Chapter 4 #2
Niall had just lost his wife to the fever. His arrival in Drogheda had come as a shock—he was still in mourning and hadn’t been expected. That first day, Brighit had been taken aback by how pale the normally boisterous man looked. Clearly distraught.
“Are ye certain ye’re up for this, Uncle Niall?” Brighit wiped the concern from her face at Lachlann’s wide-eyed expression of warning. They’d been told by their mother to behave as if nothing was untoward and, above all else, not to mention Lily, his deceased wife.
“What are ye on about?” Niall scoffed. “I’m seeing to my favorite niece’s last night of freedom. I do not take that lightly.”
Freedom. An unexpected chill traipsed across her skin.
“A great adventure!” Lachlann beamed. “And my gift to ye, sweet sister, is that I promise to not tell a soul.”
“And mine,” Calum chimed in, his smile radiant.
Brighit snorted. “Well, aren’t my dear brothers the generous ones.”
Lachlann stood and stretched. “Ye’ll be thanking me for covering for ye come tomorrow if ye’re late for the blessing.”
“Ye canna be late, lass.” Niall’s serious expression surprised her. “Yer mother will have my head if she learns what I’ve got planned. She’ll never forgive me.”
Pressing her lips together to keep from smiling, Brighit said, “Ye need not worry about me. I’ll not be getting caught.”
“Caught?” Darragh’s voice startled her, but her uncle quickly turned back toward the group as if they’d not just been talking. “Are ye getting into mischief again?”
It was suddenly very hot. Brighit dropped again, collecting the dandelions from the ground. “No good wife gets into mischief.”
She smiled at her choice of words.
“So ye wish to not be a good wife?”
Her gaze flew to Darragh to find him grinning at her. She sensed no anger, so he must not have heard any more than what he’d repeated.
She stood.
“Did ye not promise ye could make me a good wife?” he said, his tone teasing.
“Did I say that? Hmm. I do not recall.”
His hair hung loose, not pulled back as usual, and she had the sudden urge to push it away from his face. She shook herself. “Something about teaching me?”
That look of desire was back, but he held her gaze, mimicking her words. “Something about it.” His quiet voice seemed like a caress. “Within hours ye’ll be mine.”
“We’ll be wed.”
He tipped his head. “Is there a distinction?”
“I will not only be yers.” She paused. “Ye will be mine.”
She sensed his intake of breath rather than heard it. Darragh took her hand, gently leading her away from the others before turning to her again.
“And how d’ye treat what is yers?”
Brighit hesitated, not sure what the right answer should be. “I will protect it. As ye would.”
His expression relaxed into a broad smile. “And so much more.”
“And so much more.” She mimicked him back.
Although she had no idea what he referred to, she was certain she would find out soon enough.
The excitement was back in her belly, more intense even than the thought of slipping away tonight for a late-night venture.
That thought stirred the guilt she’d been trying to ignore.
As if reading her mind, he said, “Ye enjoy yer uncle’s tales more than the other lasses.”
Her defenses went up and she straightened her back. “I am more capable than the other lasses.”
“Ah, so ye have said.”
“I could… I could easily be one of those riding along with him.” She watched him closely. “If I were a man.”
“If ye were a man.”
Darragh’s expression was intense, as if he were looking right into her soul.
She swallowed against the uncomfortable feeling. “I need to get back to my duties.”
Brighit flattened the few dandelions she’d collected into the basket hanging from her arm and headed off toward the cooking fire behind the longhouse.
Without glancing back, she knew his gaze followed her. The way his face had lit up at her mention of duties had sent a shiver down her back. Her palms were damp when she finally handed the basket to his mother.
“Thank ye, Brighit.” No doubt Tisa’s smile was intended to reassure. “Are ye excited for the morrow?”
Tisa dropped the plants into a waiting bowl of water, swishing the dirt from the leaves.
“Certainly.” The quick glance Tisa gave her had Brighit averting her gaze, the heat spreading up her neck to cover her face. “I may be a little… apprehensive.”
“’Tis expected.” Tisa wiped her hands on a cloth, a very lady-like action, before directing Brighit away from the fire and the rest of the women. “Every bride feels this way.”
“Even ye?” Brighit found it hard to believe this self-assured woman had ever felt nervous about anything.
The older woman smiled. A gentle smile that matched the touch of her hand on Brighit’s cheek. “Sweetling, ye are no different than me in many ways.”
Brighit forced herself to not roll her eyes at the absurd comment. “I know Darragh is a good man…”
“But he is a man.” Tisa finished the sentence that Brighit had not dared complete. “And men have needs. D'ye fear the marriage bed? As I did?”
Brighit shrugged, not feeling overly comfortable discussing intimate matters with her husband’s mother.
Her future mother-in-law was so controlled and soft-spoken.
Could she really have feared Tadhg? She glanced toward the benches where the older men had settled to drink and discuss area politics.
Their stern voices carried, although the words were lost.
Tadhg was forbidding, to be certain, and seemed relentless in his demands of those around him.
Mayhap Tisa had feared him. Feared his assessment of her.
Feared her own ability to fulfill her wifely duties.
Feared, above all, that she would be found lacking.
Those were fears Brighit could well understand, but there was an important difference—for Tisa, those fears had been unfounded.
“Had ye not been married before Tadhg?”
Tisa nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. “Married, aye, but I remained untouched. My husband preferred others to me.”
Brighit gasped. How could any man find her less than perfect? And why had Tisa named her first son after such a man?
Tisa must have sensed her thoughts; her eyes rounded with concern and she said, “Oh, no. Not other women. He preferred men.”
That was not unheard of, but who would marry such a man to a young girl? If they had been expected to consummate their vows, Tisa would have experienced his rejection firsthand. Brighit’s heart filled with new compassion for this woman.
“I am sorry for ye.”
Tisa smiled. That quiet smile she usually saved for her husband when he was reproaching someone, and she was sitting demurely by his side as wife to the powerful ri túaithe.
“Darragh did his best by me. I found no complaints after we came to an understanding. He offered me his protection. And his care. He was a kind man.”
Brighit’s confusion must have been apparent because Tisa’s next words came out in a rush.
“It was a bad time for my father and our clan. He’d had no choice—and no idea about Darragh’s preference. No one did, but many suspected.” Again that far-off look. “But I had always held a fondness for Tadhg.”
And there it was. The difference between Tisa marrying Tadhg and Brighit marrying Darragh.
Brighit felt no such attraction toward Darragh.
Well, mayhap the Darragh who’d kissed her…
he was different and could set her heart to fluttering, but she’d seen that Darragh rarely enough.
She set the thought aside. “Then the marriage bed was not so dreaded after all?”
“Mayhap not, but I can tell ye, my son will be considerate of ye.”
“And ye’re his mother.” Brighit knew there was no sense in saying what they both knew. Tisa only saw the best in her son.
“And a mother knows her son. He is a gentle soul.”
Darragh had joined the group of men, standing beside his father, his arms crossed over his chest. He was not smiling, and from this distance, he did not look gentle. He looked like a man desperate for his father’s approval—and if that meant keeping his bride under his thumb, so be it.
“Well, I am sure it will be fine.” Brighit stood as did Tisa. “I will survive as most wives do.”
“I am sorry I didn’t alleviate yer fears.”
“My life is about to change—most drastically. I will get through it. Produce the children that are expected of me. No doubt we will be the model of wedded bliss.”
“I understand yer fear—”
“How can ye?” Brighit regretted the words as soon as she let them loose, her impulsiveness getting the best of her. “Forgive me, please, but ye were in love with yer husband. I am not.”
“Ye will learn to love him.”
Not the staid, dominating warrior at his father’s side. Never him.
Brighit ground her teeth together to stop the telling statement from coming out. The words lingered unspoken between them until Tisa finally nodded and walked away.
No doubt a mother had a hard time seeing the faults of her own children.
Wasn’t it the same for Brighit’s own parents?
Well, mayhap her mother saw her true colors, but her father believed she had no faults.
A twinge of guilt shifted in her gut. Niall had promised them a raid tonight.
If she wished to honor her father, she would decline.
She would stay behind with the women, embroidering or gossiping or whatever women did.
Safe.
Out of harm’s way.
Sitting quietly. Listening politely when the men later recounted their adventures. Pretending she didn’t wish she’d joined them.
NO!
Tightening her jaw and tipping her nose in the air, Brighit passed the men, who continued their discussion of clan warring and how best to settle disputes in the area. She smiled. A tight smile. A smile that she hoped conveyed her acquiescence to all that the men did, as if she had a choice.
Brighit may have no say in the clan’s business, but tonight she would get her last taste of freedom, brandishing her sword and riding like the wind through the dark of night.
She would have her last bit of excitement as a man and then?
Then she would set aside her trews and tunic, exchanging them for the acceptable garb of a married woman who waited patiently at home for her husband to return to her.
She would think no more of raids or adventures.
She would accept her bondage to a man who was like every other man—bent on breaking her will to his own. But not tonight.
Tonight? They would not touch her free spirit.