rinan’s. One slim hand reached out and disappeared into Rinan’s much larger one.
Bridei’s face hardened further. “Did he force you, Una?”
She shook her head, while Rinan merely glowered at Bridei, daring the king to challenge him.
“I went with him willingly,” she said after a few moments, her voice surprisingly strong and firm. She cast a venomous look at the four warriors who encircled them. “I told these idiots that, but they wouldn’t believe me.”
“Slut,” Gurid spat at her. “So you prefer an Angle rod to a Pict one, eh?”
Rinan, who had learned enough of their tongue to understand the insult, glared at the warrior, while Una drew herself up, her gaze hard. “Just as long as it isn’t yours, Gurid.”
“Enough.” Bridei stepped forward. “If Una went with him willingly then that’s her choice.”
“But he’s a slave,” the warrior named Longus spoke up, his words slurring slightly. Anyone could see the man was so drunk he could barely stand. “He can’t take one of our women.”
Bridei hesitated and a tense silence settled over the group. Around them, the chatter of early morning conversation in the glen had died; all gazes were now riveted upon their king. Hea climbed down from her pony and approached the group. She knew Bridei faced a difficult decision.
The laws regarding slaves in Northumbria were strict: a slave could own nothing, claim nothing. He did not have the right to a woman; he did not even own the clothes on his back. She did not know if the same rules applied here, but if they did Rinan would lose Una.
She met Rinan’s gaze as she approached, and saw from the look in his eyes that he was thinking the same as her. Rinan’s attention then shifted to Bridei, and Hea watched a fatalistic expression settle over his face.
There was no friendship between these two men—Rinan expected the worst.
Stepping up beside Bridei, Hea met his gaze. She said nothing, for to intervene on Rinan’s behalf would cause a loss of honor for both men. This was something Bridei had to decide. Her lover’s face was difficult to read. He wore that cool, slightly distant expression she had seen at Dun Nechtáin.
Bridei’s gaze held Rinan’s for a few moments, before he shifted his attention to Una. The woman watched Bridei, her eyes glittering with tears. “Do you care for him?” he asked.
“Aye,” she replied without hesitation.
“And would you willingly be his woman, if I allowed it?”
“I would.”
Bridei’s mouth curved, and then he looked back at Rinan. “Her taste is questionable,” he said, shifting to Englisc for the first time since entering the glen. “But who am I to keep lovers apart?”
Rinan’s pale-blue eyes widened. “You’ll allow it?”
Bridei’s face split into a grin. Reaching out he looped an arm around Hea’s shoulders drawing her close. “Let’s say you caught me in a benevolent mood this morning.”
The folk of Dundurn returned to their fort in the late afternoon, as the shadows grew long and the sun sank toward the west. After the morning’s excitement, the men, women, and children who flowed into the fort chattered excitedly amongst themselves.
The four warriors who had started the brawl that morning slunk at the back of the group, nursing their injuries, their faces sour. However, all of them knew better than to challenge Bridei’s word. He was a fair ruler, but he would not be crossed.
Inside the broch, Hea helped the other women prepare a light supper of fowl broth and barley bread. As she kneaded the bread, Ciara gave Hea a conspirator’s grin. “I see you and Bridei are getting along better.”
Hea nodded, feeling her face grow warm as she did so. She cursed herself for being so transparent, for her blush made Ciara and the surrounding women grin. They were enjoying her embarrassment.
“Don’t look so mortified lass,” one of the women chortled. “A fine man like that, I’d be grinning like a ferret that got into the fowl coop too.”
This set them all off laughing, and after a few moments Hea felt a smile curve her own lips. “I’m still getting used to the idea, that’s all,” she admitted. “It hardly seems real.”
Ciara met her gaze. “Well believe it. A man like Bridei mac Beli doesn’t do anything by halves.”
The dream came upon her slowly, like spring mist creeping in from the sea. Hea left the nest of furs, where she was curled up against Bridei, and found herself walking up a hillside strewn with heather.
She recognized that this was not a usual dream, which were shadowy and fragmented. Instead, this was a seeing dream, like the visions she used to have. Everything was bright and sharp. She could smell the sweet scent of heather, the peaty aroma of sun-warmed earth, and feel the cool breeze on her face.
Hea crested the hill and stopped, catching her breath a moment. To the west she caught sight of the outline of Dundurn: a conical, tiered hill topped by a stone round tower. She stood on the edge of a wide valley, where a creek meandered its way through granite rocks. It was spring, for yellow, white and blue wildflowers carpeted the valley … and walking amongst them she spied a tall, dark-haired man.
Bridei.
“Cinn … Brei!” he called out, cupping his hands around his mouth so that his voice carried. “Where are you? Little buggers!”
Childish laughter erupted before two heads peeked out of the grass: one auburn the other dark. Two lads, both no older than four winters, leaped from their hiding places and rushed across to him.
“We’ve got you, da!” one of them called out, arms and legs windmilling.
Bridei let out a cry of mock-fear and sank to the ground, rolling onto his back as the boys leaped upon him. The sounds of their laughter lifted high into the air.
Hea walked down the hillside toward them, happiness flowering in her breast. This was a glimpse of her and Bridei’s future … their sons.
“Hea.”
Bridei’s voice reached her from afar.
“Hea!”
Her eyes flickered open, and she found herself looking up into Bridei’s concerned face. The hearth had burned down low, casting a faint golden glow over them.
She gave him a sleepy smile, although she felt a sense of loss at being torn from that beautiful valley. “I was dreaming,” she murmured. “Did I wake you?”
“You were thrashing about, mumbling … I was worried.”
Hea reached up and stroked his face. “There was no need to be … it was a beautiful dream.”
His expression softened. “Really, what was it about?”
“The future … our future.”
His gaze widened. “Your gift—has it returned?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied, hesitant to admit such things now she had awoken. Recent experiences made her wary of trusting her visions again. The scene had been so real, so vivid that she wanted to believe it. “If it has, we have much to look forward to.”
He grinned down at her. “So are you going to tell me of it?”
Hea shook her head, smiling. “I think the future is best let be,” she replied, shifting her body under his so that her breasts rubbed up against his chest. “If what I dreamed come
s to pass I shall tell you … until then, let us focus on the present.”
It was true. She did not want to reject her gift, only she was not defined by it these days. She was content to let the future unfurl as it should.
Bridei raised an eyebrow, his gaze darkening as her hand snaked down, under the furs to caress him. “Heahburh … are you trying to distract me?”
“Aye, is it working?”
He gave a low groan, and rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him. A wicked smile crept over his face. “No—I believe you’ll have to try harder.”
Epilogue
The Miracle
Two years later …
Bridei paced the floor in the broch, growing increasingly agitated with every circuit.
“Why’s it taking so long? They’ve been up there all afternoon.”
A few feet away, Heolstor huffed out a breath and filled a cup of mead. “For the love of The Mother, would you stop pacing? You’re making me nervous.” He thrust out the cup toward Bridei. “Here, have something to drink.”
Bridei shook his head. He did not want to numb himself with mead, he wanted to know if Hea was well. He halted in the middle of the rush and heather-strewn floor and looked up at the ceiling. Hea had disappeared up there late that morning with Ciara and Modwen, and had not reappeared since. Even more worryingly, he had not heard any noise. He thought women screamed and groaned in childbirth, but Hea’s silence unnerved him.
Was she too weak? Was she bleeding to death?
His stomach churned, sweat beading his skin. He had been less nervous before going into battle. Childbirth was dangerous—he knew many women did not survive it. Hea was strong and although her belly had grown extremely large in the last stages of the pregnancy, causing her to waddle like a goose, she had appeared healthy throughout the nine months. Not only that, but Modwen had fussed over her, and watched her carefully throughout. If the healer had been worried about Hea, she had hidden it well.
He swiveled on his heel, turning to face Heolstor. “I can’t stand it—I’m going up there to check on her.”
Heolstor rose to his feet, his face sympathetic. He and Ciara now had an infant daughter, Mila; he knew what Bridei was going through. Not only that, but Ciara’s labor had been difficult, and it had taken her many long days afterward to recover. “I’ll come with you.”
They had just made their way to the foot of the stairs leading to the level above, when Ciara appeared at the top of them. Bridei’s gaze went to her face—and relief crashed over him when he saw that although she was flushed, Ciara was smiling.
“I was just coming to get you.” She beckoned them both upstairs. “It is over. You’re a father, Bridei.”
He rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “And, Hea … is she well?”
“Aye, just exhausted. One birth is bad enough … but two.”
Two.
Bridei entered the warm space, the air heavy with the metallic smell of blood. His gaze traveled to where Hea sat propped up against a pile of furs. Her face was pale and drawn, but she was smiling. Two tiny, red-faced babes suckled at her breasts.
Bridei stopped, awestruck. “Twins?”
Her mouth quirked. “You weren’t expecting that, were you?”
Bridei shook his head, momentarily lost for words. That was why her belly had grown so large—Modwen had thought she was carrying a large babe, but instead she’d been carrying two small ones.
Modwen stood nearby, her face glowing with sweat as she grinned at him. “Two fine, healthy sons, milord.”
Bridei smiled back at her before crossing to the furs. He then lowered himself so that he perched next to his wife. “You did well, my love.” His gaze then shifted down to the two suckling babes. The sight of their scrunched up faces and tiny hands caused something inside him to melt; he had teased Heolstor at how he had cooed over his baby daughter, but now he understood. These were his sons, his flesh and blood. He and Hea had made them.
Bridei glanced up, his tears stinging his eyes, and met Hea’s gaze. “I can’t believe it,” he said huskily. “They are a miracle.”
She smiled back, her own moss-green eyes glittering. “They are, aren’t they?”
“Can I touch them?”
“Of course.”
Bridei reached out and ran a light finger over their downy heads, their tiny chubby arms. “Have you thought of names?” he asked.
“I thought I would let you choose,” she replied. “Go on … do you have any preferences?”
Bridei thought for a moment, his gaze returning to his sons, before answering. “I had two uncles who died when I was young, before I was sent to foster at Bebbanburg, but I still remember them fondly,” he said with a wistful smile. “I’d like to name our sons after them: Cinn and Brei.”
He glanced up and saw an odd expression flit across Hea’s face. Bridei frowned. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like the names?”
“They are warriors’ names,” Modwen said from behind him, pride in her voice.
“Perhaps one of them will wed our daughter,” Heolstor piped up. He had stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned against the wall, an arm slung across Ciara’s shoulders. His wife turned, giving him an arch look. “You’re worse than a woman … match-making already?”
Heolstor gave a shrug. “It pays to look ahead.”
Bridei smiled at their banter, before he turned back to Hea. She was watching him with a soft gaze, a smile curving her full lips. To him, she had never looked so beautiful. He reached out, took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it. Even two years on, he did not take this woman for granted. There was always something new to discover about her; she stimulated his mind as much as his body.
“So the names will do?” he murmured.
Her smile widened. “Aye—they’re perfect.”
The End
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Thank you
Thank you for reading WIND SONG. I hope you enjoyed Bridei and Hea’s emotional story.
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Jayne
Historical background for Wind Song
I usually put a lot of this information in the front of my novels … but the background and historical notes are getting so lengthy these days I’ve decided to insert them at the end!
In the seventh century, England was not as we know it today. The Anglo-Saxon period lasted from the departure of the Romans, from around 430 AD, to the Norman invasion, in 1066 AD. My novels focus on the period in between the departure of the Romans, and the first Viking invasion in 793 AD—a 300-year period in which Anglo-Saxon culture flourished. The British Isles were named Britannia (a legacy of the Roman colonization) and split into rival kingdoms. For the purposes of this novel, we focus on Northumbria and the Pictish kingdom to the north: the Kingdom of Fortriu.
Many locations in Northumbria and Pictland (now Scotland) appear in this novel, although their names are somewhat different to modern-day England. Bebbanburg was the old name for Bamburgh, the seat of Northumbrian Kings for many centuries. At the time of our story, the castle would not have been built, however, there would have been a wooden fort at the top of the rocky outcrop, and, possibly, a Great Tower made of local stone. The nearby island of Lindisfarena is none other than Lindisfarne, also known today as Holy Island.
In the Kingdom of Fortriu, two locations are mentioned: Nechtansmere (in Old English)/Dun Nechtáin (in Gaelic) and Dundurn, Bridei’s northern stronghold in Pictland. The fort was situated on a hill with the River Earn to one side and the Allt Ghoinean burn to another. This area later became known as the province of Strathearn, and today is p
art of Perth.
This novel centers around two real historical figures: Ecgfrith of Northumbria and Bridei mac Beli. Bridei was king of the Picts from 672 until 693 (I’ve altered the dates of his reign slightly for the purposes of this novel). He ruled the Kingdom of Fortriu, in Southern Pictland (today southern Scotland). His father was Beli, King of Alt Clut, and his mother was an Angle—possibly a daughter of King Edwin of Deira. Bridei spent most of his childhood living at Bebbanburg, under the charge of the Northumbrian king. He would have left Northumbria as a young man and returned to his father’s lands, where he based himself at Dundurn, a hilltop fortress in southern Fortriu.
Bridei was an expansionary and active king—he led violent campaigns throughout Pictland, claiming new lands and taking back old ones for Fortriu. His relationship with King Ecgfrith of Northumbria was strained—Ecgfrith likely saw Bridei as a ‘sub-king’ rather than an independent ruler, and Bridei would have chafed under what he saw as the yoke of an Angle overlord. Their worsening relationship led to the famous Battle of Dun Nechtain in 685, in which the Anglo-Saxon army of Ecgfrith was annihilated.
The Battle of Dun Nechtain (or Battle of Nechtansmere as it was known in Old English) marked a turning-point between the Picts and the Anglo-Saxons. The battle ended with a decisive Pictish victory which severely weakened Northumbria's power in northern Britain. Before Ecgfrith set out on his campaign north, Prior Cuthbert of Lindisfarne was said to have tried to dissuade him—however Ecgfrith’s mind was made up.
The battle took place on 20 May 685, during which, the Picts pretended to retreat and drew the Northumbrians into a bloody ambush at Dun Nechtain in a valley near the lake of Linn Garan. Ecgfrith was killed in battle, along with the greater part of his army. The Pictish victory marked their independence from Northumbria, who never regained their dominance in the north.