Branded By Etain Read online

  Brand hastily focused on King Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh and choked back a curse. The monarch’s scowl shouted contained fury. How had he offended the man?

  Setting his palm to Étaín’s elbow, Brand urged her forward, threading a careful path between the benches. He hooded his eyes and scrutinized the king.

  The monarch stood mayhap a half a head shorter than Brand, had a broad forehead, sparse wisps of gray hair, a hooked nose, thin lips, and a line of blue etchings in the hollow of one cheek.

  The folds in the king’s neck belied the youthful firmness of the ruddy skin covering his face. He had seen at least two score and ten summers.

  Brand had gained a history of the family and the kingdom during the past months. Étaín and the two younger daughters were the progeny of Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh’s third wife who had died giving birth to a stillborn son. The king’s second marriage had been fruitful indeed. His second wife had birthed four sons and three daughters. All had been killed in a Viking raid and Caul Cairlinne burnt to the ground ten and nine summers before.

  Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh had been taken prisoner, no doubt to be blood-eagled by his captors. Brand had witnessed the slow, tortuous death practice as a mere boy and the vision of a berserker slicing the screaming prisoner’s ribs from the spine, and breaking them one by one, remained as fresh as ever.

  He relaxed his facial muscles, and bowed to the king.

  “Arise, warrior. Daughter, this man is your choice?”

  Étaín met her father’s ferocious glower with nary a beat of hesitation. “Aye, Da. He is.”

  “What know you of him?” The monarch folded his arms across a massive chest draped by a velvet tunic the color of wet leaves in the height of summer.

  “Naught but what my heart tells me.”

  The king scowled and stared at his child. “Have you e’en spoken with this man?”

  “We have spoken, Da. We have broken a morn fast together. He is Brand of Bärvik, a remote settlement on another isle. Daren the blacksmith shoes his horses and is fashioning a new shield for him.”

  The monarch considered Étaín, his stare piercing and severe. “We will speak of this later, daughter, and I will have Darren’s hide for allowing you two to court without my permission.”

  “Da, Darren knew naught. I, alone, am to blame.” Étaín hold on Brand’s forearm tightened.

  “You would have me believe Margie knew naught?” The monarch jammed thick beringed fingers onto his hipbones.

  “I beseech you, my king, do not punish Margie. ’Tis my doing and I will bear any penalty you deem fit for my actions.”

  King Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh shifted to face Brand. “I would know your true thoughts on my daughter and my holding. Truthsayer, to me.”

  Brand stifled the urge to grasp the hilt of his sword.

  Étaín transformed in the space of a heartbeat.

  All expression and color drained from her features. Her eyelids fluttered to half-closed. She stiffened and crossed around to stand on Brand’s left. She stood sideways to him and set her palm to his chest.

  The pounding of his heart drowned any other noise. Brand felt the steady thudding in her fingertips and could not move a muscle.

  “Are you Brand of Bärvik?”

  He bowed to no man and answered to none, not even a king. Brand clamped his lips together. To his utter astonishment words jumped out of his mouth. “I am.”

  Étaín droned, “He speaks the truth.”

  “Do you intend harm to any at Caul Cairlinne?”

  “I do not.” What magik was this that Brand had no control over his own tongue?

  “Truth.”

  “Will you cherish Princess Étaín?”

  “I will.”

  “Truth.”

  King Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh met and held Brand’s gaze. “Will you be true to Princess Étaín?”

  “I will.” He fought the other declaration leaping up his throat to no avail. “Princess Étaín will lose my respect and my favor if she cuckolds me.”

  “He speaks truly.” Étaín’s voice had lost the musical quality of this morning.

  An audible sigh rumbled around the great hall and echoed off the wooden rafters.

  Étaín crumpled and Brand had to dive to collect her into his arms. The blue-green veins in her temple were clearly visible. The thick fringe of her lashes cast shadows on cheeks that held no dust of peach.

  Brand stifled a coarse oath when he noticed the gray cast to her normally ruby lips. He snarled at the monarch, “What did you do to her?”

  “The truth saying saps her strength. ’Tis always the same after her trance. She will recover shortly.”

  “You would force this on her? E’en knowing the consequences to her? She is but a tiny female. I tell you now, if she is harmed, king or no king—you will pay,” Brand snapped. By Freya, she had scared his pecker flaccid.

  The king’s lips twitched. “Étaín has chosen wisely. Brand of Bärvik, I cannot deny my daughter’s choice, but I can withhold my approval. I make you a bargain this day. Wed Étaín in the Christian way when she awakens, and I will give this union my blessing.”

  Since Brand had every intention of consolidating his marriage with Étaín by getting her with child long before the year and a day ended, he said, without a pause, “Call your priest. ’Twill be done as you say with all here as witnesses.”

  •●•

  Étaín interrupted Margie’s third iteration of what to expect when Brand consummated their marriage. She had not a shred of worry that the act would be anything but wondrous. “Be done with it, Margie. My head fair throbs with thoughts of peckers, stones, pearls, and quims. I trust in Brand. Did he not say he would cherish me when Da asked? I am a truthsayer. He spoke truly.”

  “He is a very large man.” Margie picked up a tortoise shell horsehair brush and stroked Étaín’s springy curls.

  “So is your Darren.”

  “I am twice your height and weight. ’Tis easier for a woman like me to accommodate a large pecker. You must not overexcite him, otherwise he will be rough with you.”

  “How could I overexcite him?” The mere sight of him made her woman parts moisten. Did the same happen with men?

  “Do not caress his willy and touch not his balls.”

  “Willy? Balls?” ’Twas a new language to be learned for this bedsport.

  “Pecker, stones. Men have scores of names for their parts. Some e’en name them. Darren says his brother, Padraig, calls his prick ‘Olympus.’”

  Étaín’s heart skipped a few beats when the sound of stomping feet reached her ears. “Did you hear that?”

  “Aye. They approach. Quick, under the sheets. I will leave after the last man departs.” Margie drew the linen covers to right under Étaín’s chin and gave her a quick hug.

  The doors slammed open, and the men of Caul Cairlinne, carrying a naked Brand above their heads, tramped into the room roaring the limerick Prick Her Well. The words ricocheted around the chamber:

  Prick her well,

  And her belly will swell,

  Fill her with your seed,

  And ease your need,

  Make her see stars,

  And sons be your rewards

  The singing faded into the background when the men dumped Brand onto the other side of the bed. He quickly slid under the sheets, scrabbled to the middle of the mattress, and gathered her close.

  The side of her breast skimmed the coarse hairs on his chest, her leg brushed a thigh forged of iron, and his male aroma, soap, some spice redolent of pine, and the yeasty smell of ale, intoxicated her senses.

  “Out!” Da bellowed. “Out. At once.”

  A momentary silence ensued, and then the crowd began streaming out of the room singing yet another naughty limerick. Étaín was too busy trying to absorb the details of her husband to notice anything or anyone until there was another quiet.

  She flinched, glanced up, and fire roasted her skin when her gaze collided with her fathe
r’s. Mother Mary have mercy and let not her carnal thoughts show on her face.

  “You can yet change your mind, Étaín. Do you still choose Brand of Bärvik?”

  Concern and worry furrowed deep lines in Da’s forehead.

  “I do, Da.”

  For a few moments, the monarch’s cheeks puffed and hollowed. He stared at the far wall. Then he blew out a long exhale. “Be gentle with her.”

  Margie curtsied to the king. “My liege, may I walk with you to the hall?”

  Étaín fisted her hand against her mouth. Da looked so forlorn. She yearned to rush to him and give him a hug of reassurance.

  Da offered Margie his arm, and the two of them left the chamber.

  ’Twas only then she noticed the lone man standing in the far corner of the room. A warrior of the same height and build as Brand, but with hair the color of a fire-streaked dawn.

  “Leave. Post guards at either end of the hallway,” Brand ordered.

  “Aye.”

  The second the man eased the door shut, and Brand jumped out of the bed, stalked to the heavy metal bar lying against the wall, and then heaved it into place. He scanned the room, moved to the fire, tossed two logs from a heap in a wire basket into the blaze, and poked the charred logs until plumes skirted the high stones topping the hearth.

  Étaín could not drag her stare from him. The harshness of his male beauty proved mesmerizing. She winced at the jagged scar that ran from the small of his back to his shoulder. What pain he must have borne from such an injury.

  Twin dimples at the top of his buttocks winked at her when he rested the poker to the side of the fireplace.

  He turned around.

  She gasped and lurched to sitting.

  In truth, Margie had been right to have been worried. His pecker jutted thick and high. ’Twas of an enormous girth, and when he strode forward, it bobbed. The closer he came, the more the thing swelled and lengthened. She licked suddenly dry lips and swallowed, once, twice.

  When he slid under the covers, she stifled the sudden impulse to flee the chamber.

  “Come, wife. Talk with me a while.” He curled an arm around her waist and drew her down to the mattress.

  Étaín stared at the tented sheets and blurted, “Does it move on its own?”

  He chuckled. “Aye. At times. Has Margie told you what to expect this eve?”

  She worried her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut trying to regain some composure.

  “To me, Étaín.” He cupped her chin and gently slipped her lip free. “Have you spoken with Margie?”

  Her cheeks warmed, and she focused on the fine fuzz clinging to his jaw. “Aye. I know what to expect, but ’tis one thing to speak of and another to behold. My lord, I cannot see how we will fit. ’Tis obvious you need a woman twice my height and one who is strong-boned.”

  “Brand. When we are alone, I would have you say my name.” He tilted her head back and forced her to look into his eyes.

  She had forgotten how brilliant a blue they were.

  “Brand, Étaín, say it.” His smile proved pure enchantment.

  “Brand,” she repeated.

  “Again,” he commanded and kissed her bare shoulder.

  ’Twas delicious, the feel of his lips on her skin. A shivery tingling stole up her spine. “Aye. Again.”

  “This?” His mouth brushed the cusp.

  “Aye. Delicious.” She arched her neck, and he obliged her silent plea by feathering soft kisses to the ridge of her collarbone. When his tongue, hot and coarse, licked the base of her neck, she moaned.

  “Delicious, wife. You smell of spring and taste like a feast.”

  All the while, his lips and mouth made magik on her throat. Lava flowed hot and molten through her veins.

  When his finger grazed her nipple, she clutched at his arms. Sensations crashed through her. Her lewd dreams surged anew, and she tangled her hand in his hair and urged him to her breast. He suckled her, long hard pulls, his tongue laving without mercy. Each tug of her engorged bud created a corresponding burning in her woman parts. She was fevered and dizzy with wanting something, but knew not what.

  “No,” she protested when he freed her flesh.

  He glanced up at her and grinned. “Aye. ’Tis a rule. What you do to one titty must be done to the other. In equal parts.”

  “Oh.” Titty; what a wicked word. “Methinks ’tis a prudent rule.”

  But, ’twas a falsehood, for not only did he pay attention to one breast, but with his hand and mouth attended to both. He lapped one swollen peak and blew over it.

  “More,” she begged, shameless with need.

  She dug her heels into the mattress when he transferred his attentions to the other mound and closed his teeth softly over the swollen tip of her breast.

  He tugged on the other bud and then switched.

  Étaín squished the sheets with her hands.

  The nub between her woman’s folds itched and prickled.

  His hand pressed hard against her mound. She lifted her hips to increase the pressure.

  “Thanks be to Freya. You are wet and ready.” He nudged her legs apart.

  Her eyelids flew up and she froze at the blaze in eyes that held not a hint of blue.

  “Take your pleasure, Étaín. Watch me give you the stars.”

  She had to obey him and fixed her gaze on the lascivious sight of his bronzed thumb grazing back and forth over her reddened nubbin, the pearl Margie had described earlier. Her breath came in sharp pants. “Faster.”

  “Nay. First this.”

  He inserted his middle finger into her sheath.

  She levered off the bed.

  His finger stretched her, and his thumb continued the sweet, slow dragging over her secret woman’s flesh. ’Twas incredible. She was on fire from inside and ready to explode. He pinched her there, and she shattered. Her sheath clamped and released around his finger. Again and again, the contractions burst through her. The sweet ecstasy continued until spent, she collapsed into a boneless heap.

  He rolled on top of her.

  She clung to him, her fingers slipping on the dampness coating his back.

  His mouth took hers. He nipped her lip, she mewled her pleasure, and he thrust his tongue inside. The staggering carnality shocked and intoxicated her senses.

  He lifted her hips and drove his pecker into her sheath.

  Pain, sharp and piercing, tore through her.

  She beat fists on his chest and tried to tear her mouth away from his.

  He held her fast and sipped softly at her lips. “’Twill ease. I swear. Kiss me back. ’Twill distract you.”

  She opened her eyes and found him inspecting her with a predator’s intensity.

  “Touch your lips to mine.”

  The stinging in her woman parts eased a tad. She began to breathe again.

  “Like this,” he coaxed and swept his lips in agonizing slowness across hers.

  Her sheath no longer felt as if cleaved into two.

  She trusted him to care for her and gave him a watery smile. This close, his breath fanned her cheeks and his scent once again had her sotted.

  Étaín gripped his shoulder and pressed her mouth against his. Remembering his soft sipping, she mimicked the caress, and when he growled, grew emboldened.

  She looped her arms around his neck and trailed her fingers over the deep grooves of the muscles of his upper back. Before her courage failed, she outlined his mouth with her tongue.

  His palms framed her face, he slanted her head to one side, and commanded the kiss. He ate at her without mercy, left no cavern, no niche, no tooth unexplored. ’Twas the paradise she had dreamed of these long months.

  When he withdrew his prick from her womanhood, she dug her nails into his flesh.

  “Odin have mercy.” His whisper tickled her lips.

  “Oh!” she yelped when he drove back into her.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

  She com
plied. His stiff pecker retreated and then plunged deep. His stones banged her sensitive folds. His groin jammed her pearl. She quivered from prickling scalp to curled toes. Excruciating anticipation coursed through her blood.

  Her eyes widened in amazement. ’Twas starting anew. That wondrous flood of stabbing desire that had her nipples taut and aching, and her woman’s pearl throbbed to the point of pain.

  He moved faster, pounding into her, his fingers biting into her waist.

  She lifted to meet him once, twice, and then became oblivious to anything but the way he hammered into her. He slapped against her nub, slipped his hand underneath her bottom, and on his next thrust, she fractured.

  Her sheath fisted him, sucking at his thickness. He withdrew, and her walls squeezed him like a vise. His pecker stabbed a sensitive bundle of flesh deep inside her channel. Vibrations strummed through her.

  “Together, wife,” he rasped, reached between them, and tweaked her pearl.

  She surrendered to the waves of ecstasy, no longer able to do aught but lock her ankles in the small of his back and hang on for the ride.

  He roared. The sound echoed around and around while he jetted into her channel. His hot, spurting seed coated her sheath and filled her womb. She collapsed into the soft straw mattress and moaned his name over and over while her channel clenched around his throbbing shaft, the intermittent contractions too titillating, too rapturous to do naught but yield to the blissful wondrous trance claiming her mind.

  Étaín had no notion of how much time elapsed, but gradually the room came into focus.

  Somehow she lay on top of him and they remained joined, his pecker still thick and pulsing in erratic bursts. Her sheath reacted automatically, squeezing his cock, and sending her into corresponding shudders of pleasure.

  Every so often, the blazing fire in the hearth erupted in snaps and pops. A cozy warmth filled the room and invaded her soul. Never had she felt so complete, so replete. She inhaled his warrior essence and smiled a secret smile. Her dreams could never match the astounding reality of their coupling. Unable to resist, she rubbed her nose into the grizzly hairs coating his chest.

  “Fare you well, Étaín?” She loved the way a growl infused his deep rumble even though he spoke softly and tenderly massaged her nape.