Branded By Etain Page 10

  And all did go as they planned.

  He found Alana tied and gagged in a cargo hold beneath the deck. She was frightened but not hysterical. The crew did not notice Brand, and he handed Alana over to Nikolas.

  Brand bided his time on deck until he gauged Nikolas had returned to the langskip. He scrabbled to the top of the mast and surveyed the deck below.

  A dozen warriors crowded the steorbord, the word the locals used for the right of a ship, gawking at the pitched battle ensuing between the Viking’s langskip and Irwin’s cargo boat.

  Howls, roars, battle bellows, and the echoes of swords clashing rented and reverberated around the tiny bay and bounced off the cliffs. None had detected his presence, all the warriors too preoccupied with the fracas to tear their stares away from the ferocious skirmish.

  The ship’s sail billowed and stretched to its fullest under the force of a stiff but constant breeze. Brand smirked. He withdrew the two ankle sheathed knives. Long accustomed to wielding both hands in battle, he sliced the forestay and backstay ropes used to raise and lower the sail, set one blade between his teeth, and hacked at the yardarm until it cracked.

  He stuffed the blades into the tight breech ropes, grabbed the mast, and kicked the wooden pole holding up the sail. The yardarm broke with a thunderous snap. The canvas sail collapsed and enveloped all on deck, save the two sailors manning the steering oar.

  Both men whipped their heads up and spied Brand just as he regained his footing on the metal step-iron nailed into the mast.

  He raised a fist and gave a mighty roar.

  The battle cry thundered in the momentary quiet. Within mere breaths, his warriors echoed him, and naught could be heard but the Norsemen in full berserker rage.

  Brand retrieved his weapons. He fell to the deck and landed crouched to pounce. The beat claimed him then. A red haze of beast-fury drove him. He leapt to the ship’s stern before either of the two men left standing had a chance to react. Slashing with both hands, he lacerated the sailors’ exposed throats as they glanced up and made to draw their swords.

  He jumped onto the ship’s rail, flung his arms wide, and bellowed his victory. A few of Irvin’s men worked their way loose of the heavy sail and sprinted in his direction. He snarled and dove into a gargantuan wave.

  As always, Brand recalled naught of what happened while his beast raged and had no notion of how he made it back to the langskip. Nikolas recounted Brand felling those who swam after him, but Brand remembered it not.

  According to his brother, a sudden explosive storm had arisen the moment Thorkell boarded Irvin’s cargo ship, and the tempest raged for as long as the melee continued. Once Irvin and three of his boats fled north, the cyclone-like squall abated as rapidly as it had arisen.

  “Did Alana see any of it?” Brand knew when the beast took control, he grew both in stature and girth, and became more monster than man. He had seen Nikolas’s transformation and those of his men. ’Twas not a sight for the tender at heart or the innocent, and Alana was both.

  “Nay. I stowed her in the hold and had two men watch o’er her. They persuaded her to take a few sips of ale loaded with the sleeping potion from our Bá Brestá healer. She will not awaken for some time.” Nikolas clapped Brand on the shoulder. “All is well. Caul Carlinne comes into view.”

  Brand turned to face the emerging settlement. He blew out a long sigh. Caul Carlinne appeared as peaceful and sleepy as when he had first laid eyes on it.

  ’Twas the break of dawn when he carried a slumbering Alana into Castle Cairlinne’s great hall.

  “Brand. Alana.” Étaín lurched to her feet.

  Brand shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

  Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh marched straight to Brand with his arms outstretched.

  Careful not to wake the limp girl, Brand transferred Alana to the king. “She saw naught. Nikolas kept her in the hold of my second ship, which did not play any part in the battle.”

  Étaín grasped his hand between hers and feathered soft, hot kisses over his wrist and knuckles. “My thanks, Brand.”

  He met her gaze and gulped when a stream of tears dampened her cheeks. Brand knew ’twas a sign of her trust that she cried openly, not only in front of him, but also the myriad workers busy preparing the room for the meal to break the fast.

  He draped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her close to his side. The flowery aroma so peculiar to her intoxicated his senses. His pecker stiffened on a swift rasped breath. The need to plow her, to sink into her hot pussy and hammer his release, blurred his vision and hearing.

  Brand had no notion of how he and Étaín got to their chamber. He had no memory of what answers or explanations he gave in answer to the king’s queries.

  He held Étaín’s face between his palms and slanted his mouth over hers. Avarice consumed him. He thrust with his tongue and pelvis simultaneously. Bunched her gown and chemise up to her waist and dragged his fingers through her folds. “By Freya, you are hot and ready. Étaín, I know not how gentle I can be. Battle lust is upon me, and I needs be inside you.”

  The smile that curved the lips pinkened and swollen from his fervent kisses drew his stones into hard, aching balls. “Then come inside me, Brand. Now. I needs feel your pecker driving into my quim.”

  Her blatant words and passion did him in.

  Brand jerked her off her feet and staggered to the bed. He spun about, the backs of his knees hit the bedframe, and he buckled onto the mattress with Étaín on top of him.

  “Ouch,” she winced and sidled off to one side. “Your sword, Brand.”

  She struggled with the buckle of his sword belt.

  Desperate to feel her walls fisting his prick, Brand shoved off the bed and threw off his weapons, clothes, and boots, not caring where the garments, sword, and daggers landed. Growling when he turned back to face her and found she had divested her gown and chemise, Brand circled his hands around her ankles and set her small feet to his chest.

  He caressed the slickened and pouting folds of her pussy and licked her cream from his fingers before positioning his cock at her core. Gripping her arse cheeks, he lifted her and plunged in to the hilt. The sight of his pecker embedded inside her quim fractured what was left of his rationality.

  Bending to her breasts, he drew on the taut tip and suckled, using both teeth and tongue to stimulate the peak to a hard knot.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair and held him fast to her. He nuzzled the underside of her breast and nipped his way to the bud still wet from his frantic laving.

  “I beg you. Move.” She arched and squirmed side to side, and her sweet pussy quivered and pulled at his prick in short, sharp squeezes. When she wrapped her legs around him, he howled.

  Holding her tightly at the waist, he plunged into her contracting sheath, bucking and lifting to his toes when she cried out and repeated his name like a litany.

  His nuts drew up with a fierce jerk. The sharp lance bowed his back. He rooted for her nipple when his seed erupted and spewed into her. He tongued the swollen peak as the orgasm shuddered through him.

  Her sheath milked every last drop, wrapping and wringing his prick in violent, erratic bursts. Spent and too sated to think, he brushed his lips over the tempting curve of first one breast, and then the other.

  A thin sheen of sweat coated her skin with a salty spice that had his prick twitching when he licked at the moisture. The tangling aromas of her honey and his seed infused a tentative breeze attempting to circle the room. Morning birdcalls wafted through the half-open shutters. Somewhere a rooster crowed the dawn’s full blooming.

  She finger-combed his hair and dropped hot, moist kisses on the bridge of his shoulder. He smiled, pleased by her affection and the way she sighed her satisfaction with a low humming.

  When her walls contracted around his still-erect pecker, he gathered her off the mattress, pressed her close to him, and twisted around to fall onto his back on the bed. Still embedded deep within her fiery he
at, he stroked her back and lingered on the twin dimples at the crest of her arse cheeks.

  “You smell of the ocean here.” She grazed her fingertips along the ridge of a rib.

  “I spent some time swimming last eve.” Contentment sank into his pores. He savored the way she relaxed against him and sprawled, all limp and pliable.

  “Will you tell me of it?” She propped one hand atop the other and rested her chin on the spot where her fingers met.

  Brand reiterated a glossed-over version of the rescue.

  “I am glad Alana did not see what happened. ’Tis for the best. My thanks, Brand, for bringing her back safe and sound. I would not have Alana’s spirit dampened.” Étaín toyed with a clump of hair on his chest.

  “Her temperament matches the red hair on her head. She fair shouted at Thorkell when he forbade her the deck on our return journey. I thank Odin the potion we fed her when she awoke put her back to sleep before she caused Thorkell injury. By Thor’s hammer, she has a berserker’s fury. I cannot imagine you screaming and ranting like she did.” Mayhap ’twas what his wee wife needed, to rave and rage without considering if she pleased another. He vowed to needle her into a full tantrum and reap the passionate rewards that would no doubt result.

  A muffled snort alerted Brand to the fact his wife had drifted off. He withdrew from her pussy in slow graduations, reluctant to lose the firm clutch of her body. When he eased out from under her, she wrinkled her nose and curled into a little ball. He tucked the furs around her and paused to admire the pretty picture she made.

  Brand dressed quietly, collected the wild disarray of tossed garments and weapons, and strapped on his sword and daggers. He closed the shutters, stoked the fire, and left the room, careful to close the door on a soft click.

  “You are Larkin.” Brand addressed the warrior standing guard at their door. He sported three black stitches over the swollen cut on one temple.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “How did Irvin manage to knock you witless?” Brand leaned a shoulder on the doorframe.

  “He must have snuck back down to the cellars to spy on us and heard me telling Gavin of his plans to steal Alana. ’Tis the only explanation Gavin and I can come up with. ’Twas careless on my part not to check that he had indeed left the castle.” Larkin touched a finger to his injury.

  “How did you learn of his plans?”

  Larkin flushed. “I drank with one of his crew last eve. We were both sotted, but he more so than me. ’Twas child’s play to draw it from him.”

  “You did well. When does Gavin take the watch from you?” Brand made a note to find a reward for the soldier.

  “After the noon meal, my lord.”

  “When my wife awakes, take her to see her sister, and send a message to me. I will be in either the hall or the stables.” Brand gave the man a dismissing nod and headed for the king’s chamber on the ground floor. He had a notion to discuss with his wife’s father.

  •●•

  Two full moons had passed.

  She had never felt such happiness. Each new day dawned the same way, with Brand caressing her awake, and after their coupling, presenting her with a gift.

  Étaín peered at her reflection in the oval hand mirror Brand gave her the day after he rescued Alana, and defeated Irvin and his men. She could not repress a wide grin when her glance fell on all of the other objects on the chest of drawers.

  Matching gold arm and neck torques carved at each end with a beast that matched Brand’s cloak brooch had been his morning bride gift to her. A ring with a large square stone he called an emerald winked in the light streaming through the open windows.

  Last night, she awaited him under the covers wearing naught but the torques. It had inflamed Brand. They had swived fierce and fast, then slow and tender, and this dawn she had roused to him thrusting inside her.

  She loved him.

  There dwelt no doubt in her mind that he cared for her, and Étaín knew she should be content. But, she yearned to say the three wondrous words to him and to hear them in return.

  Cedilla patted the bed cushions into place and straightened the pelts covering the bed sheets. “Your courses are late.”

  Étaín’s eyes widened, and she twisted to face Cedilla. She did a quick calculation in her head. Her courses came consistently with the full moon. She was never late. She glanced down at her belly. Could she be with child? Étaín held her breath and recited a quick prayer to Mary, mother of God.

  “You have eaten every crumb on your trencher this past week. I noticed you e’en ate the doubled portions Lord Brand heaped to your side.”

  “I have no nausea.” Margie was increasing and the poor woman had been vomiting her insides up for the past fortnight and a half.

  Cedilla shrugged. “’Tis not the same for every woman. I ne’er knew I was with child until my belly suddenly strained at all my gowns.”

  Étaín fingered the scooped neckline of her leine. What had been a loose fitting dress now molded her breasts. She chewed on her lips. “Send for the healer. I would consult with her afore I tell my husband the news.”

  Would Brand be pleased? She rubbed a circle around her navel. Did she carry a son or a daughter? All warriors wanted sons, but ’twould be lovely to have a wee girl. A happy babe like Enid.

  Étaín’s joy dissolved as a tidal wave of guilt crashed through her. She had not thought of Enid or Cavin or any of the other five babes in…she searched her memories…in two moons. Not since the day after Irvin had taken Alana and Brand returned her safe, sound, and uninjured, either in her mind or on her body.

  The door banged open.

  She jumped and caught her hand to her breast. “Brand, you nigh had my heart scaling the rafters.”

  “A good day to you too, wife. Come, I wish you to walk with me.” He held out his hand, palm up.

  Étaín rose, glided to him, and placed her hand within his. “Where do we go? To the docks?”

  “Nay. ’Tis a surprise.” Absently, he kissed her knuckles and then locked elbows with her.

  “Do we venture outside the keep?”

  “Aye. Cedilla, toss me the sable lined brat I purchased from the trader.” Brand snatched the heavy cloak her nurse threw out of the air. He draped it around Étaín’s shoulders, curled an arm around her waist, and guided her into the hallway.

  “Where are Da and Nikolas?” she asked.

  Brand rolled his eyes. “Where else but at the boards? By Loki, I am weary of Fox and Goose and all manner of games.”

  Étaín suppressed a grin and patted his shoulder. “Be glad that Da is not prodding you to play chess. I own ’tis an onerous task. For he will consider his move from every angle and ponder on it forever.”

  “I predict ’twill be a long winter.” Brand sniffed the air when they strode into bright sunlight. ”’Tis the first day that the sky is clear since Nikolas and I returned from our journey to check on Gunnar the Godless.”

  “Do you know I had not noticed? We have been so busy with turning the last of the berries into jelly that I have not even gone to see Margie this week.”

  Brand had a decided weakness for blueberry jelly, and Margie had suggested an unusual use for the newly made sweet treat. Étaín secreted a ceramic pot of jelly behind the screen in their chamber, along with an extra supply of washing squares and another pitcher of water in addition to the one already there. Amidst much giggling, Margie admitted ’twas a messy take on bedsport.

  Frowning when Brand took the path to the village church, which was situated on a hill adjacent to the town, she checked his pensive profile, and wondered what dismal thoughts had chased away her husband’s smile. Would the news of their coming babe restore his normal equilibrium?

  “How is Margie? Darren is most distracted and worried that the babe is not getting enough sustenance.”

  “Poor Margie. She is exhausted by the constant heaving. The healer bid her brew a tea with dried dandelion leaves, and it seems to be helping. She was able
to walk to the castle and e’en had two slices of bread that stayed down.” Étaín paused when they crested the top of the hill. She was gasping and a tad out of breath.

  “Rest a moment, wife.” Brand cradled her in his embrace and kissed the top of her head. “Catch your breath. I did not mean to rush you.”

  She craned her neck to meet his gaze. “My curiosity is well spiked, my lord. What gift needs be hid in a church?” His serious expression did not lift with her tease. “Is aught amiss? Have I done aught to displease you?”

  “Étaín. For the last time, the only time you displease is when you ask if you have displeased me. Cease and desist. I am well content with you, wife, and would have no other.” He traced her lips, and the feathery caress tingled and tantalized and plucked at her nipples.

  She never tired of his snappish utterances of contentment and couldn’t prevent a big beam.

  “Ready?”

  “Aye.” He twined their fingers together and led her around the stone building. She swept him a swift, sidelong glance when he tugged her in the direction of the graveyard.

  He came to a halt at the far end of the cemetery in front of seven newly dug graves.

  She read the carved name on the wooden cross closest to her. “Enid, daughter of Lorraine and Fergus the Butcher. Born 965, died 973.”

  Étaín could not get another word out. Tears sprouted and flowed freely down her cheeks. He’d had graves dug for each one of the seven babes Eachan killed before she had learned to control her temper and emotions. The seven babes she’d been forced to watch as they took their last breath.

  Her knees buckled, but when she would’ve collapsed, he caught her up and sat on a log under a large shady oak in full fall color. Étaín never noticed. She curled into herself and bawled. She cried and cried and cried. Hiccupped and sobbed and wailed.

  And all the while he held her and murmured soft endearments. He massaged her aching temples and offered her sips from the wineskin slung around his shoulders.