Fires of Winter - Viking 1

by Johanna Lindsey

  Anselm chuckled at this. "So you have tasted a bit of her spirit, eh?"

  Garrick turned to his father. "Spirit? Nay, obstinacy is a better word. She is mine?"

  "Aye, yours alone."

  Garrick grunted. "Well, she will not concede this."

  "I did not think she would." Anselm grinned, making his son scowl.

  He told Garrick of her capture, a story he had already related many times with pleasure. It did not interest the others, but Garrick listened most intently.

  "So why did you give her to me?" Garrick asked finally. He refilled his tankard from the large cauldron of mead on the table.

  "The girl surely hates me, for she must blame me for her plight. I have seen her wield a weapon, and I do not want her around me so that I must always be wary of her. Nor does your mother, at her age, need to put up with the kind of tempers that girl will throw. Hugh wanted her but had second thoughts when she showed her claws. He knew I wanted to give her to you and so chose her stepsister instead. You, I believe, can tame the girl if you will but try."

  Garrick scowled. "If she is all you say she is, why should I give the effort? She will be more trouble than she is worth, and is better sold."

  Now Anselm frowned. "You are not pleased with her, then? Any other man would be."

  "You know how I feel about women," Garrick replied acidly. "This one is no different As a piece of property, aye, she is valuable. But for my pleasure?" He shook his head slowly, denying the attraction he felt for her. "Nay, I have no need of her."

  Brenna had just returned to the small sewing room when the door opened and a young woman entered with a tray of food. Dull, disheveled orange-colored hair hung about her shoulders, and the blue eyes that met Brenna's were tired.

  "Janie?"

  "So you will speak to me now?" the woman said with some surprise. "I was near to doubting you ever would."

  "I'm sorry," Brenna said guiltily. "I did not mean to make you the brunt of my anger. I know I only added to your burdens."

  Janie shrugged wearily. " 'Twas not right that Yarmille should have you bound. You had reason to resent it It seems I am still to tend you, even though you have been released."

  Brenna felt additional guilt, for the small woman looked utterly exhausted. "I would tend to myself, but I was told to stay here."

  "I know." Janie attempted to smile. "A girl as pretty as you would cause a commotion down there. You must be famished by now. Yarmille forgot about you, and so did I, until a few minutes past. Here," she added, handing Brenna the tray of food. "This should hold you until I can bring your meal tonight."

  "Can you stay and talk awhile? I wish to thank you for all you have done for me."

  "You need not thank me. I was ordered to care for you, but I would have done so anyway. We are of the same kin, you and I."

  "Stay then, for a while."

  "Nay, I cannot, Brenna—may I call you Brenna?" At her nod, Janie continued. "There is too much to do down there. Already half my morn has been wasted in the guest room," she said with a grimace. "These men do not care what time of day it is when they want their pleasure."

  Brenna watched her leave. Were Linnet, Cordelia and the others also suffering this kind of treatment? Would it be forced on her too?

  "Nay! Never!" she said aloud before she sat down on the floor with a tray of food, suddenly conscious of her hunger. "Let them try!"

  She attacked the meal with gusto, and silently thanked Janie for remembering her, since no one else had. The plate held two plump pheasant legs, a half loaf of flat bread spread with rich butter and a small bowl of creamed onions. The fare was delicious, spoiled only by the drink given to her to wash it down, a tankard of milk. Milk, bah! Did Janie think her a child? She craved ale—at the very least, wine—but never milk.

  Before Brenna finished the meal, the door opened again and she looked up to see Garrick Haardrad, leaning casually against the frame. He was handsomely attired in a form-fitting tunic and trousers made of soft blue linen trimmed with sable. A wide gold belt with a large buckle studded with blue gems went around his waist and crossed his flat stomach. Resting on his broad chest was a huge silver medallion.

  Brenna's eyes moved unconsciously to his bare arms. She saw much strength in the corded muscles under bronzed skin. She imagined those powerful arms gathering her to him, and her pulse raced wickedly at the thought. But this was quickly overshadowed by thoughts of the outcome Cordelia had so often taunted her with.

  She finally met his eyes, and her face flamed at the amusement she saw there. He had watched her appraise him; she sensed he had also read her thoughts.

  "What do you want, Viking?" she asked sharply, to hide her embarrassment

  "To see if your disposition has improved."

  "It has not, nor will it!" she replied vehemently, recalling all the vile things she had heard about this man. "So you needn't ask again."

  Despite her sharpness, Garrick smiled, revealing white, even teeth, and two deep dimples in his cheeks. "I am glad to see you heeded Yarmille's orders and made use of your time. Is that your work?" He nodded toward the loom.

  She followed his eyes and would have laughed if she did not believe him to be serious. "Nay, I would not touch that thing."

  He was no longer smiling. "Why?"

  " 'Tis woman's work," she shrugged and continued her meal.

  "Will you tell me now you are not a woman?"

  She cast him a look that implied he was daft. "Of course I am a woman. But I have never done women's work."

  " 'Tis beneath you, I suppose?" he asked in a sarcastic tone.

  "Aye," she answered, unabashed.

  Garrick grunted and shook his head. "They told me you were offered as my bride. Would you have come, neither knowing how to run my house nor how to assume a wifely role?"

  "I can run a house, Viking!" she snapped, her eyes stormy. "My aunt taught me all there is to know about women's work. But I never put those lessons to use. And for my being offered as your bride, 'tis so. But know that the prospect was loathsome to me, and I agreed only because my father had given his word that an alliance would be made. At least we honor our word when 'tis given!"

  Her implication was not lost on him. "I played no part in the deception that was used. Do you blame me for it?"

  "Nay, I know where the blame lies!" she spat. "He will pay one day!"

  Garrick smiled at her threat. So his father was right when he said she hated him. From her defiant attitude, he could almost believe the other things Anselm had said also. He let his eyes travel over the length of her. Could this small girl have wounded a Viking? Nay, 'twas not likely. Her slim form was made for pleasure, not wielding a sword. Again he felt a strong attraction to her, and it rankled him. She was indeed dangerous—not in her threats, but in her beauty. He did not trust women, and only took them when the need was strong. Otherwise he shunned them, and he determined that this woman would be no different.

  "If you do not blame me for your being here, then why do you direct your anger at me?"

  "You are a fool, Viking, if you have to ask! I am brought here and then you come and say you own me. Well, no man owns me! No man!"

  "So we are back to this again?" he sighed, folding his arms across his chest. "I am not yet ready to prove the issue, mistress, but when I am, you will know for a certainty who is master here."

  She laughed, feeling that his reluctance accorded her a victory. "I know you are master here, Viking. I did not think otherwise."

  The twinkle in her eyes made him smile. "As long as you concede me that, mistress, then I think we can get along without too many disputes." With that he left.

  Chapter 12

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  THE sharp teeth of a nightmare woke Brenna with a start and she jumped up, ready to do battle. Upon seeing her surroundings by the dim light filtering through the half-open door, she relaxed in her improvised bed of furs and stared thoughtfully at the dark walls.

  Was it morning or still n
ight? How could those Vikings drink all night and still be at it?

  The rumbling of her belly prompted Brenna to rise. Was she supposed to starve while waiting for them to remember she was here? To the devil with them! She would search out her own food. Anger and determination lighting her eyes, she left her place of confinement. She was not so foolish as to venture down the inside stairs, for they ended within sight of the hall. Instead she went the way she had gone before, down the stone steps that led outside, then to the open door at the rear of the house, where fragrant smoke was coming out.

  Brenna peered nervously inside. She saw two women, one old and the other not much younger, turning a whole pig over a roasting pit. Behind them, Janie removed two loaves of flat bread from a long-handled iron tray and placed them with several others in a large basket sitting on a table. Yarmille was nowhere in sight, so Brenna stepped carefully inside the long, narrow room.

  Janie's eyes widened when she saw her. "Brenna! Oh, Lord, I forgot about you again. I have been so busy," she apologized, "ever since Yarmille roused me from my sleep."

  " 'Tis all right, Janie. I only just woke anyway. What time of day is it?"

  " 'Tis afternoon, and many others are just now waking too," Janie replied tiredly, pushing her stringy hair away from her face.

  "No wonder I am so famished," Brenna said, surprised that she had slept so long. "Have they been like that the whole night?" she asked, nodding toward the hall and the raucous sounds coming from it.

  Janie sighed. "Yea, it has not stopped. Some passed out from overindulgence, but most were wise enough to retire for a while before continuing the celebration. Still there are those who are bleary-eyed and still singing in their cups."

  "When will it end?"

  Janie shrugged. "Mayhaps on the morrow, hopefully. But you had best return upstairs quickly, Brenna. The men drift in here from time to time to bother us. 'Twould not go well for you if you were seen. They have had their fill of me and Maudya, who is even now in the guest room. They go wild over a new wench who they have yet to try."

  "I understand," Brenna replied, sure that Janie was exaggerating. After all, Garrick had not once looked at her like that.

  "I will make you a platter now and bring it up."

  "Very well." Brenna turned to leave.

  But she had lingered too long. Behind her came a roar that sounded like a wild beast. Alarmed, she glanced over her shoulder and saw a burly giant stomping toward her. Two others stood by the opening to the hall, laughing and cheering him on.

  "Brenna, run!" Janie screamed.

  Although it was against Brenna's nature to run from anything, her common sense told her this was not an opportune time to take a stand, for she had no weapon and was unquestionably outnumbered. She bolted for the door, but had lost too much time debating with herself. The Viking grabbed her long braid and jerked her back against him.

  "Unhand me, you bloody heathen!" she stormed.

  But he only laughed at her outrage and futile straggle; besides, he did not understand her words. She had to bite her lip to keep from snapping his head off in his own tongue. To do so would not aid her plans, so she hissed at him in her own language, although it gave her little satisfaction, as he carried her back inside. He had her hooked under one arm like a piece of baggage as he passed through the closed-off cooking area to join his two friends by the hall next to the stairs. She noticed that Janie was no longer in the cooking area, but Janie could not help her anyway.

  "Well, Gorm, a fine prize you have captured. I swear you have the luck of the gods this day."

  "She would be Garrick's new slave. I wonder why he has kept her hidden until now," another said.

  The man holding Brenna guffawed. "You can look at her and ask that?"

  "Nay, Garrick does not care for women anymore, not since Morna played him falsely."

  "Aye, but this one is different."

  "I agree, Gorm. Still, Garrick would not make use of the wench as I would. Nor is he possessive of his property. So why did he keep her hidden?"

  "I think she did herself. I would say by the way she fought me that she did not want to be found."

  "Anselm says this one fights like a man."

  "With a weapon, yea, but she has none—ouch!" Gorm cried and dropped Brenna to the floor, his hand going to his thigh where she bit him.

  "She may fight like a man with a sword in hand, but she fights like a woman without one!" Another man roared with laughter.

  Brenna was on her feet in an instant, but she stood in the midst of the three men, with only the hall at her back. The big one who had held her scowled his displeasure and reached for her again. Brenna had already suffered from his strength and was not about to be caught once more. Feigning a show of fear, she dodged Gorm's outstretched hand and collided with one of the other men. In so doing, she lifted a knife from the man's belt, then slipped from his light hold and stepped back, making sure they could see the metal gleaming in her hand.

  "Thor's teeth! You have been duped by a crafty wench, Bayard."

  The man whose knife she held shot his friend a murderous look. "She needs to be taught a lesson!"

  "Then do so. For myself, I have no desire to return to my wife with a wound I could not explain easily."

  "Gorm?"

  "Aye, I'm with you, Bayard. She'll make the liveliest tumble I have had yet."

  "Then I will take the arm with the knife, while you grab hold of her."

  Brenna divided her concentration between the two of them. Fools, she thought contemptuously. Their free talk in front of her was a better weapon than her knife. She was ready for them when they came at her. She held the knife before her, and when Bayard jumped for her arm, she lowered it quickly and slashed at his middle, making a narrow rip in his tunic that was instantly soaked crimson.

  "For your effort, pig!" she spat at Bayard even as she pointed the knife at Gorm to ward him off.

  The animosity on their faces made her wary now, and she backed away from them slowly. However, she stopped short when she came up against the hard frame of yet another Viking. She realized her mistake too late. She was in the hall, and a group of men surrounded her. She turned in a flash before the one behind her could lay his hands on her, and quickly stepped into the open.

  The hall was wrapped in a cloak of silence. Brenna's eyes darted all about her and met stunned faces. No one moved accept Gorm and Bayard, whose intent was still clearly malicious. If they all rushed her at once, she knew she was lost. Still, a few would die in the process and at least she would have revenge of a sort.

  At least Brenna was in control of her actions. She had not panicked as would most who were so grossly outnumbered. When one sodden drunk sidled up to her, patted her buttocks familiarly and uttered a scurrilous jest, she whirled on him but stayed the knife. Instead she raised her skirt and gave him a kick that sent him sprawling backward. Once again she faced her two antagonists, who had taken advantage of the diversion to move in closer.

  Everyone in the room suddenly roared with laughter at the drunk's thorough humiliation. Some of the tension was gone as comments about Brenna were bandied about. Many there knew her, and they were amazed to see her ready to fight again. All curiously watched her and the two men pursuing her, and noted the blood that stained Bayard's tunic.

  "I applaud the entertainment, Bayard," Anselm's deep voice roared from across the room. "But do you think it wise to arm a slave?"

  At the obvious jibe, Bayard's face turned bright red. Rather than challenge a man as powerful as Anselm for his taunting remark, he went along with the mockery. "Nay, but 'twas the least I could do to liven up the feast. Too many were wont to sleep rather than drink."

  More clamorous guffaws followed, and Brenna watched warily as her two adversaries gave up the pursuit and blended in with the crowd. She turned toward the voice she recognized all too easily, her eyes smoky gray, ignited by the fires of hatred. She saw Anselm instantly, seated at a corner of one of the two long tables. Thei
r eyes met, and it took all of Brenna's will to keep from screaming in rage and attacking him like a wild animal does its prey.

  "Put down the knife, Brenna."

  She tensed when she heard the voice. "Nay, I keep it!"

  "What will it gain you?" Heloise asked.

  " 'Twill keep me from being mauled by those bungling asses!" she snapped, looking around her once before she stuck the knife in her belt.

  "Yea, I suppose it will. But Garrick won't allow you to keep it."

  Brenna's eyes narrowed dangerously, and her hand rested on the hilt of the knife. "He will regret trying to take it away," she said acidly, then nodded towards Anselm. "Speak for me and tell your husband that I challenge him. He may choose the weapon, for I am adept at all."

  Heloise sighed and shook her head. "Nay, Brenna. I will not tell him that"

  "Why?" Brenna frowned " 'Twill be my words you speak, not yours."

  "A Viking will not fight a woman. There is no honor in it," Heloise replied softly.

  "But I must see him dead!" Brenna cried, frustration in her voice. " 'Tis not my way to lay in hiding for my enemy, so I must fight him fairly. He must face me!"

  "He will not fight you, girl. Rest assured, he knows how you feel towards him."

  " 'Tis not enough! Can you not understand that I am torn apart and your husband is responsible. My people are dead because of him—men that I grew up with, that I broke bread with and cared for. My sister's husband—dead! Even one of your own who was there—" she caught herself before she revealed too much. "Who was a friend. He was also cut down. And my servant, an old woman whom I loved dearly." Brenna's voice rose, and she became distraught with the memory. "She fell with an axe in her back! Why her? She posed no threat. If a Viking will not fight a woman, why is she dead?"

  "The men grow a little wild when they raid," Heloise answered sadly. "Many die who should not, and 'tis unfortunate that this happens. There are many regrets afterward. Anselm also has regrets."

  Brenna looked at her with disbelieving eyes. "How can he when he keeps my aunt and stepsister as servants?"

  "And yourself?"