Dubh-Linn: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 2) by James L. Nelson

were here to celebrate.”
      “Nearly,” Brigit said, though Finnian seemed to take that as a better thing than she did. He was a hard one to read. He often acted as if there was not a problem or conflict in the world, though Brigit was quite certain he was not as naive as that. “I was sorry to miss Ruarc mac Brain,” she added. “The Uí Dúnchada had no representative here.”
      “I had word that Ruarc’s wife is very ill. He would not wish to leave her side. Did Morrigan not tell you? I feel sure I told her. He’s a good man, Ruarc.”
      “He would be a good ally. He commands many men-at-arms and foot soldiers as well. With the Uí Dúnchada of Leinster and the house of Máel Sechnaill together we might stand a chance against these fin gall. Drive them into the sea, perhaps.”
      And Morrigan would certainly prefer I think he was ignoring me , she thought.
      Finnian gave her a curious look. “What?” she said. “Have I said something wrong?”
      “Not at all, not at all,” Finnian said and smiled. “I am just marveling at how you speak more like a ruler on her throne than a bride on her wedding night.”
      “I have been a bride before, Father,” she said. “I have never before been a ruler.”
      They walked on in silence to the door to the main house. Brigit wondered what Finnian might say, if there was some motive to his walking her across the compound, beyond seeing to her protection. But he only bowed and said, “I wish you good night, Queen Brigit.”
      “Thank you, Father Finnian. And a good night to you.” Finnian straightened, nodded, and walked off.
      Queen Brigit… No one had ever called her that before, nor was it clear that she would hold that title. What did he mean by that? Did he mean to signal his support of me? She frowned and pushed her way through the heavy oak door of the royal house and into the smoky, dim interior.
      The passageway between the various walled off rooms was lit with a few candles, the light of which was further obscured by the lanterns that held them, but Brigit needed no light at all to find her way. She pushed open the door of her bed chamber and almost sighed out loud, relieved to have reached that sanctuary, that haven of peace. All day she had been dreading the night, the marital bed, and what she imagined would be the rough and clumsy attention of her husband. But now she was quite certain she had gained a reprieve, and that Conlaed would be spending the night on the floor of the great hall, wherever he happened to collapse.
      A fire was burning low in the hearth, and the room had a warm glow, the far reaches all but lost in shadow. Brigit didn’t see the figure sitting in the chair beyond the bed, did not recognize it as a person, but when that person stood she jumped and gasped. She took a step back. Her hand reached out, instinctively looking for a weapon.
      “Brigit…” The figure came closer, and Brigit recognized the form, the voice, but recognition did not bring much relief.
      “Morrigan…”
      Morrigan stepped into the light of the low fire, which gave a reddish hue to her pale skin, her light brown hair. She was a small woman, and pretty, despite all that she had suffered. In the fire’s light Brigit noticed the tiny lines around Morrigan’s mouth and at the corner of her eyes. There was a hardness in her eyes, no expression on her face. She might have been carved out of ivory. “Congratulations on your nuptials,” she said.
      “Thank you.”
      They stood silent for a moment, like swordsmen, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
      “I have the means, you know, to help you out of your troubles,” Morrigan said at last.
      “What troubles?” Brigit asked, and heard the false note in her voice.
      Morrigan smiled. “Please. Even so great a fool as Conlaed uí Chennselaigh can count to nine. When the baby comes, it will take no great figuring for him and everyone else at Tara to know it is