“Soon. There will be speeches and declarations. The handfasting. We will feast the rest o’ the afternoon and night.”
Bradana’s eyes met Maeve’s and slid away. She wished she could talk to her friend alone, if only for a few moments.
But Mother had pulled a small packet from her robe, wrapped in soft leather.
“Bradana, this is for ye. My mam gave it to me before my first wedding and I wore it on the day.” A pained smile stretched her lips. “I am sure ye were conceived that very night.”
“Oh.”
“I wish for ye to have it.”
“Your blue brooch?” Bradana searched her mother’s eyes. “But ’tis one o’ your fondest treasures.”
“Nay, daughter, ye be that.”
The tears did fall then, all around. Mother pinned the brooch to Bradana’s shoulder—an elaborate scroll forming a pony, worked in blue metalwork—with hands that trembled.
“There now. Ye shall tak’ a wee bit o’ me with ye to your new home.”
Bradana wanted to collapse into her mother’s arms. To weep and wail. To beg for a way out of her dilemma. She was, however, no longer a wain who wept or begged.
“Thank ye, Mam.”
“Ye have all the courage ye will need”—Tavia looked her in the eyes—“to face what will come.”
Bradana could only trust that she did, with all her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Are ye excited?Frightened?” Maeve asked Bradana as the two of them waited to be summoned to the hall. Mother and Genna had gone ahead, the one kindly supporting the other. Bradana had been declared perfect and ordered not to move, that she might spoil her appearance.
She eyed her friend, wondering what to say.
“He is no’ ill to look upon, this husband o’ yours,” Maeve offered.
That allowed some surprise to filter through the hard hold Bradana had on her emotions. “Ye think so?”
“I do.” A faint flush rose to Maeve’s cheeks. “I ha’ seen him and would consider mysel’ fortunate, were he to be mine.”
Bradana could not keep from asking, “How so?”
“Och well, he is young, is he no’? Ye are no’ going to an old man. He looks strong and fit. A good warrior.”
“And those things are important, are they?” Only if a woman weren’t in love with another man.
“It canna hurt. Och, and I ha’ seen the way he looks at ye. Wi’ desire in his eyes.”
“He?”
“Master Earrach, o’ course.”
Of course.
“To be sure, ’tis no surprise.” Maeve gave a sigh. “Just see how beautiful ye be.”
Aye, Bradana had likely never looked so fine, or so unlike herself.
“Maeve,” she told the other girl impulsively, “thank ye for being my good friend.” She did not know what would happen this day. Her every instinct told her things would not end well.
