Branded By Etain Read Free

prosperous settlement.” Nikolas pulled the hood of his thick cloak forward.
    “Aye.”
    “How fared your meeting with Princess Étaín?”
    “As planned. We are invited to feast at the castle.” Odin’s luck had been with Brand the first day he set foot on Caul Cairlinne.
    He had encountered his prey, Princess Étaín, and captured her attention with one heated glance. Every night since then, he had woven his way into her dreams and filled her mind with images of the two of them in bedsport. Timid visions, to be cert.
    It had taken all his discipline to keep the images tame. To tamp down his burning desire to bedevil her with carnal pleasure until she did his bidding with not a moment’s hesitation.
    Brand studied the crowded market and spied Étaín turning onto one of the paths leading away from the village. She headed in the direction of the blacksmith. A smile chased his lips. He had promised the blacksmith work aplenty, enough to fill his coffers for a lifetime and more, and gained a wealth of knowledge in return.
    Princess Étaín.
    The truthsayer of Caul Cairlinne, the daughter of King Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh, his wife to be, and the woman who would make him a ruler of this settlement.
    Her innocence struck at the ugliness carved into his soul, the beast that had arisen within him and the other members of his demesne when the fire mountain on their isle began spewing its innards and dense clouds of acrid smoke and black ash.
    Their herds died overnight. Hundreds of cattle carcasses littered the settlement. The stench had been overwhelming. A sickness spread through the population and sent those who were struck into a berserker killing spree. Then the dream weaving began in the survivors and threatened their sanity. Brand had been the first one to speak of it, and he became the leader of the reduced numbers left in the colony.
    “Think you she will breed the dream weaving out of you?”
    Brand shrugged. “Only time will tell.”
    The sun bathed the crush of market goers and glinted off the axes of the fishermen hacking at their catch. He followed Étaín’s lithe form as she meandered between the throngs.
    She brimmed with life spirit, the joy bubbling into her lithe fidgeting; the happiness she exuded glowed like ’twas a tiny bright sun following her, which shone only on her petite figure. She bristled with energy and had danced in place earlier while searching the throngs for him.
    He smirked. It was him she looked for, it was him she sought, and tonight he would make her his.
    Brand sidled into the shadows of the furrier’s cottage. He drew his cloak together and leaned against the rough wood staves of the dwelling.
    Nikolas followed Brand’s example and withdrew from the swarm of people making their way to the shoreline. Nikolas propped a booted foot on the wooden planks and leaned his head against the cottage’s walls. He elbowed Brand. “That is her. The one with the golden curls and happy feet?”
    Happy feet? Brand pondered his brother’s words. He grimaced. “Aye. That is she. Princess Étaín.”
    “Are you cert of this, brother? ’Tis not an easy path you choose.”
    Brand scanned the multitudes gathering for the last market day of summer. By the morrow, these people trooping about would either be dead or would have pledged allegiance to him, their new king. “I see no other way. She and this isle are ripe for the plucking.”
    “Aye. I have ne’er seen the likes of it. There are no defenses. Why has not someone claimed this settlement afore? How has it withstood pillaging?”
    “I have asked myself the same question since discovering this kingdom. ’Tis incredible that neither Gunnar the Godless or Fagan the Fire-eater have not invaded and claimed it afore.” Brand had examined every aspect of his plan for seizing the settlement over and over for the last fortnight and found no weaknesses.
    “See you how they interact? Has this settlement seen naught of war and destruction? These