Branded By Etain Read Free Page A

people smile and laugh and make merry as if no enemies exist. Few of the men, even the young warriors, are armed. How is this possible?” Nikolas waved his hands at the masses packing the shoreline.
    “The blacksmith speaks of a spell of protection. Of a fairy mound atop that hill, which will allow no invader to set foot on this isle’s soil.” Brand had learned of the friendship between the smith’s wife and Princess Étaín, and he had gained knowledge of the princess’s movements and intentions, not from the smith, but his new wife.
    “We are invaders, are we not? And we are here. Fairies and gold, that is all these Celts speak of.” Nikolas stamped his feet. Clumps of sand quilted the cobbled stones with each downward trod of his boots.
    “Aye, but Caul Cairlinne has ne’er been taken by Norse or others. ’Tis not an omen to my liking. I am wary of mine own plans.” Brand rolled his shoulder. The restlessness that always preceded a battle hounded him. He pushed away from the cottage and signaled Nikolas to follow him.
    “I have ne’er heard you speak like this. Seek you your own defeat? We have no choice in this matter. Either we take Caul Cairlinne, or Gunnar or Fagan does.” Nikolas flipped his cloak forward and walked alongside Brand.
    Brand bit his tongue. He wanted Étaín to come to him willingly, to choose him, but never would he admit that to anyone, not even Nikolas. He liked naught that she stirred some part of him he considered long dead and buried.
    “We have both seen magik at work in strange lands. From what I have learned during my past visits Princess Étaín is the reason Caul Cairlinne has ne’er been plundered. The people here believe she protects them in some way.”
    Nikolas paused when they reached a fork in the path. “The castle or the langskip?”
    “The langskip,” Brand replied. “We have much to do afore the feast begins this eve.”
    It took the better part of the day before Brand was satisfied with their preparations and their new situation. The weather had changed during the day, and by late afternoon a thick fog rolled in from the sea. Their five langskips loaded with warriors were now concealed in a cove not half a mile distant from Cairlinne Castle.
    The castle’s dramatic twin towers rose from the junction of the two rivers feeding into the sleepy bay. Most ships couldn’t enter the narrow channel leading to the gated kitchen entrance of the keep, but Viking langskips were built and designed for shallow-water, silent, deadly invasions.
    All was in place at dusk and Brand, Nikolas, and five of his men mingled with the hordes swarming into the castle’s grounds. None glanced their way. Once inside the great hall, they stuck to the shadowed corners and waited for the signal to begin the feast.
    A thin veil of smoke filled the packed great hall though the three hearths in the room were stacked for firing, but not set ablaze. The smoldering haze came from blazing torches attached to the walls and the flames of dozens of tallow candles situated on the trestle tables crammed into the long, narrow chamber.
    Two lute players seated at the base of the dais struck up a lively tune.
    Men, women, and children piled onto the benches bellowing loud greetings and settling in for the festivities. The din of low voices blossomed into vigorous, animated chatter as the crowd entering through the open double doors tripled in number.
    As planned, the two brothers separated, Brand taking the right and Nikolas the left. Their five men fanned out through the room picking strategic positions at the tables immediately below the dais in the center of the room.
    Brand glanced at the two arched entrances on either side of the dais. One led to the kitchens, the other to stairs leading to the floors above and the twin towers. ’Twas an ancient castle design to make the access to the second floor difficult.
    Whoever built the keep had anticipated invasion from inland only as Castle Cairlinne had