Chapter 8
By his third glass of mead, the throbbing in Darragh’s groin was finally subsiding.
Wiping at the powdered hand mark he’d left on the gold vessel, he looked at his bride, huddled in the heavy wool blanket he’d procured for her when she had begun shivering.
He’d refused to allow her to don her gown again.
She had explanations to give before he would allow her to dress…
if he allowed her to dress. He’d been too outraged to say anything to her as of yet.
Brighit had actually kneed him. He couldn’t say which had surprised him more, the satisfaction of breaking through her maidenhead and then her moan of pleasure or the sudden she-cat she’d turned into trying to get away from him.
Was the pain that bad? But it couldn’t have been the pain.
He would have known it. Despite his own pleasure, he had remained acutely aware of everything about her.
Her quiet gasp when he broke through her barrier.
The soft exhale as he moved in a steady rhythm.
And the slightest moan when he’d begun to move more urgently.
He’d never been so enraptured with a woman. His wife. And then she’d attacked him.
“So why exactly did ye feel it necessary to try and unman me? D'ye not wish to have any children?”
“Oh!” Brighit’s wavering cry finally roused his pity for her. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was mortified at her behavior.
“So ye would like children?”
Brighit’s eyes rounded and flooded anew. “Aye.”
The banging on the door startled them both.
“Hey! They’re coming.” a laughing voice whispered.
“Best get the sheets ready,” another voice snickered.
Loud laughter followed.
Damn them. Did they need to get drunk when he had assigned them such an important job? He did not want to have his wife embarrassed at their joining but then again he hadn’t expected her to assault him.
He didn’t miss her gasp at those first words or her covering her mouth or that expression of horror on her beautiful face. A second look revealed where the white powder had been removed. The skin appeared to be discolored beneath, no doubt an illusion from the flickering candlelight.
“Let me help ye with the gown.”
He slipped it over her head and she offered her back so that he could see to the ties, which he did. He took his time though, tugging up along her spine, thoroughly appreciating the smoothness of the skin presented him. The shadow beneath the material lent an unexpected darkness to her fair skin.
“I didn’t mean to hurt ye.” She said it in a quiet voice, her face lowered. “I really did not.”
Darragh quickly donned his trews and tunic before responding.
“Was it so repulsive to ye? Our love making?” Darragh tried for a light tone, but he wasn’t sure it was successful. When she didn’t respond, he knew her answer must be yes. Despite her initial reaction, it had been that repulsive to her. Which meant they were in a very unfortunate position.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“They’re here.” His friend called out over the muffled voices of the approaching intruders.
The door was flung open so hard, it slammed against the wall. Thomasina stood there with her hand on her hip and a scowl on her face. If looks could kill, Brighit need never worry about him touching her again.
“Thomasina.” Darragh used his chiding tone. “I would expect better from ye.”
Sean’s head bobbed above the others as he pushed his way past the people crowding around the door. Darragh only hoped it was an attempt to curtail his wife.
“Ye know I wanted a proper bedding ceremony for my daughter,” she said.
“My sweet, Tommy.” Sean wrapped an arm around his petite wife and tucked her close to his side. “Forgiveness, please, Darragh. We didn’t mean to interrupt ye.”
The look of outrage Thomasina turned on her husband was almost comical, but he stared her down.
“Did we, Thomasina?”
She hesitated before turning to Darragh. “Of. Course. Not,” she ground out the words between tight lips.
Sean kissed his wife’s cheek, but the stiffness of her expression didn’t bode well for him.
“I am fine, Mamaídh.” Brighit stood beside Darragh, even taking his hand, though she didn’t look at him. “I have been well bedded. The sheets are yonder.”
She pointed toward the bed, and like a swarm of bees to a flower, the women rushed to retrieve the stained sheet with its telltale proof of her virginity.
“I had no thought of such trivial concerns, Sean. I am pleased with Brighit as my wife.” Darragh turned to the woman at his side, with her upturned nose and fierce appearance. The woman who still refused to even glance his way. “As I hope my wife is with me.”
The silence in the hall seemed to go on and on until Brighit finally spoke. “Of course. I am well pleased.”
Thomasina beamed, then took her daughter into her arms, whispering things Darragh couldn’t hear. Sean clasped hands with Darragh. “Then we shall return below unless ye wish to remain here?”
“Below,” Brighit said with far too much enthusiasm.
She pushed to join the crowd, making her escape from him. Darragh’s sense of having fallen short was far from eased. And with his groin still sore, he knew what a stiff upper lip felt like as he forced a smile and followed them to rejoin the celebration.
The talk in the great hall quieted as soon as the musicians took over and the dancing began.
Brighit enjoyed watching the unmarried ladies flirt shamelessly with every one of her brothers, save Lorcánn.
He managed to find some pretty lasses his own age, sitting amidst them and dazzling them with his wit and charm.
Since his trip north, he seemed to have grown a foot and acquired an attitude to match.
Brighit sighed as she watched the carefree merrymaking all around the head table where she sat silently with her new husband.
He’d assured her mother he was pleased to take her to wife, but surely that was not the case.
Shading her face with her hand, she relived the shame at what she’d done.
He would certainly never forgive her, and she didn’t blame him.
So wrapped up in her own worries, Brighit didn’t notice the rowdy crowd coming toward them until they started to drag her and Darragh from their seats to join in the festivities.
At first hesitant, she gave in as gracefully as she could.
Darragh did the same, even taking her hand as they joined the revelry.
The lads on one side and the ladies on the other, the dancing did not allow for one-on-one discussion with anyone, which was fine with her.
Embarrassing though her parents’ intrusion had been, at least it had put an end to his questions.
Brighit understood her parents’ wedding had included very little in the way of tradition and ceremony, and it was important to Thomasina that Brighit should have what she had not.
Lachlann picked up a fiddle to join in with the musicians, loudly stomping along to keep the beat from slowing down.
The ladies in their best attire created a colorful border while the lads—some in the léine that came down to their knees, and some in trews and tunics—faced them.
Turning, the single-file line of dancers moved up to cast off in opposite directions, only to meet in the middle again.
With hands raised, they moved toward each other, stopping short of their palms actually touching.
This dance was followed by a slower version in which the men made their way down the line of ladies, pairing up.
Each couple circled around, palms nearly flush.
When Darragh came to Brighit, their eyes held as they circled about, the rest of the guests forgotten.
Though his face was peaceful enough, she wondered about his thoughts.
Was he thinking of a way to set her aside?
Did he wish he’d never agreed to take her to wife?
Or did he wish they were alone so that he could hold her in his arms and kiss her again?
Brighit stumbled, but Darragh was quick to catch her.
“Is ought amiss?”
She straightened her gown to avoid looking at him. “I am… exhausted. Nothing more.”
“Then, ’tis time to rest.” Darragh raised his forearm for her to place her hand on it, and she allowed him to lead her back to the head table.
As soon as they sat, he took a sip from his golden chalice. Brighit feared he would ignore her, but he turned to her and said, “They are enjoying the dancing. I did not realize ye were so agile on yer feet.”
She snorted. “Are ye referring to my near fall?”
Darragh’s eyes creased at the corner with his smile. “I would never call attention to something ye had not intended to do. I would prefer to overlook unintended offenses.”
When his smile faded, Brighit realized he was seeking an explanation, an excuse at the very least, for her treatment of him. He held her gaze, but she didn’t know what to say. It was suddenly difficult to swallow, but then he broke the contact, looking away.
“I referred to yer dancing. Ye seem very comfortable with the music.”
Before she could answer, the large door to the great hall was shoved open with so much force that all in the room gasped. The dancers froze mid step, their eyes locked on the entryway, and even the musicians halted their playing to turn toward the sound.
Five large hooded men, covered with mantles of wolves’ fur, well-armed with axes, shields, and swords entered the hall.
Warriors. An intimidating sight. They stood in the doorway, glancing about at the revelers as if not quite understanding what was going on.
The man in the lead took a few more steps into the hall before removing his hood, revealing long, black hair and a beard to match.
His eyes darted about the room as if searching someone out.
His gaze landed on Darragh and Brighit, where it hesitated for the slightest moment before continuing around the room.
Tadhg stepped toward the men, his hand outstretched to their leader. “Seigine. Ye’re late to the festivities.”
They’d been invited. The tension in the room lightened a bit. All the neighboring tribes were called to a celebration unless they were enemies. The more important the person being wed, the more neighbors invited.
And yet… the newcomer’s dark eyes assessed Tadhg with what appeared to be disdain. Darragh tensed beside Brighit, but she dared not say anything. No one spoke. Seigine finally dipped his head, a show of acquiescence. “Forgiveness please, Tadhg.
They clasped hands and the entire assembly seemed to heave a sigh of relief.
Brighit was fairly certain she had never met this man and his warriors.
Over the past few days, many of the clans from the surrounding area had come to the castle to pay their respects, but it was impossible to keep track of them all.
Seigine continued. “I do not come to celebrate.”
“Where is yer king?” Tadhg searched the faces of the men behind him. “I do not see yer brother with ye. Has he intended an offense against me?”
“Cathair is dead.”
The collective gasp from the crowd sent a sensation like cold fingers sliding up Brighit’s back.
“In battle?”
The large man’s eyes seemed to bore into Tadhg’s. “No battle ensued. We found his body.”
“An accident?”
Brighit started to shiver. Uncontrollably. She sought out her uncle in the crowd, but his expression revealed only mild curiosity.
“Yer hands are cold.” She started at Darragh’s words, at the sensation of his hand gripping her own. Without looking, she knew he watched her.
“I am fine.”
“Let me get ye a—”
She shook her head, the movement causing shooting pain behind her eyes, and suddenly the room grew blurry all around her.
“No accident. He was murdered.” The tall man’s words were met with stunned silence.