Page 80 of Her Celtic Captor
"There, I told you so." Ulfric got to his feet. "Now, we will be needing that piper for we are to have a wedding."
"We will require a priest," suggested Fiona.
"Yes, and more food, and tables out in the courtyard for we shall invite all to celebrate with us." Mairead, too, warmed to their theme. "We could have a priest here by tomorrow, and?—"
"No!" Brynhild stood, her face ashen. "I cannot. I mean, we will, but, not yet. Not so soon. I must... I am not ready…”
Taranc reached for her hand and pressed her cold fingers to his lips. "Does this sudden reticence concern Aelbeart?" he murmured.
She sank back into the chair she had just vacated, the breath leaving her lungs in a soft exhale. "It is not.. I mean, it does not seem fitting that I…”
“We need to leave him in the past, where he belongs. It is time to move on.”
"I..." Tears streamed unchecked across her cheeks. She was at a loss. Relief mixed with absolute horror as it sank in that not only was Taranc privy to her deepest, darkest secret but soon all would know what happened. She could no longer hold it within. The truth was about to burst forth, uncontrolled, ugly, brutal in its stark nakedness. She was not ready, would never be ready.
"It is time." Taranc’s steady, calm voice cut through the roiling emotions to reach her. "I shall help you. You are notalone, Brynhild. You have your brothers too. And your sisters, those who love you.”
Even as her mind recoiled, Brynhild knew he was right. She managed a tearful nod, swiping at her face with her fingers as though she might dry her tears that way. Fiona produced a kerchief and moved to perch on the arm of Brynhild's chair. She ignored the protests, the stiff reserve which was ever Brynhild's natural response and simply took the Viking woman in her arms and rocked her against her chest.
"It cannot be that bad, surely. If Taranc says it will be all right, you must know that it will. You trust him.”
Brynhild could only nod her agreement. She heard Taranc bid Annag and Morag take the children from the hall, then he dismissed the rest of the servants. By the time she collected her senses sufficiently to face the gathering again the only people still at the table were her brothers, Fiona and Mairead, Dughall, Taranc, and Murdina.
"So," began Taranc, his smile warm. "Shall I start?"
"Yes, if you please." She had never been more grateful to anyone.
"Very well. This is a story which Brynhild told to me some months ago. I shall, try to relate it as faithfully as I may, though she may wish to correct me on some points." He paused, then, "It starts when she was fourteen years old, growing up in her father's settlement in the Norseland..."
Those present listened in near silence as Taranc presented the account of what had transpired between Brynhild and the Celtic thrall. Gunnar interrupted to swear softly and declare that he recalled the cur, a slimy weasel of a man given to laziness and thievery. Ulfric concurred. He was convinced their father would have been rid of Aelbeart soon enough in any case since he was of little use. Both men's eyes narrowed, their handsome jaws flexing as the details unfolded.
"He did what? He actually touched you? The bastard laid his hands upon you even though you told him?—"
"He did," confirmed Taranc. "Brynhild has said that it was so."
"Our father would have hanged him, had he known."
"I... I did not want that. Everyone would have known about what he had done, whatIhad done. I was ashamed..."
"He deserved to hang, or worse." Gunnar got to his feet to pace the length of the hall. "Where were we when this all took place? I do not recall anything..."
"You and Ulfric were away, with our father, raiding." Brynhild had found her own voice at last and was able to fill in the details. "You arrived back at Skarthveit perhaps three weeks later, and by then our mother had had Aelbeart sold. He was gone."
Ulfric nodded. "Aye, I remember now. I was glad to see the back of him and did not ask any more questions. Thralls did tend to come and go in our father's time since he was at heart a trader. I thought nothing of it."
"Our mother knew what he had done to you, you say, yet she said nothing? Not to our father, not to us?" Gunnar seemed incredulous.
"She said we would not speak of it. I... she blamed me."
"Why would she blame you? Solveig was not stupid."
"It was my fault. I was foolish, gullible. If she had not arrived when she did..."
"That was fortunate indeed, but none of what you have told us was your fault. You were a child." These words of comfort came from Fiona. "You have said you hope for a daughter of your own next. Would you not believe her in the same circumstances? You would never blame your child, hold her responsible for the wicked actions of a cruel and self-serving man."
"He was a slave, I was of the Jarl. I should?—"
"He was a predator, a beast. He should have been punished for what he did to you. He got off lightly, in my view. Solveig was never usually so tolerant, except with him." Ulfric jerked his thumb in Gunnar's direction. "I do not understand why she did not have this Aelbeart put in chains to await our father's justice, whatever the shame that brought on you. I do not wish to cause you any additional distress, little sister, but our mother was never one to pander overmuch to our finer sensibilities as I recall. She would do her duty, do what was right. "
