Erinsong (19 page)

When Brenna nodded, he
shouldered a pack with
their food and
gear. They found a game trail wander
ing
alongside the watercourse and followed it into the deep shade of an
ancient forest.

The night would be chilly,
but now the air was filled with a drowsy warmth and the rich,
fecund
smell of fertile earth. Brenna
inhaled deeply, satisfied
with solid
ground underfoot and the familiar comfort of a glade.

The stream rioted beside
them, sometimes leaping,
sometimes
widening to a sedate ripple, and once ed
dying into a deep pool as it rounded a bend. Brenna made note
of the clear water. She’d be back later to
wash the brine off her skin and hair. They continued
to hike for another twist or two in the
stream.

“ ‘Tis far enough, surely?”

Jorand bent to scoop up a
handful of water and brought it to his lips.
“Ja,
it’ll do.”

Brenna gathered dry limbs
for a fire while Jorand
constructed a
lean-to of deadfall and cedar boughs.

“Not exactly a palace,” he admitted,
surveying his handiwork with his fists on his hips. “But it should
turn the rain. Someday, I’ll build you a fine longhouse.”

“Someday? Remember ye are bound to me for
only a year and a day. If ye intend to build me a house, we’d best
not tarry long in this Dublin ye seek.”

His eyes darkened to deep indigo. “If you’re
in such a hurry, perhaps we shouldn’t stop at that abbey you are so
hot to visit.”

“No, Jorand,” she
protested. “Ye must take me to
Clonmacnoise. Ye promised.”

“
Ja,
I did. I’ve never asked, but I’m thinking it’s
time you told me why.” He knelt to strike flint to steel, pausing
to blow on a spark in hopes it would
ignite the small pile of tinder. “You hate sailing.
You
barely tolerate me. But nothing could
stop you from coming. What’s so important at
Clonmacnoise?”

She pressed her lips
together in a hard line. “At first I thought my life was there. I
spent the better part of a year at the abbey, intending to work in
the
scriptorium. I had such hopes, but...”
Brenna gulped.
No. She couldn’t tell him
the truth. He might not help her if he knew. She needed a
diversion. “I... I wanted to learn more of my craft. I did tell ye
I can read?”

“You might have mentioned it.”

“Aye, and write, too. Father Michael taught
me.”

He leaned over the glowing
embers and blew
softly on them, urging
them to a lively blaze. “Show
me.”

She smoothed a patch of dirt with her foot
and wrote in the soft turf with a twig.

“What’s that say?” He left the fire long
enough to study the marks in the dirt.

“ ‘Tis your name.” She
underlined the letters as she
voiced them.
“Jor-and.”

“If you say so,” was his
noncommittal reply, but he narrowed his eyes as he studied the
letters. Then he turned his attention back to the flames for a
moment before he pinned her to the spot with a steady
gaze. “You still haven’t answered my
question.”

She looked away.

“I guess you’ll tell me
when you’re ready,” he said.
“But that’s
part of being husband and wife, you know. We may not share much,
but we can at least
trust each other
enough to bear each other’s secrets.”

“And what secrets have ye shared with
me?”

“All I know,” he said sadly.

“Forgive me.” She laid a hand on his arm,
sorry to have brought up his memory loss. “No more has returned to
ye?”

“I don’t know if it’s a
memory or not, but lately, I
have been
seeing a face in my dreams that seems fa
miliar.” Jorand stretched out his legs and leaned back
against a fallen log.

“A woman?”

He chuckled. “No. It’s a
boy, a dark-haired boy. In
my dreams, he’s
a few years older than me and it
seems
we’re in trouble together most of the time.”

Brenna let a relieved
giggle slip out, thankful
the face didn’t
belong to another woman.
She’d been trying
to guard her heart, to not let Jorand
come
to mean too much to her since she expected he’d leave her
eventually, but her reaction proved
her
defenses against him were crumbling.

“Perhaps he’s your brother.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think
so. It seems like in the dreams, the dark-haired boy has a brother,
a mean-spirited lad who bedevils the two of us most of the time.”
He launched into an account of his dreams
with as much accuracy as he could muster.

Brenna added dried meat and
root vegetables to a
stew pot dangling
over the flames while she listened. Given the depth of detail
Jorand described, it seemed
clear some
memories must be bubbling to the sur
face.
“And in your dreams, do ye not see your family,
your parents?”

“No, but it’s like... like
the boy is all the family I’ve
got.” A
deep cleft formed between his brows and he
cocked his head as though listening to a voice Brenna
couldn’t hear. “I think…I was fostered out to his
family. Part
of his family, but not
really.
Ja,
that
must have been it.” Light shone in his eyes and a smile spread
across
his features. “I
re
member. The boy’s name was...
Bjorn.”

Suddenly, like water
springing from a rock,
a flood of memories
seemed to burst in Jo
rand’s mind and out
of his mouth. He spoke quickly,
eager to
voice the thoughts as though he was afraid they’d retreat into
darkness again. He told Brenna
about his
childhood in
the
jarlhof
at
Sogna under the
care of Harald
the
Jarl
, which
she supposed was a level of nobility roughly equivalent to her
father’s kingship. Jorand talked about playing “Gnomes and Elves”
with
young Bjorn in the deep Norse
forests, and climbing
for gulls’ eggs on
the craggy side of the fjord.

When he reached the end of
his litany, he subsided
into
silence.

“Is there more?”

“No.” He put a hand to his
temple and rubbed.
“Nothing more. It seems
I remember I was ten once,
but that’s it.
Lot of good it does me.”

“Of course it does,” she
said. “You remembered
something, at least.
Surely more will follow. You look
tired.
Why don’t you rest here by the fire and watch
the stewpot for me? I’ll be right back.”

She gathered a change of clothing and slipped
back to the path by the stream, heading for the quiet little pool
they’d passed by.

Her heart was banging in
her chest. At first, she had no idea why she felt so
unsettled,
but then she realized it was
because Jorand’s memory
was returning.
True, there was no woman yet in his past, but that didn’t mean one
wasn’t there, waiting
for him to find her
in the closed-off part of his mind.
And
when he did...

Brenna flung down
her
brat
from off
her shoulders
and stooped to lift her hem
up over her head. It felt good to strip out of her briny-stiff
clothing and stretch in the last rays of sunlight. She’d rinse them
out and put on her spare tunic before going back to Jorand and the
fire, but for now, the water called to her. She eased into it up to
her hips.

Brenna scooped up handfuls
of the clear liquid, splashing it on her face and shoulders.
Rivulets of pleasure coursed down her arms, over breasts and
belly. Weariness sloughed off with the salty grit
and
her skin tingled in the fresh water.
She waded out farther and discovered the pool was even
deeper
than she thought. The bottom of the
stream retreated
under her and she slid
beneath the surface.

Brenna clawed back up,
sputtering and floundering. No matter what she’d told Jorand to
coax him into bringing her with him, she really was not much of a
swimmer. When her toes found the bottom
again, she was able to stand upright and push her hair out of
her eyes. Brenna looked up to see Jorand sitting
be
side her pile of discarded
clothing.

“How long have ye been there?”

“Long enough.”

He stood and yanked his tunic over his
head.

“What in the name of all the holy angels do
ye think ye are doing?

“You’re not the only one
who likes to be clean,
princess.” He
pulled a face at her. “Besides, I always
knew you’d lure me into the water one day.”

That day long ago when
she’d spied him at his bath flashed in her mind. She decided she
really
couldn’t fault him for peeking at
her. Besides, it wasn’t
as though he’d
never seen her naked, and they were married, after all. Modesty was
a shame between husband and wife.

Jorand tugged down his leggings and stepped
out of them. Brenna caught herself staring and turned around lest
he catch her at it. From the top of his golden head to the strong
muscles in his calves, the beautifully shaped feet, the man was
disturbingly well made.

She heard him enter the
water with a splash and
then saw his sleek
form glide past her under the sur
face.
Broad shoulders tapering to his narrow waist and tight buttocks,
powerful thighs—he was a delight to watch.

“Careful,” she said as he surfaced. “ ‘Tis
deeper than it appears.”

“Don’t worry, princess, I’m a strong
swimmer.”

His gaze flickered over her
shoulders and down to
her breasts bobbing
on the surface. She waved her hands before her to stir up the
water, sending a light mist his direction.

“Ye needn’t stare so.”

“
Ja,
I do need.”

His smile made her heart
skip like a spring lamb, but alongside the pleasure his admiration
gave her,
panic rose in equal measure. She
swiped at the water
and splashed
him.

Jorand made a low growling
sound and dove be
neath the surface,
heading straight for her.

She cried out as he came up
under her and tossed her into the air. She sailed about the
distance of two spans and landed bottom-first with a splash. When
she sputtered to the surface, all she could hear was
his laughter bounding off the trees and rocks
around
them.

“Why, ye
Finn-Gall
demon! I’ll
teach ye to mishan
dle a daughter of the
house of Ui Niall.” Brenna lunged at him and shoved his head below
the sur
face. He came up shaking his mane
and roaring with
laughter.

Brenna giggled like a
little girl and pushed him down again. This time he grabbed her
legs and emerged with Brenna perched on his shoulders. She
struggled for balance, grabbing at his slippery skin
and settling for latching on to his
ears.

“Ow!” Jorand howled. “Lots
of women claim their
husbands never listen
to them. Better leave my ears
attached or
you’ll have no room to complain.”

Brenna released him and he
ducked beneath the
surface again, pushed
off the bottom, and shot her up
into the
air. This time she landed in the deeper part of the pool, where she
floundered and bobbed. She stiff
ened and
sank. In her panic, she sucked in
a
mouthful of water and disappeared beneath the surface like an
anchor stone.

The dying sun flashed
through the water in long
shafts,
illuminating the fine grains of silt floating
be
fore her eyes. She flailed her arms and
legs, but made
no progress toward the sun
and the world of light and air. Her chest ached. She fought against
the urge to inhale.

Then suddenly a hand
gripped her and yanked her upward. She broke the surface and
blessed air
rushed back into her lungs.
Jorand’s arm was around
her, pulling her
with sure strokes back to the shallows. She coughed out the liquid
and dragged more
air in over her teeth. It
never tasted so sweet.

As soon as Jorand could
plant his feet, he stopped
and held her
close. With a shock, Brenna realized he
was trembling more than she.

“I’m sorry, princess.” His breath warmed her
ear. “I thought you told me you were a swimmer.”

“I can usually keep meself afloat, but ye ...
ye make me weak,” she admitted.

“Forgive me. I played too
rough.” He put a hand to
her head,
stroking her gently.