Erinsong by Mia Marlowe Read Free Book Online

melancholy
note died, the corners of Keefe’s mouth turned down. She could tell
he felt the jab at his Norse heritage,
then.
    “Are all the Irish songs so sad?”
    “If they are, ‘tis only because our lives are
often sad,” Brenna said defensively.
    He worked in silence for a
moment, then turned to look at her. “Was
your brother killed by a Northman?”
    “No,” she said softly.
    “Good.” He directed his
attention back to his carv ing. “At least
I’m not responsible for all your woe.”
    The simple statement stung.
Perhaps she was wrong to blame Keefe for what happened at Clonmacnoise. Still, he was a Northman.
Sometimes she thought holding on to her
hatred was all that kept her sane.
    “A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved,” he
whispered. “What happened to your brother?”
    Brenna wasn’t sure why, but it seemed right,
seemed safe to tell him. “Sean was killed by the Ulaid, a
neighboring clan.”
    “And your mother took it hard.”
    “She was fair wild with
grief.” Brenna was only a child when her
tall, strong brother died. Una, Queen of Donegal, had wailed like a
banshee when Sean’s arrow-pierced body was
carried into the keep. Her usually mild
features contorted into a snarling mask as
she demanded Brenna’s father launch a blood feud against the offenders. Looking back, Brenna barely recognized the frenzied harridan with her
mother’s voice.
    “Sean’s death was an
accident. Some men of Ulaid, led by their
king’s son, Ennis, were hunting and strayed into Donegal. They mistook Sean for game in the thicket. It was a foolish waste, but it could
have made the rivers run red. Me father settled the matter without
a war.”
    “How did he do that?” Keefe wondered. Killing
a noble heir was a heinous offense, never mind that it was
accidental.
    “He marched to the Ulaid’s
stronghold with the whole of the Ui Niall
clan at his back, demanding the life of
the Ulaid’s son in exchange,” Brenna ex plained. “Me father convinced their king, Domhnall, that none would be served by a blood feud.
Better that one should die for peace
between the clans, said he, than dot the
land with widows and grieving mothers on
all sides over an accident. This way, loss was divided with an even hand. Me father is a wise man. The Ard Ri in Tara could not have brought us
a fairer solution.”
    “Then honor was satisfied.” Keefe nodded his
approval.
    “Aye,” she said. “The
Ulaid’s son Ennis went will ingly to his
death a hero. The arrangement suited everyone but me mother. The
blood of Domhnall’s firstborn wasn’t enough. She’s never forgiven
me Da for not avenging Sean properly.”
    By finger widths, Brenna
had watched her mother re treat into
herself till she was little more than a shell of the woman she’d been. Desperate to replace her
lost son, Brian Ui Niall’s wife produced a string of stillborn
infants at yearly intervals. Then she stopped bearing even those
pitiful bundles of malformed flesh. Brenna’s mother pulled away
from her husband and eventually from her daughters as
well.
    Only the chair captured her
attention and anchored her wandering mind
in this world. An unnatural preoccupation at best, the queen
polished and shined it daily till the wood gleamed. All she cared
for was that chair. When it was broken during a late-night carouse
in the keep, Una of the clan Connacht stopped caring
altogether.
    “Every Feast of Imbolc, I half expect Da to
leave her and be done with the marriage.” Brenna clamped her hand
over her mouth. She hadn’t intended to voice that fear, especially
not to this strange man. What was it about his calm silence that
invited her confidence?
    “What’s the Feast of Imbolc?” Keefe didn’t
even look up from his carving. He seemed to accept her startling
confession without a qualm.
    “ ‘Tis the first of February, the day on
which all marriages are renewed or dissolved,” Brenna explained.
“Either party may leave and no discredit will come to them if