Erinsong by Mia Marlowe

newly
churned butter.
    “Fine then.” A new feeling she couldn’t
identify swirled in her gut and made her insides jump. “He’s all
yours, sister. Take him with me blessing.”
    As she stormed toward the
keep, Brenna finally found a name for the sinking sensation inside
her. It was fear. Fear that Moira would
take her at her word.
    And take her Northman.
     

Chapter Ten
     
     
    The noise of laughter and roughhousing
greeted her when Brenna opened the heavy oak door. Between the
glaring torchlight and the swirl of colors on the tightly packed
guests of the Donegal, she could scarcely keep her eyes open.
    She hung her brat on the peg by the
door and slid along the curving outer wall
till she came to an arrow loop, a narrow
cross-shaped opening in the stone. In case
of attack, a defender could loose shafts in
virtu ally any direction with very little
risk to himself from an arrow loop. There
was a narrow ledge before the slit wide enough for her to perch
upon. She tucked her knees to her chin and
her nose to the opening for fresh
air.
    Each time the keep door swung open, she
looked over, expecting to see Jorand and her sister. Each time, her
heart sank deeper with disappointment.
    Was Moira in the Northman’s arms in the
moonlight now?
    Why should I care? She balled the hem
of her skirt in her fists. Brenna kept her
gaze cast to the floor lest anyone see her
struggle to stay calm. A pair of scuffed
shoes appeared in her line of sight. She looked up to see who was wearing them.
    “Come, Brenna, give us a
song,” Connor McNaught demanded with a
drunken slur in his voice.
    “I don’t feel inclined to
sing,” she said, wishing he’d go
away.
    “Then I’ll have to do it
meself.” Connor clambered up on one of the
stout tables and bellowed out a rib ald
song about the coronation of the king of the clan Conaill, a
festive and crude ritual ending in the pub lic copulation between the king and a white mare. It was an
ancient custom and, as far as Brenna knew, still in practice. The crowd roared with laughter, but Brenna feared she might be ill.
    Her gaze slid to the door against her
volition. What was keeping her sister and the Northman?
    “Ah, daughter!” Brian Ui
Niall’s voice rang out over the hall as he lifted her harp. “ ‘Tis
some time since we heard ye and this fine
wee instrument. Give us a song,
then.”
    Brenna’s lips tightened
into a line. She’d never felt less like
singing in her life, but she couldn’t refuse a direct request from
her father, much less her king. She elbowed her way to Brian Ui
Niall’s side and took the harp from him. After tuning the cat-gut
strings, she settled the instrument on her knee and waited for
silence to fill the hall.
    It had been a long time since she played her
harp and her fingers were hesitant at first. But after a few
feathery strokes, her hands remembered their business and released
a delicate melody into the smoky air. Then Brenna began to
sing.
    O’er the lonely hills I wander,
    O’er cloud-wraithed mountain, by surging
sea.
    O whither have ye roamed, my dear one?
    O will ye ne’er return to me?
    As she started the last
refrain, a slight stir in the air told her
the keep door had opened. She looked up from the harp to see Jorand and her sister tumble in, all smiles, Moira’s fluty laugh and Jorand’s
rumbling chuckle floating toward her. The
sound pierced her heart like an arrow.
    The Northman was head and
shoulders taller than the other men in her father’s keep, so it was
no trou ble to meet his gaze over the
crowd. His smile faded as she continued to
sing, but his eyes held the same fire that
had burned in their depths moments be fore
he kissed her.
    Brenna’s voice caught in
her throat, but she some how managed to
finish the song.
    I sought my love in glens and dells
    Where fairies haunt the darkling trees.
    O whither have ye roamed, my dear one?
    O will ye ne’er return to me?
    When the last wisp of sound faded, the guests
erupted in loud