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you.”
    “Nay! There will be no wedding now!”
    “Your father’s word has been given, Brenna.” Linnet spoke a bit impatiently. “You must honor it, even though he is dead.”
    Brenna could hold back the heartbreaking sobs no longer. “Why did he have to die, Aunt? Why?”
     
    Lord Angus Carmarham was laid to rest on a clear blue morning. Birds had only just begun to greet the day, and the fragrance of wild flowers drifted through the chill morning air.
    Brenna, her eyes dry now, was dressed in black from head to foot. She wore a tunic and trousers gartered with leather, topped by a short, flowing mantle trimmed with silver thread. Her long raven tresses were braided and as usual tucked securely beneath the mantle. The only outstanding colors were the white of her face and the shining silver of her sword.
    Her aunt had expressed disapproval at her apparel, but Brenna remained adamant. Her father had treated her and raised her as a son, and she would dress like that son for their final farewell.
    The people of the village were present, and many wept loudly. Linnet stood on Brenna’s right, her comforting arm wrapped around the girl’s shoulders. Cordella and Dunstan were on her left. Dunstan spoke words of praise and past glory, but Brenna did not hear them. In those few moments she was reliving memories: a young child sitting on her father’s knee; a proud man yelling encouragement when his daughter rode her first horse. She recalled the tender, cherished moments.
    Brenna felt lost without him, and a terrible feeling of emptiness washed over her. But she stood proud for her people to see. Only her eyes, lackluster and deadened, told of her heartache.
    The moment when Dunstan spoke no more was silent and solemn. It was with much surprise that those in attendance saw a rider burst through the trees and descend upon the large gathering. He jumped from his horse and made his way quickly through the throng to Brenna’s side.
    “Your betrothed has come.” The young man spoke breathlessly. “I was returning from Anglesey and passed the party on the way.”
    “How do you know ’twas my betrothed?” Brenna asked apprehensively. She was not prepared for this news, not with her father just laid in his grave.
    “Who else could it be?” the man replied. “’Twas a large group of huge, fair-haired men. They are Vikings to be sure.”
    Alarmed voices broke out in the crowd, but Brenna could only think of her own predicament. “Lord in Heaven, why now?” she cried.
    This the young man could not answer. Linnet drew her close, saying, “Never mind why, my dear. ’Tis done.” Then she spoke to the messenger. “How close are they?”
    “On the other side of those trees.” He pointed northwest. “About a mile.”
    “Very well,” Linnet replied. “We must receive them at the manor. You people return to your village. You have naught to fear from these Vikings. They come in peace.”
    Back in the manor, Brenna paced restlessly in the large receiving room. Fergus sat anxiously with the rest of the family. He was responsible for the Vikings being here, and was eager to make them welcome. He had spent a good deal of time in a hostile land finding the Haardrad clan. The head of the clan himself had received Fergus and made the bargain for his son, giving his solemn word that all would be as agreed upon. With the death of Lord Angus, the bride was worth a great fortune, for his lands and manor were now hers, and thus her husband’s. The Vikings would be pleased indeed.
    “Brenna, love, ’twould be more seemly if you would change to a gown,” Linnet suggested.
    “Nay.”
    “Brenna, you cannot receive your future husband this way. What will he think?”
    “I said nay!” Brenna snapped, and continued her nervous pacing.
    Cordella eyed her stepsister smugly. She was amused, for she guessed why Brenna was fretting. The young woman was worrying if her betrothed would want to marry her before they sailed. The wedding