Erinsong (2 page)

Brenna felt his belly
quiver as if he suppressed a
laugh. In
spite of the way his brows knit together, he seemed genuinely
amused, Devil take him.

“How is it ye speak our tongue?”

The smile faded and the man’s frown deepened.
“I... don’t know.”

He continued to study her
face as if the answer might
be found
there. Though his body felt heavy on hers, he
lay perfectly still, making no threatening
movements.

That won’t last long.

If she could keep the man
talking, distract him a bit, maybe she’d be able to get away.
Surely Moira
had arrived back at the keep
by now. Da and the men
would be grabbing
their bows and sprinting toward
the beach
to her rescue. She drew a shaky breath, tak
ing heart at the thought that the fighting men of Erin
might pop over the hillock at any moment. “Where
will ye be coming from?”

A grimace creased the
Northman’s face, and his eyes
flitted back
and forth in their reddened sockets. He’d
spent quite some time in the sea, Brenna realized.

“I don’t know.” His voice was a hoarse
whisper.

“Don’t know? Many’s the man
who’s lost his way
and doesn’t know where
he is, but sure and ye are the
first I’ve
seen who couldn’t say where he’d been.”

The warm stickiness of the
man’s blood seeped
through the fabric of
her tunic. Maybe blood loss accounted for the panic flickering
across the man’s fea
tures. She must have
jabbed him deeper than she thought.

“How did ye find yourself in the sea?” she
asked.

His eyes rolled again, as
though searching for the answer. His grip loosened, but she still
couldn’t es
cape. At least he hadn’t tried
to slobber on her or ruck
up her skirt.
Though his body pressed hers into the sand, he showed little
interest in her. He seemed to be more confused than anything
else.

“Ye don’t know much, do
ye?” She arched a brow
at him. “Maybe
ye’ll be telling me your name, then?”

“My name,” he repeated woodenly.

“Aye, ‘tis not a hard
thing, surely.” She managed to
slide her
hands out of his grasp, but he didn’t seem to
notice. “All God’s creatures have names. Even
North
men, I’d wager.”

The man pressed his hands
against her cheeks,
holding her head
immobile, and stared into Brenna’s
eyes.
His chest heaved and she silently cursed herself
for baiting him.

Then to her surprise, he rolled off her and
sat up. She crabbed backward, scuttling away from him, and
scrambled to her feet.

Brenna had every intention
of dashing over the small rise of sand and into the hills, but the
Northman was behaving so strangely, taking no notice of
her at all. And besides, if she stayed to keep an
eye on
him, Da would be proud she hadn’t
let him get away.
It wasn’t much, but if
she showed a bit of courage now, maybe Da would begin to forgive
her for her cowardice at Clonmacnoise.

It was worth the risk.

Brenna watched in morbid
fascination as the North
man sat holding
his head, rocking forth and back,
making
small groans in time with the movement. His
moans grew louder until finally he threw his head
back in frustration and roared wordlessly to the
sky.

The bone-chilling sound
sent Brenna’s heart to her
toes.

Saints above, a
madman!
She froze like a hare in
the
thicket who knows a fox is sniffing
nearby.

He thumped his head with the heel of his
palm, but no clear memory would form. It was as though he had
winked into existence the moment he woke on the beach. For a brief
flicker, he caught the vague outline of a face in his mind, but as
soon as he focused on it, the image wavered and faded like morning
mist.

What was wrong with him?
Thoughts flitted through his brain like a school of cod, darting
about
and disappearing into the depths
before he could get
a net around
one.

At the edge of his vision
the girl was still there,
shifting her
weight from one foot to the other as if she
wasn’t sure what to do. It had been a mistake to vent
his frustration in that insane howl. All it
accom
plished was to terrorize the one
person who might be able to help him. He must bridle
himself.

Why doesn’t she run
off?
The way his leg was beginning to
throb, he doubted he could catch
her
again.

He turned his head to look
at her. Her curly brown
hair billowed out
like a banner in the breeze. The
girl’s
gray eyes were wide with a combination of fear
and fascination. The even features of her oval face were
strained. She reminded him of a small squirrel caught in the
paralyzing gaze of an adder. With a
pang,
he realized that made him the snake.

“Be easy, girl. I’ll not harm you.”

“Me Da says Northmen go mad
and scream like
that before battle.” She
took a half step toward him,
eyeing the
wound on his thigh. “Are ye truly mad then?”

He snorted. “A true madman
wouldn’t be likely to
know, would he now?
You think I’m a Northman?”

“Aye.” Her face screwed into a frown.

“What makes you so sure?”

“The symbols on your knife
sheath. I’ve seen runic
writing before.
Besides, ye’ve the look of a Northman,” she said briskly. “And I
heard ye speaking their savage tongue.”

A blinding white light shot
through his brain, fol
lowed by images of
a dragon-headed ship, the dim
hall of a
longhouse filled with feasting warriors, and great gray swells of
the sea.
Ja,
he
was a Northman.
The language and lore
careening through his mind confirmed it.

But no name, no sense of himself came.

“I can’t give you my name, but I’d like to
know yours.” Any movement toward her would likely make her bolt, so
he kept still. “How are you called?”

She glanced over her shoulder.

Looking for a rescue party,
no doubt
. He
was
unarmed save for his knife and knew he was in
no shape to defend himself against more than a
hand
ful of men. If he didn’t befriend her
before they arrived, he’d be in a tight spot.

“As you said before, ‘tis a simple thing.” He
tried flashing a smile at her, but her frown only deepened.
“Where’s the harm in giving me a name to call you?”

She fisted her hands at her waist and heaved
a sigh. “Brenna,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m Brenna,
daughter of Brian Ui Niall, the Donegal.”

“The Donegal?”

“King of Donegal, if you like,” she said with
dignity, drawing herself up to her full height.

Which isn’t saying
much.
She was a little slip of a thing,
even though she’d fought him like a cornered badger.

“Well, Your Highness, if I’d known I’d been
stabbed by a princess, I’d have tried to bleed more
importantly.”

Brenna made a small growling noise in the
back of her throat, then stooped and ripped a length of cloth from
her undershift. She strode toward him with purpose. “Sit back then,
Northman, and let me see about this.”

He leaned back on his elbows and watched as
she wrapped the length of cloth around his thigh and cinched it
tight. The expression on her face was determined and workmanlike,
with not a hint of tender womanly concern. She didn’t like him one
bit.

“Do you always doctor the men you maim?” he
asked as she tied off the knot. His tongue felt thick in his mouth,
and he wished she had a water skin dangling from the girdle at her
trim waist.

“I’d hardly call it maiming.” Brenna
straightened and skittered back out of his reach. “That should stop
the bleeding then. I’ve done what I can for ye. ‘Pray for your
enemies and do good to them’ Father Michael always says.”

“And I’m your enemy?”

“Ye be a Northman. ‘Tis
enough.” The fear he’d
read earlier in her
wild eyes was replaced by loathing. “
Besides, ye put your hands on me sister. The wee
poke of a stick is the very least ye might
expect.”

“That was your sister?”

Her lips pressed together
in a firm line. “Aye, and if
ye think to
try it again, I’ll fetch me staff and skewer
ye good and proper next time. That’ll teach ye to
mis
handle a daughter of the house of Ui
Niall.”

“I barely knew what I was
doing when I grabbed
your sister’s wrist.”
He fixed her with an intent look. “
What do
you intend to do with me now that I’ve rolled a ‘daughter of the
house’ in the sand?”

She flushed deep scarlet.

He cocked his head at her.
She looked fetching
enough to roll again,
despite the throbbing in his leg.

“I... I’ll not do anything with ye,” she
stammered, edging away from him.

“That’s a pity.” He winced
as he rose to his
feet. “Tell me. Are all
the women of this land cursed
with a foul
temper and a heavy hand with a sharp stick?” .

When she glared at him, he
remembered he should
try to befriend her.
So far he’d not made a promising
start.

He trudged back toward the
spot where he’d wak
ened on the shore and
was pleasantly surprised when he heard her light footfalls behind
him, albeit at a safe distance.

“Since I don’t know my
name, perhaps you could
pick one for me,
Brenna, Princess of Donegal,” he
called
over his shoulder.

“Ye’ll not live long enough to be needing a
name.”

That confirmed it. She was
expecting help and soon. He turned to face her as he continued to
walk
backward toward the barrel he’d
noticed in the sand. “All creatures have names. You said so
yourself. If
we’re going to be friends,
you’ll need something to
call me till I
remember my proper one.”

“I’m doubting we’ll be friends,” she said as
she trailed after him.

“And I’m sure we will be.”

“Call yourself what ye
will,” she said with exaspera
tion. “I
don’t give names to the hens in the fowl yard,
knowin’ sooner or later they’ll end up in me stewpot. Just
‘Northman’ will have to do for the likes of ye.”

Despite her dour words, he
liked the
musical lilt of her voice. “Tell
me, what does Brenna
mean?”

She was quiet for a moment.
“I was expected to be
a lad, and would
have been named Brian. When I wasn’t, me Da just altered his name a
bit and I was
called Brenna, both for him
and for me hair.”

“Your hair?”

“Brenna means dark-haired.”
She made an unsuc
cessful attempt at
smoothing her unruly tresses. “Mine
was
like jet when I was born.”

“Named for your father, hmm? He must be very
proud of you.”

“I can assure ye, he’s not,” she
muttered.

Her expression was so
pained, a knot formed in his own chest. “Still, Brenna suits you.
It’s a fine name. I
like the sound of it.”
He rolled her name over his tongue once more. “If you won’t choose
a name for
me, I guess you’ll have to
introduce me to your father
as Northman
then.”

“To me father?”

“
]a,
he’s on his way, I’ll wager.” He still wished
he
had a name to hang on himself. It would
steady him. “
Don’t you think your sister
went to fetch him? Or
maybe she’s not as
quick of mind as you.”

Brenna glanced up the
deserted beach. “Da is on his way,” she said with surety. “He’ll be
bringing a
whole gang of men with him. And
none of them with
any love at all for
Northmen.”

“Hmph!” He knelt beside the weathered cask on
the beach. “Is this mine?”

“Ye were wrapped around it when we found ye.
I’m supposing ‘tis yours.”

He ran his fingers over the
runes etched on the end
of the barrel. The
bung was intact. If the cask was
well
made, the contents should still be good.

“Is your father a drinking man?”

Brenna laughed out loud. “Sure, and ye have
no idea where ye are, do ye, Northman?”

“Not even enough for a guess.” He shook his
head ruefully.

“So then, I’ll tell ye. Ye have washed up on
Erin, where the High Kings have ruled from Tara for hundreds of
years, and dear St. Patrick drove out both the snakes and the
heathen from its twice-blessed shores.” She jutted her chin upward
in pride. “And on Erin, drink is mother’s milk for every man over
the age of six.”