Page 79 of Her Celtic Captor

"So, little sister, another babe. Who would have thought it?" Ulfric raised his tankard yet again, his grin infectious.

"Aye. We shall have another feast in the summer, to celebrate the birth," announced Gunnar. "A fine, Viking festival and I shall make sure I am here for that. I wish I had been here to celebrate your wedding, sister. I would have been, had our brother not seen fit to have you whisked off without so much as a word to me. I missed all the festivities whilst I languished in Gunnarsholm in total ignorance."

The Celtic contingent exchanged perplexed glances. Murdina called for more ale to replenish barely depleted mugs and Dughall demanded to know where the musicians had got to. Had he not left specific instructions that a piper be on hand to entertain them? There was to be dancing, was there not?

It took but one sidelong glance at her brothers to know that they were not fooled at all. Ulfric and Gunnar exchanged a look, then her eldest brother turned to meet her gaze.

"Brynhild? What is this?"

"What? What is what?"

"This..." Ulfric swung his hand toward their hosts. "Why the sudden interest in music and sploshing ale into already perfectly full cups. What are all of you trying to hide?"

"Hide? Why should we be hiding anything? You are speaking in riddles, brother and I do not care for it. I believe I may be feeling somewhat ill..."

Fiona rushed to bring the pail closer. Ulfric was undeterred.

"Gunnar mentioned that he missed your wedding celebrations. Why should that cause such a flurry, I wonder?"

"Yes," agreed Gunnar." Perhaps you could tell me of that glorious day. I would like to know the details since I could notbe present. Tell me of the guests, the feasting, the flow of fine ale and wine."

"Do not be ridiculous," snapped Brynhild.

Gunnar shrugged and turned his attention to Taranc. "Perhaps you might enlighten us then. Were there musicians? Games? Was the ceremony in the Christian or Nordic tradition?" He balanced his elbow on the table and planted his chin in his hand. His smile was unwavering as he waited for an answer.

"There was no ceremony." Taranc stated the plain truth, bald and undiluted. Brynhild considered reaching across the table and slapping him.

"No ceremony?" Ulfric repeated the words, as though checking he had heard correctly.

"No ceremony," confirmed Taranc. "We are not wed."

"A babe almost a year old, another on the way, and you are not wed? Might I trouble you for an explanation?" Ulfric's tone had hardened.

"We did not choose to wed. We are not suited." Brynhild slapped the table, sending her own mug clattering to the floor. "And it is none of your business in any case."

"I beg to differ." Ulfric now fixed his steely gaze on Taranc. "Do you love her?"

"What?" Taranc glared at his tormentor.

"Is the question too hard for you, Celt? I seem to recall you asked me much the same thing once."

"And you did not answer me then."

"I did not, but you will answer me now. Do you love her?"

"Aye, of course I love her. She knows that."

"And she loves you. We all know that," put in Gunnar. "So, why..."

Taranc shook his head, his expression stony. "She does not love me. She does not wish to wed, and I will not force the issue.We are happy, though, and we shall remain as we are, for as long as we choose to be."

The dark-haired Viking let out a derisive snort. "Thor's balls! How did you two get into such a mess? Brynhild, tell the man, will you? You love the very bones of him."

"I—"

"Tell him."

"I love him."

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