her delight, she saw her Aunt Honora, dressed in lightweight armour. Beside her stood Uncle Ewan and their two children.
Brianna welcomed them and complimented the little girl’s miniature léine and overdress, trimmed with ribbon and silk. The child curtsied prettily, then walked demurely off to join the other children.
‘I believe the faeries switched my daughter by mistake,’ Honora remarked. ‘Lora has no interest in fighting, but spends all her time sewing and behaving like a lady. My sister’s daughter hates gowns and cut her own hair with a knife, pretending to be a boy.’
Glancing at Honora’s armour, Brianna offered, ‘I suppose Lora doesn’t want to learn to fight.’
‘No, but my son does.’ Her hands rested on the boy’s shoulders. ‘Kieran has begun his fostering, and I believe he’ll be a strong warrior one day.’
‘Like his mother,’ Ewan teased, kissing his wife. He greeted all of them and then said, ‘I’ll leave you ladies to spar with one another.’ Taking his son’s hand, he departed the grounds.
While Honora led her through a few training exercises, Brianna was intensely aware of Arturo watching. She moved, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her.
‘He’s a good match for you,’ Honora murmured, adjusting Brianna’s hands upon the spear. ‘A Spaniard, is he?’
She nodded. ‘But we’re just friends.’
Honora sent her a sidelong glance and murmured, ‘He wants to be more than that, from the way he’s watching you. But is that what you want?’
Colour rose over her face. ‘I don’t know.’
‘The solstice will be celebrated in a few hours,’ Honora reminded her. ‘The night will be longer than usual. And you know what that means.’
She did. After spending most of the afternoon and night in darkness, the wine prompted men and women to spend time in each other’s arms. It loosened inhibitions, and often wicked games were played on that night. Many believed that a woman was more fertile, more open to conceiving a child upon the winter solstice.
Brianna shivered, unsure of whether she wanted to join in or not. A part of her wanted to cast aside the past and spend one night without the burden of sadness. She wanted to be like the other women, celebrating the midwinter with joy. But if she succumbed to Arturo’s invitation, she knew it would not ease her grief. It would only tempt her more.
She forced her attention away from the thought. Grasping the spear, she practised thrusting it into the bag of sand, over and over. In her mind, she imagined the cold eyes of the Viking, and promised herself that if he ever set foot upon Laochre again, it would be his last moment alive.
The longer she practised, the more her body grew warm with perspiration. She was conscious of the way Arturo was eyeing her, and she quickened her pace to try to block out the distraction of him.
‘You’ve done enough,’ Honora pronounced, reaching for the spear. ‘Go and prepare yourself for the celebration.’
Arturo was waiting, and he held out a flask of cool wine. Without a word, he gave it to her, and she drank, tasting the sweet fermented grapes while he watched.
‘Will I see you tonight?’ he asked.
She nodded, her hand brushing against his as she gave back the wine. Already the day was waning, the night moving ever closer. He shadowed her as she returned home, and when she reached the door, she stopped for a moment. ‘On this night, we sometimes exchange gifts.’
‘There is one I brought with me from Navarre,’ he said. ‘I believe it will please you.’
‘I have nothing to offer in return,’ she said. ‘I fear that—’
Leaning in against her cheek, he murmured, ‘There is only one gift I want from you, belleza. And you already know what it is.’
A night in her arms. She couldn’t suppress the tremble that fired within her skin at the thought. He tempted her more than he should. And she suspected, if she were to ignore the voices of reason, claiming one night to fight against the loneliness, it would change her for ever. She would want more from him.
When he departed, she closed the door and lowered the bar across it. The fire had burned low, and she added peat to it, the bitter aroma filling up the room. She set a kettle of water to heat, and pulled out a gown she’d not worn in many years.
The overdress was dark green, the colour of evergreen branches with a gold léine meant to be worn beneath it. Made of the finest silk, Brianna had put it away after her marriage, for it only reminded Murtagh of the difference in their status. She’d thought about selling it but never had.
Tonight, it seemed fitting to wear it. She didn’t know what decision she would make about Arturo, but she wanted to look her best.
While the water was heating, she removed her clothing until she stood naked before the fire. She sat upon a low stool and brought the bucket of warmed water beside her. With a sea sponge, she dipped it in the water and began to wash.
The droplets slid lazily over her skin, puckering her nipples. She washed away the grit and sweat, and with the cleansing, her mind fell into a greater turmoil.
Arturo was right. Murtagh wouldn’t have wanted her to bury herself away from life. He’d have wanted her to seek happiness.
She wept openly as she drew the sponge over her naked skin, grieving for what she’d lost. For her husband and the love they’d shared. For the child she’d never conceived. And for the woman she’d let herself become.
When her bathing ritual was finished, she walked naked across the room and reached for a small wooden box, given to her by Rhiannon’s mother, Aileen. Inside it lay healing herbs and a few vials of oil. She reached for one and poured a few droplets on to her fingertips. The soft fragrance reminded her of summer wildflowers as she anointed her throat, sliding her hands over her bare skin.
The solstice was here, and outside she could hear the sounds of her kinsmen celebrating. She pulled on her shift, followed by the golden léine and the emerald overdress. Reaching behind her, she struggled with the laces of the outer gown. Last, she unbraided her hair, letting it slide across her shoulders in waves, falling just above her waist.
With a last glance at the spear resting in the corner, she steadied herself for the night ahead.
Chapter Four
The castle was filled with candles. Arturo stepped inside the Great Chamber and saw nearly fifty hollowed-out turnips with beeswax candles burning brightly. Greenery and holly were hung throughout the room, and mistletoe sprigs were tucked within the boughs. Lady Genevieve and another woman nearly the same age, were both seated upon the dais, playing a lilting tune upon their harps.
Someone handed him a cup of mead, and he spied a group of people sitting on the floor near a giant of a bard who was telling stories with a small boy on his lap. Adriana stood on the far side of the room, wearing a gown the colour of silver. Although the feast was in her honour, she seemed less nervous around the guests. Liam kept his arm around his bride, and wonder spread over her face at the sight of the festivities.
