He rose to his feet and stood looking at Bradana, a terrible, dark desire in his eyes.
The rest of the feast passed without Bradana marking it. She left while the men still drank and told stories of past battles and helped her mother to bed, made sure her woman was with her, and that she did not need the midwife.
“I will stay wi’ ye, Mother, if ye like.”
“Nay, I am well enough now. Go back to the feast.”
But Bradana did not return to the hall. Instead, she stood in the rain for several moments before following an impulse far stronger than any will and moving forward through the dark.
*
Adair had beenlong alone in his narrow quarters, struggling with dark feelings. Earlier, sometime before the feast began, Kendrick had come to him. Said he thought it best if Adair did not attend.
“After all, nephew, the goings-on here ha’ little to do wi’ ye, and this wedding in particular.” He’d fixed Adair with a stern eye. “Ye will no’ be welcome in the hall this night. In fact, the best ye can do is leave for home.”
That, Adair could not do. He would not leave Bradana until she sent him away.
And yet tomorrow—tomorrow she would handfast with another.
Halfway through the evening, Wen came to him out of the wet.
“Aye so, ye have also been banished, eh?” he asked the hound. He could hear the sounds of festivity from the hall, music and voices raised in speech.
He wondered what he should do on the morrow.
Might he challenge Earrach for Bradana’s hand? Propose a contest at arms, the matter to be settled between them as warriors? He was not a bad hand with a blade, though unlike many men of his clan, he did not focus all his intent upon practicing at arms.
He’d been blessed with swift reflexes and reactions, a goodly measure of endurance, and speed. Was he not descended from one of the greatest warriors his people had ever known?
He could best Earrach, aye, for Bradana’s sake. But…
Should this not be a choice she made, and a fight she fought? She was a living, breathing woman, not a prize to be won by dint of swordplay. He might stand beside her, aye, and might well fight to the death for her sake. But it must be at her bidding.
He could still hear sounds of feasting when at last he snuffed out the rushlight and took to his bed. Wen settled on the floor beside him.
He never heard her enter the chamber, though no doubt the hound did. Adair was half asleep when a pair of hands closed on his wrists and a soft body came down upon his.
“Bradana.” He breathed her name, for he knew her instantly by her scent, by her feel. By her spirit that embraced him as completely as her body.
“Hush,” she said, and made sure of it by pressing her mouth to his.
His brain exploded with desire. It felt the way he imagined the kiss of lightning must, hot and powerful and instantaneous, traveling all along his veins and searing him from within.
Desire, need, love. At that moment he could not tell the one from the other and did not care. Bradana was here, her body in contact with his, her lips wooing his apart as she drank of him, drank even as she gave to him.
His arms came around her without conscious thought. Soft and warm she was beneath the smooth fabric of her gown, trapped between them. He held her tight and tighter while the kiss went on and on and the pieces of his world fell into place.
This, this was what he’d wanted always. While a young man back in Erin growing with his two brothers ahead of him. Searching for a place, for friends, for an occupation. Searching later for lovers and finding many for whom he cared—but not enough.
Never like this. For Bradana answered the yearning that had driven him, unacknowledged, every day of his life.
Sanity returned slowly, but it did return. He tried to break the kiss, but she would not allow it, winding her arms around him and wooing him back in. At last, very gently, he caught her face between his hands and, with regret, eased her away.
“Bradana, is this wise?”
Her voice, when it came, was no more than a breath. “Did I no’ tell ye, I want it to be ye? Ye, and no’ him. I want ye this night, Adair MacMurtray.”
Well, that was plain and honest. She was an honest woman, was his Bradana. A surge of joy uplifted him before sanity struck again.
