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her family when me brother was
born. She nursed him, dandled him on her knee, and weaned him on
that chair.”
    “So you have a brother.” Keefe looked up at
her briefly. “Which one of the men is he?”
    Brenna sighed and settled
onto the hard-packed dirt floor beside him. “I had a brother.”
     

Chapter Five
     
     
    Brenna bit her lip and her
whole body stiffened. Why had the words
slipped out? This man had no right to her
family’s private grief. When he didn’t press her for more, but returned to carving the wood and
hum ming under his breath, she
relaxed.
    He turned the chair on its side to get closer
to his work and started chanting unintelligible words.
    “What is that noise ye’re making?” she
finally asked.
    He tossed her an indignant
look. “That noise is a song. It popped into my head
this morning and so far it’s about the
only thing I can remember. I’m hoping if I
sing it, more will follow.”
    He sang a few more growling phrases, then
stopped.
    “Have you remembered aught more?” she
asked.
    “No,” he admitted. “I seem to be stuck on one
verse.”
    “What is the song about?”
    “It’s about sailing the wide world,” he said,
his blue eyes trained on a distant point.
    For the first time, Brenna
wondered what it must be like to ride the heaving breast of the
sea. When Keefe frowned, she felt a stab
of sympathy for him. Not to know himself;
the man must feel truly adrift.
    “And the song is about going home,” he
added.
    Home. Did he have people who missed him? A
lover? Perhaps a whole string of women. Looking at his fine
profile, she realized he must. How could he not?
    The rhythmic chantey began again, haltingly
this time, as he translated for her.
    Slice the gray waves of the sea
    Lay the Hammer-fist down
    To kettle and hearth with treasure I’ll
flee
    To find my true Treasures grown.
    He brushed away some of the
flaking wood with a rough fingertip. “I’m
not exactly sure what it means.”
    “True treasures,” Brenna repeated. “What
could that be to a Northman but the wealth from someone else’s
labor?”
    He met her gaze directly.
“I was thinking true trea sure might mean
a family.”
    Brenna gulped. Everyone
knew Northmen didn’t show any more care to
their women and offspring than a stray dog
gave to the bitch he’d covered. At least that was what she’d always
heard, but something in this Northman’s
expression told her he would care.
    “By those lights, your song
is about a man find ing his bairns changed
in his absence.” Brenna was at a loss to
explain her sudden shortness of breath. “Do ye suppose it means ye have a family that this verse has come to ye?”
    Keefe laughed. “No matter
what happened to him, somehow I think a
man would have a hard time forgetting that.”
    He hummed the disjointed tune again.
    A hard fist knotted her
stomach. Why should it matter to her if he did have a woman
somewhere? Still, the song grated on
Brenna like strong spirits on an open
wound.
    “Must ye keep making that racket?”
    “A song helps me concentrate,” he said. “If
you don’t like mine, maybe you could sing me one of yours.”
    “I’m not a minstrel girl to
warble at your beck and call,” Brenna
snapped.
    “It’s just a song, Princess.” He seemed
undaunted by her frown. “Surely even the Irish know a song or
two.”
    “Aye, so we do.”
    “Then where’s the harm in
sharing one with me as I work?” His
lopsided smile would melt a harder heart than hers.
    “ ‘Tis plain I’ll have no
peace till I do. Very well then.” She
folded her hands in her lap and searched her repertoire for the right song for the occasion.
“Ah! Just the thing. ‘Tis a song that
explains why we Irish enjoy foul weather.”
    Brenna’s sweet soprano rose pure and clear
despite the minor twist in the tune.
     
    Bitter blows the wind this night
    Toss up the ocean’s hair so white
    Merciless men I need not fear
    Who cross from Lothland on ocean clear.
    When the last