Erinsong Read Free

she
muttered.
    Her expression was so
pained, a knot formed in his own chest. “Still, Brenna suits you.
It’s a fine name. I like the sound of it.”
He rolled her name over his tongue once more. “If you won’t choose
a name for me, I guess you’ll have to
introduce me to your father as Northman
then.”
    “To me father?”
    “ ]a, he’s on his way, I’ll wager.” He still wished
he had a name to hang on himself. It would
steady him. “ Don’t you think your sister
went to fetch him? Or maybe she’s not as
quick of mind as you.”
    Brenna glanced up the
deserted beach. “Da is on his way,” she said with surety. “He’ll be
bringing a whole gang of men with him. And
none of them with any love at all for
Northmen.”
    “Hmph!” He knelt beside the weathered cask on
the beach. “Is this mine?”
    “Ye were wrapped around it when we found ye.
I’m supposing ‘tis yours.”
    He ran his fingers over the
runes etched on the end of the barrel. The
bung was intact. If the cask was well
made, the contents should still be good.
    “Is your father a drinking man?”
    Brenna laughed out loud. “Sure, and ye have
no idea where ye are, do ye, Northman?”
    “Not even enough for a guess.” He shook his
head ruefully.
    “So then, I’ll tell ye. Ye have washed up on
Erin, where the High Kings have ruled from Tara for hundreds of
years, and dear St. Patrick drove out both the snakes and the
heathen from its twice-blessed shores.” She jutted her chin upward
in pride. “And on Erin, drink is mother’s milk for every man over
the age of six.”
    “Good,” he said quietly. “Perhaps he’ll favor
a wager as well.”
    A buzzing rippled the air and he was startled
to see an arrow quivering in the sand near his
knee.
    A row of heads appeared
over the hillock. A sinewy, dark-haired
man climbed to the top, another arrow nocked on the string. Brian
of Donegal leveled his aim at the Northman’s chest with cool
precision. The mantle of leadership rested easily on the Irishman’s
shoulders and the men with him followed suit.
    “Release me daughter!”
    The Northman shouldered the cask and rose to
his feet. “Greetings, Brian, King of Donegal. I’ve done your
daughter no hurt.” He grimaced and added softly enough for only
Brenna to hear, “Though she can’t say the same for me.”
    Brenna crossed her arms over her chest and
sidled away from him.
    Brian and his men trotted across the sand and
formed a ring around the Northman. The Donegal edged his daughter
behind him, with a quick, assessing glance, taking note of
Brenna’s disheveled hair and sand-crusted tunic.
    “Has he harmed ye, lass?” the king asked
softly.
    “No, Da.” Brenna dropped her gaze to her feet
and stepped back, meek as a lamb.
    “Ye did well keeping an eye on the fiend,”
Brian said, gruff approval on his features. “But we’d have found
him at any rate. Ye took an awful chance, daughter. Don’t do the
like again.”
    Brenna’s lips tightened into a thin line.
    The Northman was surprised by the change in
the girl. Brenna had been firmly in charge since he opened his
eyes, ordering her sister to safety, attacking him, and keeping her
wits about her when he pinned her to the sand. She was even brave
enough not to run off when she could have. To see her subdued now
struck him as odd.
    But he didn’t have long to
puzzle over it. Brian Ui Niall hadn’t lowered the point of his
arrow one jot. The Donegal narrowed his
eyes at the Northman.
    “What business have ye here?” Ui Niall
asked.
    “I can’t say.”
    “A Northman never travels
alone. Like a pack of wolves from the sea,
ye are. Where be the rest of your heathen
crew?”
    “I don’t know.” He frowned. Why did they hate
him so?
    “Ye’d best be telling me,
and quickly now. My fin ger gets tired of
holding back this arrow.”
    “He truly doesn’t know,
Da.” Brenna placed a restraining hand on her father’s arm.
“His wits are addled. The man doesn’t even
know his own