“I maun speak wi’ ye,” she began. Perhaps this could be done privately after all.
“Eh?” He leaned toward her.
And just like that, Bradana’s attention became captured and drawn elsewhere. Someone had entered through the doors of the hall, which stood open to the air.
He had come armed. It was the first thing Bradana saw. He had his hair tightly braided as a warrior might—she had never seen him so. The torches picked out threads of red in the rich brown of his hair. He moved with quiet confidence.
She wanted to shout at him, to tell him to leave. To cry out and warn him off.Let me deal with this.Her gaze met his all the way down the room, and she strove to convey the message.
He came on.
She stepped away from Earrach and raised both her hands, warding off the man who walked toward her.
“Pray, hear me! I ha’ something to say.”
The chamber went quiet. Startled listeners shuffled their feet and the torches crackled, that was all.
Swiftly, swiftly Bradana turned and looked at her stepfather, a glance of apology, before she turned to Earrach.
“I am sorry. I am withdrawing my agreement to this handfasting. I canna wed wi’ ye. I release ye from our betrothal.”
“Bradana.” Mam’s voice. Bradana had not realized she was close by. She could not turn away from Earrach, who held her gaze with those dangerous, dark eyes.
“You what?” The roar came from Mican, who stood behind his son. “Ye canna!”
“I can.” Bradana raised her chin a notch. “I do.”
Mican bellowed, “The alliance is no’ yours to make, nor to break!”
“Nay.” She swiveled to face him. “But ’tis my body and my life. As a free woman, ’tis my choice whether or no’ I will keep to the agreement that was made. Aye, Kendrick?” Now she turned her gaze to him.
Her stepfather stood frozen, the very picture of chagrin. From the start of all this, when the betrothal had been set, he had assumed her agreement with it. Counted on that agreement. Denied her objections. But he could not and would not force her, save by ties of loyalty.
“Bradana, daughter,” he said, “I pray ye do no’ shame me this way.”
She trembled now in every limb. Even her lips quivered when she lifted her chin still higher and said, “Do no’ sell me, if ye hold me dear.”
“I am not.” Kendrick stepped closer to her and laid a hand on her arm, one that silently beseeched her. “This is for the benefit of all.”
“Save for me.”
He swallowed so hard she could hear it. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made.”
Bradana met his gaze. She managed to hold it, despite her fear, when she said, “This one, I will not make.”
And the fear sank beneath a surge of triumphant gladness. Everyone there had heard her declaration, one that to her heart paled beside the fact that she had just saved Adair. He had heard—the whole chamber, so quiet, had heard. He would not have to draw his sword and face the man who stood beside her, also armed despite all his finery.
She needed to walk out. Past all the staring faces.
“Now wait a moment!” The angry words came not from Kendrick or even Mican, as might be expected, but from Earrach. He moved forward, and instinctively Bradana edged away from him.
“I am sorry,” she said, finding the courage to meet his gaze. “Truly, I am.”
She stepped down off the dais. As if the movement prompted them, several other things happened at once. Mican made to come after her, and Kendrick intercepted him. Mam cried out, a cry like a gull felled by a stone, and Kendrick turned back for her.
Earrach, his eyes fixed upon Bradana, reached for her arm.
“Mistress? Mistress Bradana! This is no’ done—”
