Emerald Glory by Renee Vincent

Author:Renee Vincent
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: viking romance, vikings, series romance, series, historical romance
Publisher: Renee Vincent
Published: 2017-05-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-two

“UNTIE ME!” TAIT BELLOWED.

He sat in a chair, adjacent to Nevan at the head of the assembly in the mead hall, tied to its arms and legs. Bound like a hostage, he glared at everyone in the hall, but no one budged to help him. No one had the gall, especially after Nevan had given strict orders.

Breandán gazed around the room at the many men gathered there. Some he recognized, while others he couldn’t name. One thing was for certain: the tension in the room was thick, even more than when he was confronted by Ottarr and the other islanders upon his landing. Beyond the overall hostility, there were some men who seemed pleased that he’d taken down the bear, so to speak. Irishmen, he imagined. The others, who wore their displeasure like a crown, were presumably Northmen. Among those most aggrieved were Gunnar and Ottarr.

Breandán sat at one of the benches in the spacious room, with Marcas on his left. While some found seats near them, he still felt isolated amid the group. It was hard to feel comfortable when everyone stared and murmured behind their drinking horns.

He tried to ignore their judgmental looks and brushed the rain droplets from the soft surface of his dove-gray hare cloak. The storm had finally hit with full fury over the isle when they’d summoned him from Mara’s longhouse, and he anticipated an even bigger storm would soon erupt within these sturdy walls.

“Shall we begin?” Nevan asked from his central throne, glancing around the room. “We have much to discuss and little time to come to a mutual decision.”

“Mutual?” Tait growled. “How can anything be mutual when I’m held bound against my will! I’m a chieftain on this isle, and I refuse to be treated in this manner!”

Nevan glanced dispassionately at Tait. “And as your king, I refuse to let you treat our guests in such a manner. We were respectful enough to await your return before coming to a ruling, so I suggest you hold your tongue lest I be forced to remove you from this assembly and make the decree myself. Agreed?”

As a reply, Tait exhaled through flared nostrils and glared at Breandán for the degrading lecture he just received in front of his fellow men.

“Breandán Mac Liam,” Nevan summoned, his voice carrying throughout the room. “Would you please deliver the message you were asked to bring forth by Mara’s father, Cathal Mac Conor.”

Breandán saw the sharp jerk of Tait’s head in Nevan’s direction and the bewilderment in his eyes. He wasn’t sure what had made Tait react so strongly, but then again, he hadn’t understood anyone’s conduct on the isle when it came to the reference of the Connacht king.

Reluctantly, he stood and transferred the message, tracing his gaze around the room as he spoke. “Cathal Mac Conor is on his deathbed, and he has but one dying wish.” He glanced at Tait now, wondering how he’d respond to the next part. “He asks to see his daughter.”

Tait’s eyes widened and fixed on Nevan again.

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