4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
She flinched at the slice of the blade, her eyes blazing.
As soon as he finished carving the rune of his house and the secret name of his beast, Tairneanaich, into her skin, he lifted her hand to his mouth and feathered a soft kiss over the trail of blood.
She shuddered as he swiped his tongue through it and he knew she felt the echo of his magic as the bond unfurled between them.
When he closed his eyes, the hard iron of her power shimmered through his veins like lightning.
Her blood told him the truth she so adamantly denied him, and his beast's roar of triumph was nearly deafening.
The gods had made it clear that this fierce Valkyrie was his mate and this union had become more than an alliance, this exchange of vows more than a ritual.
The promise he’d made to grant her freedom would be broken, and as he lapped away the blood that still welled from her wound, the cadence of war drums thumped and rose in him.
He could sense her fear, and knew if he’d warned her of the use of the blade, she’d have found a way to wriggle out of the bargain. Or abandon him. He wanted to soothe her, but he required her strength and the courage she’d wielded at their first meeting.
“This sigil is my each uisge name and you need only touch it and whisper my secret name if you have need of me.”
“What is your each uisge name?”
“I will give it to you in the privacy of our chambers. Now, you must etch the sigil of binding into my wrist,” he sternly commanded.
Her eyes widened. “You would let me cut you in exchange? Are you not afraid I’ll let the blade slip?”
He laughed darkly. “There is nothing but magic flowing through me now , and no blade can harm me. My body will heal almost as quickly as it’s wounded, and this is an act meant to please the gods.”
He drew off one of his leather cuffs and cinched it over her wrist - the sign to all the world that she was his. It had been a part of his life since his first kill and the blood it was imbued with would protect her. It was a physical reminder of their bond.
“What is this?” She asked as she raised her arm.
“Any immortal who sees it will know who has claimed you. It is a warning that any who harm you risk incurring my wrath.”
Toran grasped the hand hanging loosely at her side and turned it palm up. “Now you must spill my blood,” he told her as he curled her grasp around the flat of the blde.
“What sigil must I carve?”
“The rune of commitment. Do you know it?”
She nodded. “Yes. But what if I cut too deeply? What will become of me? Will it anger your beast?”
Toran shook his head. “No. You cannot harm me - even if you want to.”
Her jaw tensed and she set the tip of the dagger against his skin. As soon as the blood spilled over his skin she flicked her eyes to his face. Making certain he hadn’t been lying.
He let his eyes give her the answer she sought.
Her cuts were meticulous, and her eyes flicked to him for reassurance after each swipe of the blade. When the rune was written on his skin, he held his wrist to her mouth.
“You must drink of me as I drank of you.”
She grimaced, clearly disgusted by the idea of consuming his blood.
“Do not be squeamish,” he admonished in a hushed undertone. “The bond isn’t fully valid in the eyes of the brehon standing before us or the gods surely watching if we do not exchange blood.”
She gingerly wrapped her fingers around his wrist and closed her eyes - likely to block out any reminder of what she was about to do.
The first slick of her tongue against the wound, made Toran’s fists and jaw clench with banked longing. His beast roared and pommeled in his chest, its neigh of triumph like crashing waves.
After a few swallows, she dropped his hand and straightened.
“Is this all?”
“Aye,” he responded. “Say your farewells so we may depart.”
“I will stand at the helm of my own ship.”
“So long as you do not lose your way, I will allow it.”
Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “You’ll allow it?
I’ll remind you that whatever dominion over me you think this ceremony has granted is not something I will acknowledge.
If I want to lead my fleet,” she tapped a finger to her breastbone, “ then I will lead them. Whether you sanction my actions or not.”
“The seas can be rough. I sought only to ensure the storms did not overwhelm you and your crew.”
She rolled her eyes. “Have you forgotten who it is you have wed? I have led my own raiding party for more than a decade and I do not need a nursemaid. I have encountered storms before, and faced far worse foes than a bolt of lightning or a rogue wave.”
The brehon cleared his throat, interrupting whatever rejoinder Toran was going to make.
When the fleet was ready, the hulls much lighter than they had been when they docked, Toran stood on the wooden pier and waited for his bride.
When she finally strode toward him, the sun was high in the sky, and they’d be working against the tide.
Her hair was knotted into intricate plaits, black feathers woven into them, her black battle mask newly painted. Her expression was fierce and she wore her own arsenal of weapons.
“Let us make haste,” he said when she was near enough to hear.
“Do not fret over my navigation skills, each uisge. I have been managing the currents here since I was five summers. My fleet and I will follow you.”
When she brushed past him, he grasped the hand that swung at her side. “I forget that I’ve taken an asp as a wife,” his tone was teasing.
She halted and shot him an inscrutable look over her shoulder. “And I have wed a sea monster,” she said as she shook off his touch.
Her ship was anchored behind his own, and she leapt onto the deck to take her place at the styrbord.
The square sail billowed in the breeze, and ruffled the long cloak dangling from her shoulders. He watched, transfixed as she discarded it, before shaking his head and turning to his own crew.
His man at arms, Glamorgan, was standing with his feet braced wide and his arms folded over his massive chest. The look he gave Toran was full of mischief.
“Fascinated, are ye?”
Toran glowered at his giant of a friend. “Leave off,” he grumbled.
Glamorgan burst into boisterous, rusty laughter before clapping Toran on the back so hard he stumbled backward and nearly went overboard.
“Careful with your bear paws, lout.”
Glamorgan just grinned at his irritation. “The lasses love my bear paws,” he said as he waved them suggestively. “Big enough to fondle the curve of any arse.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Toran responded with a grin he couldn’t hold back.
He’d need his friend’s levity to resist the clamor of his beast. Since the ceremony earlier, its demands had grown more stringent by the minute.
It wanted to claim its mate, and Toran was hard-pressed to hold onto the reins that controlled it.
He would do it though, because he had agreed that when the consummation occurred it would be after he and his bride had more than a passing acquaintance.