by Conn, Phoebe
CHAPTER VIII
That night Brendan listened to Erik fUp-flopping on his mattress like a fish out of water, and easily surmised the falconer was no more able to sleep than he was. In his case, it was the persistent memory of Dana's luscious kiss that was keeping him awake. He couldn't help but wonder if Erik might not be thinking about a woman too.
"Is Bent your betrothed?" he asked when his curiosity got the better of him and he could no longer keep still.
"What?" Erik replied in a harsh gasp, both dismayed and alarmed at being asked such a personal question.
"You heard me." Brendan stretched out on his back and placed his hands behind his head to make a comfortable pillow while they talked. "Berit's very pretty. She seldom takes her eyes off you, and she often stands close enough to rub up against you. I didn't see you trying to discourage her either."
Realizing he had been holding his breath ever since Brendan had first spoken, Erik exhaled slowly. He hadn't thought their behavior as indiscreet as the slave described, but obviously it had been. If Brendan had noticed, then what about the children? If they had noted that Berit's affection for him was readily returned, wouldn't they soon be teasing them about it? Or worse yet, telling their mothers?
"Berit's my cousin," he answered noncommittally.
"More than one man has married an attractive cousin," Brendan observed smugly.
Again Erik had no ready response. He could not deny that he wanted the delightful blonde, but wanting and having were two entirely different things. He had not even dared
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hope there might be something more than friendship between them until Berit had made it so shockingly plain that she craved much more.
''She's only sixteen," Erik reminded himself aloud.
"Is that your only objection to her?"
Objection? Erik groaned inwardly at the ridiculousness of that word. How could any man object to a young woman as loving and sweet as Berit? He could as easily object to the warmth of a summer day, or the vibrant beauty of wildflowers, or the magnificence of a falcon in flight.
"ril not answer your questions," he snapped angrily. "Go to sleep."
Brendan smiled to himself, certain he had discovered something important about the man whose house he shared. "J0m is hot-tempered too. If he suspects you have taken advantage of his sister's affections, you mi^t need help to defend yourself."
Erik was out of bed before he stopped to analyze the comment. He halted then and stood with his fists clenched at his sides. "What are you threatening? That you'll tell J0m I'm bedding his sister if I don't give you what you want?"
"You're bedding the girl?" Brendan sat up, as startled by the remark as Erik had been by his. After all, Berit was Erik's cousin, and he had not thought even Danes would sink to seducing their own kin.
"No!" Erik shouted angrily. "And if you think you can threaten me with such a vile lie, we'll settle the matter outside right now."
While Brendan was usually quick to defend his honor, he remained seated on his makeshift bed. There had been a time when he would have threatened anything to get a Crust of bread, but not now, not here where the people were kind. It was difficult to explain why, even to himself, but he had no desire to fight Erik ever again.
"You misunderstood me," the Celt began with deliberate care. "I meant that I would take your side, not that I would carry tales."
"Another of your ridiculous attempts to help me?" Erik scoffed. "Like your offer to make Dana look inept?"
"I'll admit that was a mistake," Brendan readily confessed.
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but he would not explain what constant floggings and mistreatment did to the soul. He had learned to survive by playing the members of a large household off against each other, and if that method no longer worked, then he hoped he would soon discover another.
His house was dark, and Erik could see only Brendan's dim silhouette. The slave's voice was low and soft, conciliatory rather than belligerent, and suddenly his anger seemed totally misplaced. Erik knew it was bitterness oyer his fate that was tearing him apart, not worry over what J0m might do. When he spoke, his voice had a hollow ring, even in his own ears.
"My mother was a thrall. I'm Haakon's firstborn, but a bastard, and of no consequence to him. Because of that misfortune, Grena will never give Berit to me, so nothing can come of what we feel for each other. Forget whatever it was you think you saw. That's all you need do to help me."
*'So that's why Dana runs things?" Brendan inquired hurriedly, wanting to keep Erik talking now that he had revealed such an important point about his heritage.
"Yes. There's no reason for me to give orders to anyone but you. I'm employed here as a falconer, nothing more."
"You're wrong," Brendan was quick to argue, for everything he had seen convinced him Erik was a respected member of Haakon's family. "Dana relies on you, Freya as well. Berit adores you. Don't think less of yourself than those women do."
"I've never relied on a thrall for advice, and I'll not begin now," Erik cut him oflF rudely. He returned to his bed and yanked his quilt up over his ears to drown out any other unwanted conmients the Celt might wish to make. He didn't want to talk about himself, not with Brendan nor anyone else. A multitude of women might love him. So what? The only person whose opinion mattered was Haakon, and all he had ever gotten from his father was contempt.
Disappointed that Erik had ended the intensely interesting conversation when he was still so eager to talk, Brendan lay back down, but his mind wasn't ready for sleep. He couldn*t help but think how different he and Erik were. He didn't care what people called him, when it was only what he
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thought of himself that truly mattered. Clearly Erik didn't share that view. Brendan had fought him, though, and knew Erik possessed an admirable toughness not only of body, but of spirit as well. Erik was the type of man he would choose for a friend, if he ever wanted a Dane for a friend, which was highly unlikely.
As Brendan slowly began to relax, his thoughts again filled with haunting visions of Dana. That was another difference between himself and Erik, he decided. His intentions were not in the least bit noble. He simply planned to seduce the woman he desired the first chance he got, and as often as he could thereafter.
Grena's family had stayed the night, but Berit was still so excited she lay awake long after she had joined Thora and Dana in their sleeping chamber. The ten-year-old was on her right, her supple body curled up in a tight ball as she slept, while Dana, who was on Berit's left, was tossing restlessly.
"Can't you sleep?" the blonde asked, hoping her cousin would also be in a talkative mood.
"I think I'm too tired. It was a long day," Dana murmured softly.
T^ing the remark as encouragement that her cousin would like to chat, Berit hurried on in a breathless rush. "Dana? How does Jarald kiss? Is he so good at it you never want to stop?"
Amazed by so unexpected a question, Dana rolled over to face Berit, then propped her head on her hand. "No, that's not how I would describe it at all."
"Well, what's it like then?"
Dana frowned with concentration as she forced herself to remember an ordeal she would sooner forget. "It's more like being suffocated beneath a sack of grain."
"You don't mean it!" Berit hid her giggles behind her hand so as not to wake Thora.
Dana sighed sadly, "I'm afraid that I do. Jarald has nearly shattered my ribs with his bear hugs, and having to endure his kisses is the worst torture I can imagine."
"You'll not marry him then?"
"No," Dana announced firmly. "I've decided to tell him
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SO as soon as he returns. It's been a mistake to keep him waiting for my answer."
"He's very rich," Berit reminded her.
"Yes, and it's a good thing he is, as that's the only reason a woman will want to marry him," Dana quipped, but she was still worried the man's reaction to her
rejection might be a violently hostile one.
Berit didn't want to talk about wealth, since Erik had none. Besides, she had a far more fascinating topic in mind. "Do you ever wonder what it will be like to make love?"
"Never," Dana revealed with a shudder. "Just kissing Jarald sickened me."
"But you've decided not to marry Jarald, so you needn't think about him. Aren't you curious about what it will be like? I asked my mother, but she told me I'd just have to wait until I'm married to see. Has Freya ever described it to you?"
It was plain to Dana that Berit had spent a great deal of her time considering the subject, while she had always done her best to suppress all thought of it herself. Her parents seemed well-suited and happy, but all the men who had courted her had been so aggressive in their efforts to impress her she had only been frightened by their affection ikher than aroused by it.
"No, my mother has never said anything about making love. I imagine she considers it too private a matter to discuss."
Because Berit knew her aunt's gentle sweetness well, she thought Dana's observation was probably true, and quickly dismissed Freya as a possible source of iniformation. "Would Erik tell you if you asked him?" she inquired softly. "You and he are so close. Do you suppose he'd tell you about it, and then you could tell me?"
"Berit," Dana scolded in a whisper. "Erik is very dear to me, but he would be horribly embarrassed if I asked him such an intimate question. Besides, he's a man, so he could provide only his view of it and not a woman's."
"Do you suppose he's made love to many women?" Berit wondered aloud.
"I really don't know, but I doubt it. He has a far more
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serious nature than either J0m or Svien. They're the ones who are always being teased for carousing and chasing women, not Erik."
''But he's with them sometimes." Berit pulled the quilt up to her chin as the depressing thought of Erik making love to another woman filled her heart with dread.
The sudden change in Berit's mood wasn't lost on Dana, but she didn't want to pursue their conversation any farther. Erik was a grown man, and she trusted him to know what limits to set with Berit. As for herself, somehow she had forgotten herself completely and had kissed a slave. The shame of that action was almost more than she could bear, but it didn't come close to erasing the pleasure she had felt at the time.
"Good night," Dana murmured.
"Good night," Berit replied. A single tear slid down her cheek as thoughts of Erik overwhelmed her with sorrow. Just as Dana had said, he was a very serious individual. He was reserved, and cautious too, but he had kissed her that afternoon with a reckless abandon that had been totally unlike him. She had kissed him first, though. He had not been the one to initiate the aflFectionate exchange.
As she lay contemplating what the future might bring, Berit soon realized she would be wise never to discuss the difficulties of their situation with Erik. He would only insist it was an impossible one, as he had before, but he seemed no more able to recall that than she once they had begun to kiss. What if they were to make love? Berit knew without a moment's doubt that he would never abandon her were they to become lovers. But with his reserve, it would be up to her to make that happen. She fell asleep with that challenging thought in mind. She might not know exacdy how to go about it, but she was determined to seduce Erik, and soon.
During the night, while everyone slept. Spring Blossom's foal was bom. The tiny filly was gray rather than white like her newly bom half brother, but she showed the same fine lines and excellent promise. Dana went out to see the new foal when she bid Grena and her cousins good-bye, and
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quickly returned to the house where she showed a sudden interest in weaving she had never before displayed.
Freya did not woilc on the large looms making cloth, but she did enjoy doing tablet weaving to create the narrow decorative braid used to adorn the hems of their garments. It required the use of a small square board or bone plaque ttiat could be picked up and woiiced upon at idle moments. Dana had always admired her mother's skill at the craft, and had decided she ought not to waste another day before perfecting her own technique at the art. Besides, remaining indoors meant she would not have to face Brendan until after their kiss had become a faint memory.
When Dana did not ask him to saddle her mare that morning, Brendan assumed she was tired after the previous day's excitement and had decided not to ride. She was quite slender, and while she did not appear to be delicate, he thought she was wise not to overextend herself. He was disappointed when Moira came alone to bring him his evening meal, but he thanked the shy girl graciously so as not to show it.
It was not until Dana failed to appear the second morning that he began to suspect something was amiss. Thora came out to the stable often to visit the new foals, and since he had brought her down from the tree, she now regarded him as a friend. While he had never had any success gaining information from the charming child, he decided to give it another try now that she was more relaxed around him.
'*You're not riding again today?" he asked with a ready grin that belied his true purpose.
"No, Dana's busy making braid for a new gown, and Mother won't let me go alone. She might let me go with you, though. Shall I ask her?"
Brendan was replacing a worn leather strap on a bridle, and shook his head. ''I'm supposed to woric, and that would be play. I doubt she would think it a good idea." He watched the little girl out of the comer of his eye as she patted the two foals and cooed softly to them. It was like looking into the past and seeing Dana at an earlier time. Thora had a delightful personality all her own, but her
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features and coloring mirrored her sister's too closely for him not to think of Dana each time he saw her.
"Is this new gown of Dana's for a special occasion?" he inquired in an offhand manner.
"No, I don't think so. It's not for her wedding, if that's what you mean." Thora came close to watch as Brendan completed his work on the bridle. "I know you like her. All the young men do."
Brendan had not realized he was being so transparent, but as usual Thora had understood the intent of his question. "She is almost as pretty as you are, Thora. Why wouldn't I like her?"
Amused, the red-haired child laughed at his compliment. "It will do you no good. She's going to marry Jarald when he comes home. He's very rich. His farm is a fine one and he owns a great many thralls. He's been begging Dana to marry him for two years now, so she can't keep him waiting much longer."
That was not the kind of news Brendan had wanted to hear. He had been enchanted by Dana's kiss, but it had not occurred to him until that very instant that another man had taught her how to bestow such generous affection. What had happened was painfully obvious to him then. Dana had merely been toying with him. Just as a wealthy man might amuse himself with a comely slave, she had seized the opportunity to enjoy a passionate moment with him.
Brendan's finely chiseled features hardened with defiance as he realized Dana must be avoiding him because she now regretted being so free with her affections. He had been misused in countless ways, but surely to trifle with his emotions was the worst possible offense. In his opinion, for a man to use a woman was his natural right, but for the reverse to happen was an outrage!
"Brendan?" Worried by the change in his expression, Thora spoke in an apprehensive whisper. "What's wrong?"
Brendan turned toward the inquisitive child, the flames of his hot temper now under control and his gaze curiously blank. "Nothing's wrong, little one. Dana's a rare beauty, and she ought to have a rich husband. I imagine you will have one too."
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"Well, I certainly hope so," Thora replied, and with a toss of her bright red curls she went skipping back to the house.
In the days following the hunt, Erik thought of little but Berit. In many ways she was as pampered and spoiled as her mother, but he did not think her
feelings for him were insincere. She was simply very young, and to her, love was so glorious an emotion she was blind to its many complications.
He knew he had never had as innocently optimistic a view of the future as she had, for he had learned at an early age that life contained far more painful disappointments than carefree bliss. He had never wallowed in self-pity, though, and he refused to do so now. As always he would accept what could not be changed and bravely hide his sorrow.
When it came to loving Berit, Erik considered their pitifully few options and decided he ought to speak with Grena soon. He would ask to make Berit his wife, Grena would refuse to allow it, and their brief romance would end. It would be painful, but not nearly so agonizing as it would be should they continue to delude themselves into thinking they might share more than one sunlit afternoon. With a great deal of effort he finally convinced himself that this was not a cowardly approach, but the only honorable one.
While Erik devoted both his days and nights to pondering his romantic dilemma, he was not unaware of how Brendan spent his time. Since his arrival, the slave had exhibited an astonishing amount of initiative. He did not have to be constantly reminded of what needed to be done, as the stable boys had. In fact, Erik was frequently amazed to find his orders had already been carried out before he had given them. The horses were all beautifully groomed and the stable as clean as the day it had been built. Erik found Brendan's independence so admirable a trait that he began to regard him with a growing respect, and the strain which had existed between them as thrall and master lessened considerably.
Because he did not want to see such hard work go unrewarded, Erik soon arrived at the same conclusion Dana
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had: Brendan was both intelligent and ambitious and ou^t not to belong to a reckless fool like J0m. While he discussed his plan with no one, Erik decided that if J0m refused to allow Brendan to earn his freedom, then he would persuade Freya to loan him the money to buy the slave so he could set him free himself. He said nothing to Brendan to encourage his hopes when he could not guarantee the man a bright future, but Erik no longer reacted to his questions with the short-tempered disdain he had once shown. They saw each other only briefly in the morning and evening, but their conversations no longer ended in arguments. At times they were even quite friendly.