Free Erinsong by Mia Marlowe

monster.
     
     

Chapter Nine
     
     
    Brian Ui Niall didn’t seem to think the
Northman was a monster.
    After the initial frenzy caused by their
arrival at the keep, Moira explained how Keefe had rushed to her
aid. Connor and Aidan ran to the beach before the tide rushed in
and carried away the dead raiders, sweeping the coastline clean of
any gore. Moira’s story was confirmed.
    Jorand, as Keefe Murphy was
now known, was proclaimed a hero and a feast was declared in
his honor. Brian Ui Niall sent out a call,
summoning the whole Donegal clan to the
keep for a celebration to be held on the night of the next full
moon. The festivities promised to be
grand.
    One by one, the crofters
sent back word of their ac ceptance. A
tame Northman was novelty enough. The fact that the Donegal had
trained one to attack his own kind was enough to send even the
least in quisitive mind into flutters of
curiosity.
    Brenna buried herself in
preparations. Since the feast honored the
man who fixed her precious chair, even Una
bestirred herself enough to take an interest in the cleaning. The stone floor of the keep was swept, scrubbed, and freshly strewn with
rushes.
    “Maybe ye’ll be making
another batch of meat pasties, I’m
thinking,” Moira suggested. “If we hope to
honor Jorand as he deserves, we don’t want to be running out now,
do we?”
    After he rescued her
sister, their father had released Jorand from all servitude and
gave him free range over the region. Brenna was no longer
bound to watch him or devise work to keep
him occupied.
    Jorand. The foreign name still lay heavily on Brenna’s tongue. To her
mind, the man would always be Keefe Murphy, her handsome sea
warrior. Now that he no longer bore the name she’d given him, he
seemed even less hers.
    Brenna shook her head. What
a fanciful notion! The stranger had never been hers, even when she
first found him on the beach. And why on earth would she even want him if he was? Besides, it was too late for such fantasies. She’d never have a
man of her own now.
    On the appointed night of
feasting, the king of Donegal’s keep was
jammed with people. Those who hadn’t seen
the tall, blond Northman before now crowded around Jorand,
alternately suspicious and admiring,
wanting to talk to him, to take the measure of this foreigner who’d saved a daughter of the house and earned the gratitude of their
king.
    Brenna never enjoyed
crowds. Her craving for solitude had made her consider life as a
novice at Clonmacnoise in the first place.
With the peat fire smoking in the grate and the press of humanity all around her, Brenna had to escape the keep for some fresh air. She
wrapped her brat around her shoulders and slipped into the
darkness.
    The soft summer evening
gave way to a hazy night. From time to time the moon peeped from
behind cloudbanks. As she wandered away from the keep, Brenna heard
a few couplets of a crude drinking song followed by a burst of
laughter. She kept walking till she could hear the singers no more
and finally climbed atop the stone wall,
settling down to enjoy the quiet. Far from
the round stone tower, the only sounds
were the drone of insects and the
occasional lonely hoot of an owl.
    “It’s a fair party,
princess.” Jorand stepped out of the
shadows and leaned against the wall next to her.
    She hadn’t heard him approach and nearly
toppled off her perch.
    “I thought Northmen craved merrymaking just
as well as the sons of Erin do.”
    The moon chose that moment
to slide from behind its feathery curtain
and shine its full strength on Jorand’s face. Brenna bit her lip.
Just looking at him made her chest constrict.
    “ ‘Tis your celebration,”
she said. “Why are ye not after enjoying
it then?”
    “Maybe for the same reason you aren’t.”
    “Too many people?”
    “Or maybe not the right one.” Jorand clasped
his hands in front of him and leaned his elbows on the rock wall.
Then he cocked his head at her and gave her a look that made