Chapter Thirty-Three
Their arrival in Cenn Cora was nothing short of chaos.
A dozen folk—most of them women—stood in the courtyard as they rode up.
Emer had to admit that it was such an odd juxtaposition to see these fierce warriors go from slaying their enemies in battle to coddling infants and embracing wives.
She watched each man wander to his woman, smiling when she spied Finn taking a newborn babe from his wife’s arms.
“Where’s Astrid?” Cormac demanded, surveying the crowd with a crease in his brow.
Finn’s wife an elegant, woman with pale-brown hair, laughed at his question. “Bent over a bucket somewhere, no thanks to you.”
A chuckle escaped Emer as she watched the most reserved man she’d ever met take off at a dead sprint into the fortress. As though just now noticing Emer, Finn’s wife headed right for her, extending her hand in greeting.
“Astrid was worried we’d all have children too long before her, so she’s been taking some fertility supplements,” she grinned. “They must have done something, because I’ve never seen someone so sick. I’m Eva, by the way.”
“Emer.”
Eva’s forest-green eyes flitted to Broccan before returning to Emer. “Welcome to Cenn Cora, Emer. We’re most pleased to have you join us.”
“Thank you.” Emer eyed the babe that Finn carried over to them. “And I believe congratulations are in order.”
“It’s a fine, healthy babe,” Broccan agreed. “What’s the name?”
“Dallan,” Finn grinned, never taking his eyes off the little boy.
They fawned over the babe until it was clear little Dallan was ready for his next meal. Eva took him back inside, Finn right behind her.
Alannah and Conan stood nearby, speaking with Dallan and a smiling blonde woman.
“That’s Dallan’s wife, Niamh,” Broccan told her as they wandered over to join them. “She’s one of the few women who isn’t a princess.”
Emer’s stomach dropped. “Is Eva a princess?”
He nodded. “Everyone save Niamh and Illadan’s wife, Ethlinn. And now you and Alannah. Although,” he mused, “I suppose if you include the title through marriage, it’s just you and me representing the common folk. And Ardál.”
“I’m not entirely sure you count,” Emer reminded him. “As we discussed previously.”
“We’ll agree to disagree on that one.”
Before Emer could explain to Broccan that fostering in a king’s household is not typical of common folk, Alannah noticed them coming over.
“Emer, you have to meet Niamh,” she gushed. “She’s a healer.”
“That’s incredible,” Emer said. “You must be the one that treats Broccan’s headaches. You’ll have to show me how to help him better.”
Niamh frowned at Emer, then glared at Broccan. “You get headaches? Why do I not know this?”
“From all the people.” He waved his hands, gesturing to the bustling courtyard.
“Is that why you’re always storming off?” Dallan stared at him open-mouthed.
“Oh, you’ve done it now,” he grumbled beside Emer. “They’ll not let it go.”
“They most definitely will not,” Niamh declared. “Come on, I’ve got a few things you can keep on hand for headaches. Alannah, you come, too. I want to look at that wound.”
Broccan threaded his fingers through Emer’s as they followed Niamh and the others to the infirmary. Emer supposed that as the main residence of men who battled for a living, an infirmary was essential.
“I heard Cahill broke his peace with Malachy,” Niamh said.
“More than that,” Broccan answered tightly. “Brian challenged Malachy to a final battle for the high kingship. In one month’s time.”
Emer was still coming to terms with the idea that Broccan would be riding back into battle so soon. The world spun out from beneath her every time she thought on it too long.
“Without Cahill backing him, he can’t possibly expect to win,” Niamh observed.
Conan shook his head. “If he thought he had no chance at winning, why would he fight at all? He must have some plan for it.”
“I don’t think he does,” Broccan countered. “I think that’s why he asked for the time to prepare.”
Emer hoped Broccan was right. She felt a lot better about his chances of survival in a battle that was pitched in his favor.
An hour south of Brian’s fortress at Cenn Cora, a shallow ford offered crossing along the route north out of Luimneach. Emer stood on a grassy hill that overlooked the narrow lake, Broccan’s arms wrapped around her from behind.
“This the spot then?” he asked.
Emer had wrestled with the decision for days.
She’d walked an hour in every direction, not wanting to be too far to reasonably walk every day.
Ossian had accompanied her on many of her treks.
Not long after they moved, when he learned that she intended to open up another hostelry, he offered to work with her—an offer she hastily accepted.
Broccan liked it because she’d not be walking home alone every night.
Emer liked it because she’d get to spend so much time with her brother. And, if she and Broccan ever did have children, the hostelry would be in good hands even on the days she couldn’t be there.
“Aye, this is the spot.”
He squeezed her against his chest, his arms keeping her warm against the chilly breeze that whipped up from the water. “Do you have a name for it yet?”
She did. She’d decided it long before she found this spot. “The Fianna’s Ford,” she told him. “My mother was Fia. You are Fianna. After all, Fianna means deer, too, so I suppose we were always meant to be family.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, actually.” His words tumbled across her hair, his chin resting atop her head.
“Oh?”
“I’m coming around to the idea of marriage.”
Emer spun to face him. “You are?”
“Slowly,” he grinned.
“It’s been ten days since we spoke of it, Broccan,” she laughed.
He shrugged. “So we’ll give it ten more to really take hold.” He lowered his forehead to hers, the tips of their noses touching. “I don’t want to live without you,” he whispered.
“You’ll never have to.” It was a promise Emer intended to keep, to the best of her ability. “And you don’t have to marry me just for that, you know.”
“Who says that’s the reason?”
Emer shook her head. “Well if that isn’t the reason, then what is?”
“I love you.” The words left his lips and went straight to her heart.
“I love you, too, Broccan.” As she stood there in his arms, dreaming of a future she couldn’t have imagined before she met Broccan, Emer was never more grateful to have needed a stick of cinnamon one morning in May.