Branded By Etain Read Free Page B

a clear view of not only the harbor, but the entire coastline for miles. None would be expecting assault from within or by sea.
    ’Twould be child’s play to sail his langskips up the river. Half would be destined for the curtain walls surrounded by lapping waters, and the other half would head for the kitchen entrance. The foray would be two-pronged. Those men at the walls would scale the walls, take out the meager guards on the ramparts, and wait at the top of the castle’s stairs. The warriors on the langskips at the kitchens, and those on the stairs, would attack simultaneously on Brand’s signal.
    He had intended the raid to begin when the full moon divided the midnight sky. By then the feasting would be in earnest and the participants too sodden with food, mead, ale, and wine to counteract the swift incursion.
    A momentary hush captured Brand’s attention, and he swept a glance around the crush of people scrabbling for seats. The cluster at the castle’s doors parted to allow a procession of prettily garbed young females to enter. Each woman carried a woven basket from which she tossed flower petals and small branches into the crowd.
    Nikolas made his way to Brand’s side. He scrubbed his upper lip. “All is in place. Thorkell and the men await your signal. I repeated your warning that none are to be killed, if at all possible.”
    Brand heaved a sigh. He wanted to avoid fatalities at all costs. These people were going to be his, and ’twas easier to conquer and rule when none was enraged over the death of a loved one.
    “When begins The Choosing?”
    “I know not if I will wait for it. I am loath to gamble on her choosing me.” Brand fingered the stubble on his chin.
    Once every five summers on the last night of the festival of Lúnasa, the women of Caul Cairlinne could choose their mate. The church blessed the unions, which lasted a year and a day. After that time, the couples could decide to remain married or separate.
    “’Twould be better if she picked you.”
    “Aye, but what if she does not?” Brand’s gaze never wavered from the line of marriageable women weaving their way through the hall.
    He held his breath when Étaín came into view. Her glorious golden curls hung in glistening tendrils clear to her knees. She had a habit of flaring her nostrils and firming her chin when all eyes were upon her. He knew in his gut she hated being the center of attention.
    ’Twas her obvious vulnerability that stirred him.
    ’Twas her startling beauty that had him hard and aching in a heartbeat.
    He had studied her these past months searching for flaws, for the arrogance and conceit that always accompanied females of royal birth, and found naught. She spoke to beggar and princes alike with the same gentle inquiry, gifted all with a sparkling smile that twisted his belly into coils, and appeared unaware of the rough sailors and traders who stared at her with blatant, greedy lust.
    A slight draft molded the fine linen of the leine she wore around her firm breasts. She blinked and unerringly swung her head and met his stare. A smile fluttered around her rosy lips.
    Those haunting eyes the color of rich molasses spoke to him.
    He fisted his hands, the urge to reach for her nigh overwhelming.
    Mine.
    She halted for a moment as if hearing his silent declaration, and the sheer joy lighting her features dazzled him. All the blood in his body pooled in his groin. Desire speared him.
    Taking a deep breath, Brand inclined his head and smiled.
    Her teeth gleamed snowy white under the flickering candles when she beamed at him. Giving a little shake of her head, she dipped into her basket and threw petals and green-needled twigs high into the air. A couple of skips and a hop later, she arrived at the dais, the last female to line up below the table, and made a graceful curtsey.
    King Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh had taken his place on the dais and stood smiling benignly at the women standing before him, his gaze lingering on