Brunhild ignored the way the image he painted made her shiver.“Beauty is nothing but a burden.If I agree to uphold my father’s bargain, you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”
He held them in the air, palms outward.“As I’d like them to remain attached to my wrists.”
She rolled her eyes at his dramatic reaction.“So long as they don’t touch me, they will.”
“I’ll do as you ask.Shall we seal our bargain with a hand clasp?”
“You’ve yet to lay out your terms.”
“The marriage must be consummated , but I vow to bide my time and woo you the best I know how.”
Brunhild snorted.“You needn’t woo me.Only come to know me before you take me to your bed.”
He held out his hand.“You have my word.”
She wrapped her hand around his wrist.“And you have mine.”
“Do not be alarmed when I set my sigil on your skin tomorrow, or by anything I may do or say when the gods bless the union.”
“Your sigils and your wild magic do not scare me, I am a warrior and have borne far worse."
That night, after they’d gone their separate ways, Mirren somehow convinced Brunhild that a jug of mulled cider was the perfect way to spend the evening.
At first, she thought the pounding was in her head.When she reared up, she banged her forehead against the shield that was slung over her headboard.“Ouch!”She said as she rubbed it furiously, and held her hand in front of her bleary eyes to make sure she wasn’t bleeding.
“Wench, open the door.You’ll be late for your own wedding!”
The voices on the other side of the door were her brothers.
She stumbled out of bed, still clutching her forehead and unbarred the door.The moment the door was unlocked, her two brothers barreled into the room.“Our father will have your hide strung up for the whole village to see if you don’t come with us now,” Sigmund said as he grabbed her arm.
She shook him off and futilely tried to smooth her rumpled clothing.
Her other brother, Torvald, looked at her with obvious distaste.“You reek of cider, you look like you rolled in the midden heap, and you’re going to have a black eye within the hour.”
Brunhild gave her fastidious brother a sullen glare.“I didn’t want this, and even though I was manipulated into agreeing to it, I’ll not pretend I’m happy about it.”
“Fine, suit yourself.See if I care how you are called a drunken fool.”
Her knife was in her hand faster than he could blink, the point pressed just below his chin.“Say another word and I’ll cut out your tongue.”
He gulped, his eyes wide, as Sigmund snorted behind her.“I agree with our brother.Good riddance, I say.All the miscreants together and far away.”
Brunhild dropped the knife and snarled at both of them.“Get out!”
“We were sent to fetch you, so don’t tarry sister,” warned Sigmund.“I’ll not bear the brunt of Father’s wrath on your behalf.”
“I need only wash my face and rebraid my hair.”
He gave her a curt nod and they both left her to her own devices.
After they’d slammed the door behind them, Brunhild braced herself against the doorframe.At this angle, her reflection peered up at her from the bucket of murky water.It sat on the barrel that served as her table and she wavered on whether it would be more beneficial to drink it or douse herself with it.She settled on the dousing.
By the time Brunhild stalked through the open archway of the hall, the entire village was there.The steady thump of drumming filled the space, and one of the men standing behind her father’s throne had a skalmejen slung about his shoulder.His mouth flew over the pipes as the leather bag attached to them expanded and released.
It was sheer cacophony, loud and joyous.She could smell the tang of unwashed bodies, the fish piled on platters to the side of the dais and the boar roasting on the spit in front of the giant hearth.It was too much and too close and she suddenly longed for the open air and the open sea.She squared her shoulders and forged her way through the crowd.
As soon as he saw her, the each uisge king’s face flooded with relief.