Fires of Winter - Viking 1

by Johanna Lindsey

  After this they entered the strange, deep sea, where no land was in easy reach and where monsters and dragons of unbelievable size could at any moment surface and swallow them all alive—or such were the constant complaints of the women. They would rather face anything than the unknown. An unexpected, violent storm did not help to calm their fears. Huge waves lashed out at them, and the ocean opened its arms. There, serpents with fiery tongues were waiting. Even Cordelia, whose mockery of Brenna's silent withdrawal and whose condescending attitude toward her stepsister was at its peak, was reduced to weeping pitifully for her life until the storm abated.

  Linnet had great difficulty trying to calm the women when her own nerves were raw. She pleaded with Brenna to help, but received no response. She understood some of what Brenna was going through, why she brooded silently, but thought this was no time for her to abdicate her leadership. A few brave words from Brenna would lessen the others' fear. Cordelia was no help either, crying and screaming that the world was ending.

  If Linnet had not been so worried herself, she might almost have felt pleasure in seeing the state Cordelia was reduced to. It was appalling that the young woman had not shed a single tear for the loss of her husband. Only hours earlier the fiery-headed Delia had been boasting that she was not afraid of what the future held, so sure was she that every man aboard the ship, including the chieftain, desired her above all the others—especially since they left Brenna alone. Cordelia was sure that she would find a comfortable place for herself in the new land.

  Perhaps Cordelia did not boast falsely. More of the men did go to her when they spent a night on land. And she did not fight them anymore, as she had that first time. Even the leader sought Delia out.

  Linnet cringed, remembering her own ravishment by two of those brutes who had burst into the receiving room that fateful day. She had been bothered only once since then, by none other than the leader himself, who at least was not as rough with her as the younger men. It was actually a tender interlude, for she had lost the will to fight, and he was gentle in his way. She had been a widow for so long, and had not had a man in as many years. Still Linnet prayed it would not happen again. There was nothing she could hope for from Anselm Haardrad of Norway. He was already married, by Fergus's words. There was nothing Linnet could look forward to at all.

  The storm did not last overly long, but left everyone limp and exhausted. A day later, miraculously, land was sighted. Norway's long coastline extended as far as the eye could see. They did not stop again for provisions but, eager to be home, sailed night and day, further and further north, until finally they altered course and turned inland to the Horten Fjord.

  It was midsummer, and the bright green of the trees and grass was welcome to the eye. The sky was deep blue, and dotted with puffy white clouds. Ahead, one fluffy mass stood alone in the sky, in the shape of a mighty mallet—Thor's flying hammer.

  The women saw the cloud, but thought nothing of it. The men, however, gave a deafening cheer. It was a good sign, for it meant that Thor gave them his blessings.

  Rocky cliffs rose on both sides of the ship like steep walls. When the banks were level again, the ship rowed to shore. The journey was over.

  Chapter 7

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  THE settlement was crude, to say the least. Set back only a quarter mile from the fjord stood a large windowless house made of wood, flanked by many smaller houses and livestock sheds. In the fields behind the settlement were other crude houses spaced far apart.

  A few women and children accompanied by many dogs ran down to the landing to greet the men; others waited by the main house. Brenna and the other women were tied at the wrists before they were unloaded, just like cargo, and two men escorted them to one of the smaller houses.

  All eyes followed the trim figure in black who walked with a proud gait and fearless air. The other captives moved along slowly. They were shoved inside the little house, and the door was slammed behind them. They were surrounded by darkness.

  "What now?" Enid cried.

  "If I knew, I would not be so frightened," another girl answered. " 'Tis not knowing that is so terrible."

  "We will know soon enough, to be sure," Cordelia snapped impatiently. "This darkness is insufferable! Did you see that none of these houses have windows? Are these brave Vikings afraid of light?"

  "We are far north, Delia," Linnet replied. "I would imagine it gets colder here than any winter you've ever known. Windows, no matter how well covered, would let the cold in."

  "You have an answer for everything," Cordelia hissed sarcastically. "What is our fate then, Linnet? What is to become of us?"

  Linnet sighed wearily. She stood in the center of the room next to Brenna, but could see nothing in the black gloom. She could not say what she feared, that they were all slaves now, and nothing more. There was no reason to further frighten the younger girls, for her suspicion was not yet a certainty.

  "As you said, Delia, we will know soon enough," Linnet finally answered.

  Brenna remained silent, unable to offer reassurance. She too guessed what their fate was, but her mind retreated from the possibility. Her frustration over her inability to protect them when they needed her most kept her mouth closed in a tight line. What could she do without a weapon and with her wrists bound? They had been raped and brutalized, but she had been unable to prevent it.

  The fact that she had not been violated herself gave her little comfort. She could only reason that she was being saved for the arranged marriage. That would never happen now, for she would rather die than be a Viking bride. She only wanted revenge, and she would have it somehow.

  The ship was unloaded, the plunder locked in the treasure house and the livestock put out to pasture. A feast was underway at the main house. A large boar was being turned on a spit in the center of the room. Slaves or thralls were busy in the cooking area preparing flat bread and fish dishes.

  The men crowded at long tables in the main room wasted no time in dipping their cups into a large vat of mead. Some were involved in drinking contests; others took sides and placed wagers. The large thronelike chair at the head of one table was empty, but Anselm's company was not missed as yet.

  In the bathhouse, cauldrons of water boiled over a fire. Smoke and steam combined to sting the eyes. A giant tub, large enough to accommodate four or five comfortably, sat in the middle of the room. A cup of mead in his hand, Anselm relaxed in the tub, water up to his waist. A pretty slave girl leaned over the side and scrubbed his back. His first-born son, Hugh, sat on a bench pushed against the wall.

  "Sure you won't join me?" Anselm asked gruffly, then continued, "Damned bother, this ritual bath your mother insists on. I would not mind at any other time, but she knows I am eager to join the feast, and still she makes me come here first."

  "You are not alone, father," Hugh replied with a grin. "She does the same to me and Garrick, when we return from raiding. She must think the blood of our enemies still clings to our skin and must be cleansed posthaste."

  "Whatever the reason," Anselm grumbled, "Loki smiles at my displeasure. I don't know why I put up with it."

  Hugh laughed heartily, his sharp blue eyes sparkling. "You have said more than once that your wife rules the home, and you the sea."

  "True, except that woman takes advantage of the power I give her. But enough. Has Garrick returned yet?"

  "Nay."

  Anselm frowned. The last time his second son did not return for the winter, he had been taken prisoner by the Christians. But he was raiding then. The spring before last, Garrick had sailed to try his luck at trading, so Anselm would not worry yet, not till the cold set in again.

  "And my bastard, Fairfax? Where is he?"

  "Whaling off the coast," Hugh answered curtly.

  "When?"

  "A week past."

  "So he will return soon."

  Hugh stood up stiffly. A powerfully built man of thirty years, he was the image of his father. He resented his half-brother and
any attention his father gave him.

  "Why do you concern yourself with him? Granted, his mother is a freewoman, but he is still a bastard, no different than those you sired from the slaves."

  Anselm's blue eyes narrowed. "The others are daughters. I have only two legitimate sons and Fairfax. Do not begrudge me my concern for him."

  "Loki take him! He is no Viking. He is weak!"

  "My blood, though little of it, is in his veins. I will not speak of it again. Now, tell me how it went while I was gone. Was there trouble with the Borgsen clan?"

  Hugh shrugged his large shoulders and sat down again. "Two cows were found dead near the fields, but there was no proof that pointed to the Borgsens. It could have been the work of a malcontent slave."

  "But you doubt this, son?"

  "Yea. More likely 'twas done by Gervais or Cedric, or one of their cousins. They are asking us, nay, begging us, to retaliate! When will you give us leave to attack?"

  "This feud will be fought fairly," Anselm returned with annoyance. "We were the last to openly attack."

  "So it is their turn?" Hugh continued, his voice filled with sarcasm. "Thor! Just because you and Latham Borgsen were once friends is no reason to conduct this battle with honor. Years have passed without bloodshed."

  "You are too used to fighting our foreign enemies, Hugh. You have never fought our own before. 'Twill be done with honor. Latham was not to blame for what happened, but he had to stand by his sons and take their side."

  "Are you forgetting you lost your only legitimate daughter because of his sons?" Hugh hissed.

  "I am not forgetting. As Odin is my witness, the others will pay one day as Edgar did. But there will be no sneak attacks, no foul play. 'Twill be done with honor." Anselm rose from the tub and was quickly wrapped in a woolen robe by the pretty slave girl. "I trust two of their cows were also found dead?"

  Hugh grinned and relaxed. "They were."

  "Good," Anselm replied. "So 'tis again their move. And now that Heloise can find no fault with me, I will dress and meet you at the hall."

  "I was told you returned with captives."

  "I did. Seven in all."

  "I am curious," Hugh continued. "They say one was a small man with very long black hair. You have enough male slaves. Why bring this one?"

  Anselm chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "The one you speak of is also a woman. In truth, she is the one they would have wed to your brother."

  "Eh? The Lady Brenna? I am eager to see that one."

  "She had courage like I have never seen in a woman. She fought us with sword in hand, and wounded Thorne. Her spirit was magnificent to watch."

  "I want her."

  "What?"

  "I said I want her," Hugh replied. "Garrick hates women, and you have Heloise. My wife is timid, as are my slaves. I want a woman with spirit."

  "You have not even seen her yet, Hugh," Anselm remarked, his lips turning slightly upward. "This little beauty has more spirit than you would want. She is viciously hostile, filled with bitter hatred."

  "Her spirit can be broken," Hugh said, his eyes lighting in anticipation. "I still want her."

  "Her spirit need not be broken," Anselm said harshly. "It is my wish to give her to Garrick. She is what he needs to end his own bitterness." He did not add that she was still a virgin, for then Hugh would surely want her, and as first born he had the right. "There is a flame-haired wench with spirit who would be more to your liking. She is better curved, as you like them, and more pliable."

  "And if I choose the Lady Brenna?"

  " 'Twould please me if you did not, Hugh," Anselm warned.

  "We shall see," Hugh replied noncommittally as they left the bathhouse.

  The door flew open. Dust swirled, then floated gently in the shaft of sunlight that fell on the dirt floor of the small house. When the prisoners were led out into the yard, all of them shielded their eyes from the glaring sun. They were escorted to the main house, pushed through the open door that allowed the smoke from the fires to escape, and left to stand in the center of the crowded room.

  Linnet recognized the men seated at two long tables and on benches against the walls. They were from the ship. Many were gathered at the end of one table, where a board game was being played. A large man she had not seen before was examining a fine gray horse that had been brought into the room with the women. She gasped when she saw that it was Brenna's horse, Willow. If Brenna saw that, there was no telling what she would do. Luckily, she did not. She was staring with undisguised loathing at Anselm the Eager, and did not even glance at the horses when they were led from the room.

  Anselm sat at the head of one table. He was served by young girls dressed in rough, undyed wool—slaves, no doubt. Beside him was a woman not much older than Linnet, regally gowned in yellow silk. Next to her was another woman, young and plump, with the same blond hair that most of the people here had.

  The tall man who looked Willow over now came to where the prisoners stood. Pushing Linnet aside, he stopped in front of Brenna. He lifted Brenna's face to examine it, just as he had done moments earlier to the horse, but she knocked his hand away with her bound wrists, the fury in her eyes defying him to touch her again.

  Brenna smelled the maleness of him, the smell of sweat and horses. He so resembled Anselm the Eager that if she had a knife, she would gladly have cut his throat, and to hell with the consequences. Greedily she eyed the dagger in his wide belt, but his deep laugh drew her eyes back to his.

  "By Thor, she is a beauty!"

  " 'Tis as I said, Hugh," Anselm replied from his place at the table.

  Hugh smirked, and moved from left to right to view her from different angles. Her eyes reflected no fear, even though she knew she was helpless with her wrists bound in front of her—unless she had a knife to clutch in both hands. Brenna was so intent on this thought that she did not notice Hugh had moved closer.

  Standing near her so that no one who understood his tongue could hear his words, he whispered in her ear, "I will wipe that bloodthirsty look from your eyes, my lady. I will break the spirit my father so admired."

  He could not know that she understood his every word. She felt only contempt for his boast until one arm yanked her to him and his demanding lips crushed hers. His other hand covered her breasts and cruelly squeezed them as he taunted her with his strength. Her arms were useless, trapped between her body and his, but her teeth came down on the probing tongue violating her mouth. He pulled back just in time, and shoved her away from him, so that she fell against the other women.

  "Daughter of Hel!" Hugh cursed loudly and came forward to strike her, but was checked by Anselm, who bellowed his name. Hugh lowered his arm and turned on his father accusingly. "She would spill my blood without the sense to know she would die for it!"

  "I warned you she is full of hate," Anselm replied.

  "Hatred that she would die for. Bah! She is mad, I think. Give her to my brother Garrick, then, as was your wish. He hates women and will take pleasure in abusing this one. Let him use her body as a release for his hate, and see if they do not kill each other. I will take the fiery-haired wench."

  "Enough of this talk, Hugh," scolded the woman dressed in yellow silk. "Do you forget your mother and your wife are present?"

  "Your pardon, mistress," replied the unabashed Hugh. "I did forget, indeed. I am finished here. You may do my father's bidding now, and question the captives."

  "I was not aware I needed my son's permission to do so," the woman retaliated, her tone coldly authoritative.

  Loud guffaws came from those listening to the exchange, and Hugh bristled. A warning look from his father stilled his caustic retort. Hugh spread his arms wide. "Your pardon again, mistress. I know better than to duel verbally with you."

  Brenna seethed inwardly. She had heard clearly what the bastard Hugh had said about her, just as everyone else who understood him had heard. Give her to Garrick? Let him abuse her with his hatred of women? Well, they would le
arn soon enough that she would take no abuse. The man she thought she would marry would die if he dared to touch her. God, how she hated them all!

  Linnet was watchful, apprehensive. She forced herself not to interfere when the Viking mauled Brenna, hoping that his crude treatment would at least snap Brenna out of her bitter silence. But it did not. She wished to high heavens she could understand what they were saying. If only she had joined Brenna's lessons with Wyndham. Ah, how little did they guess the future then. How could they communicate with their captors and even discover their true circumstances, unless Brenna was willing to speak for them? Only she knew their language.

  Linnet's anxieties were dispelled a moment later when the Viking dame in flowing yellow silk left the table and came to stand before them. She was a small, graceful woman with chestnut hair and dark brown, almond-shaped eyes. "I am Heloise Haardrad. My husband is Anselm the Eager, chief of our clan and the man who brought you here."

  Linnet quickly introduced herself and the others, then she asked, "How is it you speak our tongue?"

  "Like you, I was brought to this land many years ago, though not under the same circumstances. I was betrothed to Anselm and we married. I am a Christian, as I assume you are."

  "Yea, of course!"

  Heloise smiled. "But I also worship my husband's gods, to please him. I will help you all I can, but understand that my loyalty is here."

  Linnet braced herself to ask the question that was uppermost in all their minds. "What is to become of us?"

  "At present, you are my husband's prisoners. 'Tis up to him to decide what to do with you."

  "Are we slaves, then?" Cordelia asked in a haughty tone, although she had little to be arrogant about.

  Heloise raised a brow in Cordelia's direction. "You lost your rights when you were captured. I am surprised you need to ask the question. Did you think you would be brought here and set free, given homes and property of your own? Nay, you are the property. You will belong to my husband, or whoever he chooses to give you to. I do not particularly like the term slave. I prefer "servant," no different than what you must have had in your own land."