by Conn, Phoebe
"Why, yes, and I know I should never have tried to hide my anxiety from you, but I just can't do as you ask. Mother. I can't give him until spring to change my mind. I'll never come to love him, and it will be better if I tell him so when next I see him. What if he reacts very badly, though? What if he curses me and despises us all and—"
Freya rose to take her daughter's hand and drew her back to the bed to sit down. "You're making yourself ill over something that may never happen, my darling. Jarald has a temper, it's true, but how can he complain that you have refused him without making himself appear ridiculous to his friends? Men like to brag about their success with pretty women; they are loath to admit their failures."
Grateful for her mother's comforting advice, as well as the fact she had been so easily misled, Dana managed a faint smile. "I hope you're right, but—"
"No," Freya interrupted. "You must cease to worry about Jarald. It's always best to face problems squarely rather than allow yourself to be overwhelmed with dread, but in this case you have no choice about having to wait. Perhaps that's my fault. If you hadn't spent so much time with me in the spring, you would have been able to get to know Jarald better, and would have come to the decision to refuse him then."
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Dana hugged her mother tightly. "None of this is your fault, Mother. You mustn't ever think that."
*'Thank you, dear." Freya enjoyed her daughter's affectionate squeeze, then, seeking to lift her mood, changed the subject to a more lighthearted one. "I know Moira has been taking Brendan his supper. Does she seem attracted to him, or he to her?"
Dana's heart missed a beat at the mention of the slave's name, but she quickly recovered. 'Tve been so worried about Jarald, I really haven't noticed. I'll ask Moira what she thinks of him tonight."
Freya pursed her lips thoughtfully. *'No, you must ask Brendan first if he finds her attractive. Moira is so shy, it would be cruel of us to encourage her to care for him if he has no interest in her. From what Grena said, he would not accept her women's attentions, but perhaps he has changed his mind now that he's here."
Knowing that her mother was right as usual, Dana nodded, even though the thought of speaking to Brendan chilled her clear through. Her mother might think problems should be faced squarely, but the attractive Celt presented a dilemma so unique she didn't think any proven approach would work.
Freya smoothed a long red curl away from her lovely daughter's cheek and gave her a sweet kiss. **It's a beautiful morning. Why don't you go for a ride? That will give you the opportunity to speak to Brendan. Taking an interest in a romance other than your own will do you good. Now go on, I insist you go out and enjoy the beauty of the day."
With Freya still offering advice about romance, Dana found herself being pushed out into the yard. Thora had gone riding with Soren, so she couldn't rely on her sister for the company that might keep Brendan civil. With a slow, measured step she approached the stable, but she doubted she could speak to the handsome slave when her heart was lodged so firmly in her throat.
After Thora had left with Soren that morning, Brendan had followed Erik's instructions and had turned Dawn's Kiss out in the pasture. When he looked up to find Dana standing at the stable door, he was annoyed that her mare was not in
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her stall. "Did you want to ride?" he called out as he approached her, his eyebrows knit in a forbidding frown. She was dressed in the pale pink and rose garments she had been wearing the first time he had seen her, and again her beauty took his breath away. Silently cursing his weakness for her, he stepped out into the light. ''Well, do you want me to saddle your mare or not?"
- Dana had feared she would be too ashamed to speak, but it wasn't humiliation that filled her cheeks with a bright blush. It was another emotion entirely. Her first thought was how handsome Brendan was. Even when he wore a scowl, his appearance was appealing. She had to clasp her hands behind her back to overcome the impulse to reach out and touch him. Despite the fact they had spent the longest week of her life apart, when she looked up at him, Dana felt the same sweet longing for more than one kiss that had caused her to flee his embrace.
"Would you please?" she finally managed to ask.
Brendan eyed the redhead with a skeptical glance before responding. He had expected one of her coolly voiced orders, not a politely worded request. "I'll have to fetch your mare," he explained. "Are you going alone?"
"No, I want you to come with me," Dana heard herself say, but she was more shocked than Brendan was by her boldness. She had berated herself repeatedly for encouraging the attentions of a thrall, but now that she had seen him again, she knew a slave was the very least of the things he was. Brendan was a remarkable young man in all respects, and it saddened her that she knew nothing whatsoever about him.
While nothing would please him more than to spend some time alone with the violet-eyed beauty before him, Brendan was so taken aback by her unexpected invitation he feared his imagination had supplied it. "You want me to accompany you?" he asked in an incredulous gasp.
"Yes, it will give us a chance to talk," Dana replied with growing confidence. "I'll tell Erik you were with me. You needn't worry he'll punish you if you don't have time to finish all your work."
"How kind of you," Brendan responded, but his tone
was still one of dismay rather than sarcasm. Even after he had saddled her horse and the bay gelding he had ridden on the day of the picnic, part of him doubted Dana truly wanted his company. An equally insistent part feared that she might want more than he cared to give a mistress who would ignore him for a week at a time.
Dana led the way as they followed the path toward the woods. She didn't want to go a great distance, only far enough to assure herself their conversation would not be overheard. Once they had reached the trees, she dismounted, let her mare graze, and waited for Brendan to follow her example. Too restless to choose a place to sit, she wandered about in a lazy circle as she encouraged him to talk.
"My mother asked you to tell us about yourself and your people, but you refused. 1 hope you'll feel more like talking now."
"You were there that day?"
"Yes. You might not have seen me, but I was there." Dana focused her attention on the tall grass beneath her feet, since she found it too difficult to think clearly when she looked at him.
Brendan leaned back against a beech tree, thinking back to that morning and recalling his disappointment when Dana hadn't been there. But now he knew she had been. A slow smile tugged at the comer of his mouth. She had wanted to see him, but hadn't wanted him to know. He had not thought her so coy, and it amused him to discover that she was.
When Brendan didn't speak, Dana risked a glance his way, but she didn't understand his sly smirk. It would have infuriated her at one time, but her desire to get to know him was sincere and she would not allow their conversation to deteriorate into an argument if she could possibly prevent it.
"I can appreciate your reluctance to speak," she continued in the same calm, sympathetic tone. "You had just met my mother, and there were too many curious servants nearby. Now we're alone, and I won't repeat what you say, not even to Erik and my mother if you'd rather I didn't."
Brendan had been surprised when Dana had not led him farther away from her home, since the edge of the woods
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Struck him as a poor place for a tryst. He half expected Soren and Thora to come galloping by, or a field hand or two to come looking for a bit of shade in which to rest. The spot she had chosen was private enough for a talk, but little else. Could that possibly be all she wanted? That was so unflattering an idea, he instantly rejected it.
'*Why are you suddenly so curious about me?"
'*Does my interest seem sudden?"
'*I have not seen you in a week, so it seems unlikely you are all that interested in me."
Dana found that an impossible accusation to deny, since it had been her unseemly interest
in him that had kept her away. "My routine varies from day to day, and I don't always have the time to ride. If you've become bored, you should have told Erik you need more work to do. You needn't wait to speak with me."
"No thrall ever asks for more work," Brendan responded with a derisive snort.
Dana had paced so many circles she was growing dizzy and had to stand still for a moment. She bent down to pluck a small yellow flower from the grass so she would have something to contemplate other than Brendan's perpetual frown while they talked. When they had last parted, he had been smiling. How could she coax that marvelous expression from him again without surrendering to the desire she dared not acknowledge? she wondered silently.
"I had hoped we would be able to talk, Brendan, not argue. I don't even know how old you are, or from what part of Erin you come. Won't you please tell me something about yourself? At least enough so that I can begin to understand you?"
Brendan waited for Dana to look at him, but she seemed fascinated by the blossom she held. He could think of only one reason for her to ask him to reveal such personal information: the desire to bind him to her with an emotional tie that would make him all the easier to exploit. In that moment he despised her as deeply as he had ever hated anyone.
"I am an expensive piece of property. You said so yourself. There's nothing more you need to know about
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me," he replied gruflBy. He moved away from the tree, their conversation over as far as he was concerned.
Dana did look up then. Brendan had taken a step toward her, but the gulf between them had never seemed so wide. Instantly she thought of the servants at Grena's, and knew how devastated they must have been to find Brendan so cold. Tears filled her eyes at the realization she was behaving as badly as a servant with a crush on a slave, and she quickly blinked the telltale moisture away. It was plain Brendan had no interest in her, and she knew all too well she ought not to be so fascinated by him.
Rather than sacrifice any more of her pride, she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to behave like the competent young woman her mother had raised her to be. *'Moira, the girl who takes you your supper, is a Celt. She's my mother's personal maid, and we would like to find her a husband. We thought perhaps since you are—" But Dana found it impossible to continue as she watched Brendan cross the distance between them in two long strides.
**Is that why you brought me out here?" the outraged slave shouted in her face. When Dana's eyes widened in alarm and she seemed unable to speak, Brendan grabbed her arms and shook her. "Is that all you want from me? You want a husband for your mother's maid?"
His fingers dug into the tender flesh of her upper arms, and this time her tears spilled over her lashes, but Dana was too torn by her own emotions to react with anything except shock at this forceful show of his. It was the unexpected tenderness in their last kiss that had melted her natural reserve, and she had failed so completely in her attempt to rekindle that same mood in Brendan that she felt more tost than she had during the week she had avoided him.
'*Moira is very dear to us," she mumbled hoarsely through trembling lips. *'I did not mean to insult you."
Brendan's eyes narrowed to menacing slits as his glance swept her face with a look of scathing disgust. "Insult me!" he snarled. "You've done far worse than that. As a thrall, my children would be bom thralls as well. I'll not be used like Sky Dancer, as a stud to service your maid. I'll not give life to children who would have no future!" ,
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"You can earn your freedom," Dana managed to whisper.
"That's not for you to decide. You don't own me. Have you forgotten that?" When she didn't reply, Brendan continued his fiery rebuke. "Is this why you and Erik have been so kind to me? Just so you could make me part of your breeding stock?"
"No," Dana denied emphatically, horrified he would make such an outlandish assumption, but she could see he didn't believe her. Unable to bear another instant of the hatred that seeped from his every pore, she shut her eyes tightly and turned her face away. She knew she ought to scream at him to unhand her, and slap his face soundly too, but she was too hurt by his angry accusations to respond in kind.
Brendan held the weeping beauty at arm's length, his expression still filled with loathing. But he was as disgusted with himself as he was with her because he still wanted her. Why hadn't she brought him out to the woods to make love? Why hadn't she wanted him for herself rather than a favorite maid? His rage was nearly blinding, and he was tempted to take what he knew she would never willingly give. A slave did not rape his mistress and live, however, and his life was far more precious to him than it would ever be to her. He released her then with a rude shove, knowing the desire to humiliate her as she had him by suggesting he marry another woman was far too dangerous to pursue.
"You're a heartless pagan bitch, and if you ever ask me to do anything more than care for your horses, I'll spit in your face!" he shouted in a final fit of temper. He hurried to his horse, and once in the saddle, he pushed the gelding to a near flying gallop and rode back to the farm without once looking back to see if Dana were following. • Once alone, Dana sank to her knees, unable to understand how she had aroused such virulent hatred in a young man she had wanted so desperately to get to know. The bitterness of their encounter had left her so thoroughly sickened she began to retch. Tears poured down her face as she tried to regain her self-control, but it was a long time in coming. She had not dreamed Brendan's reaction to a possible marriage with Moira would be so negative or she would
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never have brought up the subject. "Never," she whispered dejectedly. ''Never.*'
Knowing she could not go home in such a sorry state, Dana curled up at the base of the beech tree Brendan had used for a backrest and hoped she would feel well enough to sit a horse before nightfall. Again overcome with feelings of shame and guilt, she tried to think of some way to relate what had happened to her mother without revealing a single word of the truth.
Gradually the morning gave way to early afternoon, and after considerable reflection, Dana came to the regrettable conclusion that she should be grateful for having inspired Brendan's hatred, no matter how unintentional the result. She had always found him attractive, but the tension his arrogant conceit created between them was more dian she could sanely endure. What did it matter that in an unguarded moment he had kissed her sweetly? She was still the daughter of a proud and wealthy Dane who expected her to marry a man who could provide the same pleasant life she had always known.
"At least Jarald would never abuse me," she murmured softly to herself as she rubbed her bruised arms. Perhaps that was what her mother had meant about the man having qualities she did not fully appreciate. Jarald was loud and boisterous, but he wasn't cruel. If she gave it more effort, maybe she could even convince him to channel his enthusiastic affection into a more tender form of expression. As her usual confident manner slowly returned, she tried to reconsider Jarald, but time and again the voice of her heart wondered why the only passion she aroused in Brendan was hatred.
Brendan did not calm down sufiiciently to consider the most probable result of his actions until long after he had turned the bay gelding out into the pasture. Most masters would whip a slave for raising his voice, and he had not only yelled at Dana but manhandled her too. He could alr^dy feel the sting of a whip ripping the scarred flesh off his back, and the longer Dana took to return home, the more
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certain he became she was planning even more fiendish tortures.
Erik had warned him she would cut him, but would she go so far as to render him less than a man? He broke out in a cold sweat as he realized a woman with Dana's temper might do just that. Would it be cowardly to run, or wise? Sick clear through that he had so little control over his fate, he went out to the farthest pasture and sat down to await Dana's return. At least he would see her coming and would have a head start if sh
e had a knife in her hand rather than a whip.
Before Berit left for home, she washed hurriedly in a nearby stream and took care to dress as neatly as she had that morning. Amid lingering farewell kisses, Erik had rebraided her hair and helped her to pick a basketful of berries. Despite their combined efforts to restore her appearance to normal, she had been gone far longer than usual, and was afraid her mother would be suspicious no matter what excuse she gave. Her first glance at Grena's worried expression did not reassure her either. After attempting to smile innocently, although she felt far from innocent now that she and Erik had become lovers, she popped a succulent berry into her mouth.
Grena watched her daughter cross the yard, and went forward to meet her. "You've picked more berries than we can possibly eat tonight. Were you so lost in daydreams you didn't realize what you were doing?"
"Is this too many?" Berit asked in surprise. "We all love berries and cream, so I was afraid this basket wouldn't hold nearly enough."
"That's more than enough." Grena studied her daughter's face and was alarmed to find her cheeks flushed. "You've gotten too much sun," she scolded crossly. "A woman's skin should be fair, not tanned as deeply as a field hand's."
Rather than reply, Berit ate another scrumptious berry. She now understood her mother's reluctance to discuss making love, for the pleasure was nearly indescribably
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sweet, but she thought Grena should have at least told her it was something she would enjoy.
Grena saw a subtle change in her daughter's expression. It was not merely the color in her cheeks that brought that realization either. Berit might lack her cousin Dana's remarkable beauty, but she had a lush prettiness Grena knew most men would find irresistibly appealing. The problem would be to save that valuable asset for a suitably wealthy man. Slipping her arm around her daughter's waist, she led her towaid the house, where she intended to have a lengdiy discussion about possible husbands. Berit was still quite young, but attention would soon be coming her way, and Grena wanted to make certain her daughter knew exactly which men to encourage and which to ignore.