Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series by The Defiant Heart Read Free Book Online Page A

mantle. Rhiannon ’s mantle.
    What if Rhiannon had been right? The thought nettled. What if the Norsemen believed her to be a valuable hostage of royal lineage? And what would become of her when they discovered that she was only a poor relation of a vanquished tribe — Ailinn of the Érainn?
    Still, ‘twas like fitting together shards of broken pottery. ‘Twas hard to match the edges. Pieces were lacking and she could scarce make sense of those she held. If the heathens thought to gain ransom, why then their concern that she be a virgin? An unravished bride would be worth more than one spoiled, true. Yet, her instincts told her more lay behind Skallagrim’s interest in her virtue.
    Ailinn massaged her forehead. She unde rstood little of men’s dealings, their barterings for power and wealth . . . and hostages. Rhiannon understood. ‘Twas why she first cast her net for Domnal of the Raithlind Eóganachts, certain that he would be next to rule from the Rock of Cashel. ‘Twas why they exchanged places that fateful morn . . . .
    Her thoughts spiraled back to that grim morning, only ‘twas not grim at its outset, but rather a day of high cheer and merriment — Rhiannon’s wedding day.
    Ailinn, Deira, and Lia, and all the other maids who attended the bride awoke before dawn, restless in their sleep, having captured fair little of it.
    They rose, giddy for the day to come when Mór would make the traditional “bridal ride” with Rhiannon, and Domnal would appear with the Raithlind and abduct her. Afterward, all would return to the compound to fulfill the ceremonies and feast away the remainder of the day and night.
    Lia had laughed so gaily, Ailinn recalled, and proposed they slip out of the compound to roll in the morning dew for good luck. Good luck, Ailinn thought bitterly. Before they could even dress fully, they heard the clash in the courtyard.
    “Bran!” Rhiannon screamed. “The Dalcassian! He has come to seize me. He vowed as much.”
    Rhiannon wrung her hands, eyes darting from wall to wall as though she looked for a weapon to seize upon. Then a thought sparked to life in her eyes.
    “Help me, Cousin,” Rhiannon pleaded, gripping Ailinn. “Bran must not find me. His manhood was sore offended when I chose Domnal over him and rejected his offer of marriage. But he does not seek me this day to soothe his bruised pride alone. ‘Tis insult he issues — and challenge — to Raithlind and Caisil and all Eóganachts alike.”
    Ailinn tried to pull from Rhiannon ’s hold, heedful of her blurring of falsehoods and truths, and wary of her reference to herself as cousin — a relationship Rhiannon loathed to acknowledge unless she have desperate need of Ailinn for some self-serving end.
    “ Bran knows that, in time to come, Domnal will claim the throne of Cashel,” Rhiannon continued, undeterred. “Long have the kings of Munster sprung from our line, and Domnal is favored to succeed. The Dalcassian views him as Domnal’s foremost rival; for he covets the crown himself.”
    The din mounted in the hall.
    Ailinn winced as Rhiannon’s nails stabbed into her.
    “ Bran must not succeed. ‘Tis me he wants, to strike at Domnal. Please, Ailinn,” Rhiannon’s voice rose with urgency. “Take my gown, my mantle. He does not know my face. Let him think you are me, and go with him. When he discovers his error, ‘twill be too late. I shall get word to Domnal at once, I promise. He camps nearby awaiting the bridal ride.”
    Steel rang on steel without.
    Alarm filled Rhiannon’s eyes. “Quickly, Ailinn. ‘Twill be strife for all Munster and a warring of tribes should Bran succeed and spoil Domnal’s bride.”
    Ailinn snatched free of Rhainnon ’s grip, her temper flaring. “Yet you would see him spoil me? ‘Twas your own sharp tongue that brings Bran down on us now, not challenge to Domnal, and well you know it. Far more than male pride and injured manhood drives Bran. Rather, ‘tis the grave insults you hurled