"Give me the knife, wench!" he growled menacingly.
"Come and take it, damn you!" she retaliated, her eyes as stormy as her tone.
"You will suffer worse for this!"
"Careful, Viking," she grinned tauntingly. "Your dog is not here to protect you now."
A low growl escaped his lips as he came at her. Brenna kept the knife before her, intent on merely warding him off rather than killing him. He was an arrogant beast, but he had yet to do her harm. It was his father's blood she wanted, not his.
However, it proved a mistake not to attack him, for Garrick leaped at her and grabbed the wrist that held the weapon. The pressure he applied to make her drop the knife was excruciating, but she bit her lip and withstood the pain, then deftly maneuvered the knife in her hand until the point of the blade jabbed his arm and he released her. She stared at the blood for a moment, noting that it was only a small nick. But in that moment Garrick's fist came down hard on her wrist, and the knife clattered to the floor. Then he back-handed Brenna viciously, the blow almost making her lose her balance.
Blood trickled from her lip. She wiped it slowly with the back of her hand as she glared defiantly at him. She stood proud and unafraid before him.
"Do your worst, Viking."
He said nothing, but looked at her for a long moment. Some of his anger drained away. She did not prepare to run when he took off his belt and held it in his hand, but her eyes glowed with hatred when they met his.
Then unexpectedly he dropped the thick belt on the floor. She looked on with a puzzled frown that became even more confused when he proceeded to remove his tunic. When he bent to untie the leather garters that held his trousers tight against his legs, she gasped.
"What are you doing?"
A cruel smile touched his lips. "Disrobing."
Her eyes widened. "You would beat me without your clothes on?" she asked incredulously.
"Nay, mistress," he said coldly as he finished with the garters and removed his soft-skinned boots. "I have decided to deal with you differently."
"How?"
He crooked a brow at her. " 'Tis obvious, I would think. I will master you in the one sure way a man dominates a woman. I will have you."
She stared at him for a long moment before the meaning of his words became clear to her. For the first time real fear entered her eyes. The color left her face and she took a step backward.
A terrifying panic gripped Brenna. This was not supposed to happen. Everyone had said he hated women. Bayard said Garrick would have no use for her in that way. And he had not once looked on her with lust, as the other men had. How could she endure the agony that Cordelia said would accompany the act? Would she shame herself by screaming her pain aloud? She had no idea how intense it would be.
Garrick watched Brenna with a puzzled frown. He saw the conflicting emotions that crossed her features. But what surprised him was the terror in her eyes—she who had shown only courage thus far. She had stood defiantly, awaiting a sound thrashing, but now she was cowed at the prospect of his bedding her.
Such a dramatic change was baffling. He had surmised by her rebellious stance that no amount of pain inflicted would gain him the end he sought. But that her resolve should be broken by the means he chose to humble her did not fit her character, at least not before the deed was completed.
"Have I found the means to tame you?" he asked in a quiet, curious tone.
At his words, a spark of anger was lit despite her fear. "I am not an animal to be tamed!"
"But you are a slave whose arrogance cannot be tolerated," he returned softly.
"But you do not want me, Viking. So why this?" she said in a subdued tone.
Garrick looked at her thoughtfully. "I agree I have no use for women. I do not take them often, only when my body demands it. And so a shapely wench does not turn my eye as she used to. But it seems this is the only way I can put an end to your haughtiness."
He took a step towards her and Brenna's face whitened even more. She stood petrified for a moment, then dashed madly for the knife on the floor. But Garrick had anticipated her move and caught her to him before she neared the weapon.
Brenna fought like a trapped wild creature, that knows it will soon die. Her sharp claws assailed his rock-hard chest, but only amused laughter met her ears.
"You have no weapon now, wench. You would match your strength to mine, but you know you will fall the loser."
Her answer was to sink her teeth into his arm. She quickly gained her release when he cried out. She made to dash for the door, but his hand caught the back of her shift. When she pushed on, the garment ripped to the waist. There her belt stopped the fabric from tearing further, and he pulled her back to him. She turned, and with a closed fist swung for his face. He caught her arm in a viselike grip and twisted it behind her back, crushing her breasts against his chest as he did so.
"Release me!" she cried, hysteria in her voice.
"Nay, I think not."
She thought to plead again, but then she looked up at him and saw the desire that was finally in his eyes. Her whole body was pressed to his and she could feel his swelling manhood against her belly. The fear that gripped her made her weak, and she could only thrash her head from side to side when he bent to kiss her. Finally he held her head still in his mighty hand and lowered his mouth to hers. But before the kiss was met, she grabbed a handful of his golden mane and jerked his head back.
"By Thor, wench!" he growled. "You fight me as if you were a virgin still, when you are not!"
"I am," she said in a whisper against his chest, grimacing from the pain in her arm, which he had not released.
He looked down at the top of her head, seeing the thick black braid trailing down her bare back and across both their arms. He loosened his hold somewhat, but still pressed her to him.
"I cannot believe that my father's men did not lust after you as my own have done."
"They did not come near me," she said quietly, praying that this knowledge would change his mind. "Your father kept them away."
Suddenly his laughter filled the room. "So this is why you fear me now?"
"I do not fear you, Viking!"
"Yea, you do," he returned, his voice softening considerably, "for I am the man who will bed you. I will be gentle with you, Brenna, as the issue will be proved no matter how I take you."
At that he lifted her into his arms, but she thrashed and kicked wildly again and it was indeed an effort to get her to the bed. There he dropped her down, then fell on top of her and pinned her firmly beneath him. She heaved and bucked to remove his great weight from her, and clawed his back until he secured her arms at her sides.
"Why do you persist, wench? I have said I will be gentle. 'Twill hurt this first time, but not overly much."
"You lie!" she cried, trying in vain to free her arms. "Another vile trait to add to your others!"
"Be still!" he commanded sharply when her knee rose dangerously close to his groin. "You would welcome the lash which effects much pain, but you scorn this, which gives only pleasure. Or is it only the humbling that you fear, for once done, there will be no doubt that you belong to me?"
"Your lying tongue will not make me submit!" she cried out in frustration. "I know of the agonies you would inflict on me!"
"Agonies?" he looked down into her terrified eyes and wondered at the demons that were planted in her mind. "The truth will come out in the doing, mistress."
With that he moved from her, and Brenna thought briefly that he had indeed changed his mind. But she was fooled, for in the next moment her belt was pulled open and her shift yanked from her shoulders and down her hips, then thrown to the floor. She moaned softly at the humiliation of having her young body bared in its entirety to a man's lusting eyes. And this man's eyes did feast hungrily upon her nakedness, making her close her own eyes in utter shame.
"So this is the body you would deny," he murmured huskily. "I would think to find a boyish form, not these perfe
ct curves and mounds. Yea, you are a woman proud and true. Such beauty as the like I've never seen—and mine for the taking."
Brenna started at his words and her eyes flew open. "Cease your mumbling, Viking! I am not yours, and you have yet to prove otherwise!"
He grinned down at her stormy gray eyes, her bright crimson cheeks. "I will do so with pleasure, Brenna." He said her name like a caress. "Yea, much pleasure indeed."
He leaned over her, his hands securing her arms by her sides, one leg covering both of hers, thus holding her immobile. Then he brought his lips down to the firm mounds of her breasts thrust proudly before him. He took one deep in his mouth, then sucked gently on its delicious peak until it rose impudently beneath his tongue. Brenna jerked at this assault. She had never dreamed that a man's lips could be so hot. They seemed to sear her tender skin where they touched her. Was this intense heat part of the agony that she knew would come?
She looked down on him with wonder, at his golden head resting over her breasts, the wavy hair tickling her skin. His enormous shoulders met her eye, and she saw many little trails of blood from her scratches. She watched the iron muscles ripple on his back when she tried to move her arms and he stayed her. Brenna admired strength and courage; she always had. But this man's strength was unbelievable. He held her with such ease when she tried her mightiest to move him. Though such a powerful body was magnificent to behold, that she lay at the mercy of its strength was unbearable.
"Garrick—Garrick."
He looked up at her, puzzlement in his eyes. " 'Tis the first time you have used my name. I like the sound of it on your lips."
Brenna steeled herself for her next words. "Garrick, release me." Her tone of voice was the closest she could come to pleading.
He smiled softly, his eyes afire with passion. "Nay, my beauty. 'Tis too late for that."
At that he moved to kiss her, but she turned her head away. He released one arm to hold her head still. He instantly regretted his decision when her nails dug into a tender area of his chest like sharp teeth.
He bellowed in pain and quickly grabbed her hand again. "I see you have a weapon after all, my bloodthirsty wench!"
"Yea, but I regret it cannot reach your heart, for I would take that from you if I could and feed it to the wolves!"
"Well, vixen, there is something I will give you instead, though 'twill not go to the wolves, but between your legs," he growled angrily, and pulled her arms together to hold them with one hand while his other removed his trousers.
With her legs free for a moment, she kicked wildly, but could do no damage. And then his hard and swollen member pressed against her thigh. From his position at her side she could see it clearly, and she gasped at the huge size of it and knew that Cordelia had not lied. That proud beast would surely tear her asunder and render her screaming for mercy. Yet even as a horrifying fear spread through her, she could not voice the words to beg again for her release.
Her rising panic nearly choked her, and she squirmed and heaved to such a degree that she was not aware he had thrust his knees between her legs and now loomed over her. When he lowered his weight slowly, stilling her futile efforts once and for all, she knew she was trapped without the slightest hope of escape.
"You act as if I would slay you, girl," he said, still amazed that she fought so fiercely. "Put your fears to rest. You will not perish in my bed."
"The words of a sly fox to his chosen meal!" she hissed between clenched teeth. "I warn you, Viking. If you persist in this deed, you will regret it. I do not take injustice lightly!"
He ignored her threat and buried his lips in the curve of her neck, then whispered close to her ear, "Relax, Brenna, and I will still be gentle with you."
"How can a bungling oaf be gentle?" she snapped.
Brenna did not see his face tighten in anger, but his voice gave testimony to his annoyance. "Then you shall have it your way!"
Her legs were spread wide by his hips. His huge member was like a thick steel pole pressing to enter her. It met the hard resistance of her maidenhead, a sturdy wall meant to keep out intruders. But like a battering ram, he broke through the fortress wall, tearing her flesh so she felt a stabbing white-hot pain. Her body was stiff with expectancy as she waited for the terrible agony to continue. She could feel the offending weapon deep inside her womb and then it left her completely, only to thrust into her even deeper. Again and again it teased her, departing, then returning quickly to bury itself within her. Where was the pain that she feared above all else? And what was this strange sensation that was slowly spreading through her loins, which made her feel as if she were floating, somehow soaring on a mystical cloud that was lifting her ever higher—and to what end?
Brenna did not know that Garrick was watching the confusion which crossed her features. Finally he closed his eyes and thrust so deeply it seemed he would join them together for all eternity. Then he was still. Though he wanted to relax his guard and revel in this closeness, to take more pleasure from it, he could not trust her even now.
Brenna was deep in thought when he looked down at her, a frown creasing her brow. Garrick wondered briefly at her mood, why she was now so still and not demanding that he leave her. She had proved to be a greater pleasure than he had thought possible, and he found with some small bit of amazement that he already looked forward to having her again.
"Why did you stop?" Brenna asked him in a haughty tone.
He looked at her confused eyes and laughed. "Because you have my seed and 'twill be awhile before I can give you more."
"But you are still hard within me," she replied unabashedly. "I can feel you. Can you not continue?"
Garrick stared at her in utter amazement. "Do you want me to?"
She considered this for a moment, then answered flatly, "Nay, the mood has passed."
He grunted in irritation at her answer and wondered if he had won the battle after all. "I take it you found it was not so terrifying, eh?" he asked as he moved to her side and reached for his trousers.
"Nay, not in the least," she answered, stretching lazily before him. Suddenly a look of anger crossed her features. "But someone will answer dearly for what I was led to expect!"
"Who?"
" 'Tis my concern, not yours," she replied, then her laughter rang through the room, completely confounding him. "I have learned much this day, Viking. My thanks."
Chapter 14
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SINCE neither Yarmille nor Garrick was about to tell her nay, Brenna spent the day lazily in the house, getting to know the servants. Garrick had stormed from the room after he dressed, in a thoroughly black mood. He returned only long enough to throw a new shift at her, then left again without a word. She knew he was sorely vexed at the outcome of their lovemaking. He had expected her to be humbled, when in truth she had mastered the situation. This did not sit well with him. Mayhaps even now he was scheming other ways to bring her down, but she would handle them in turn.
After he left, though, surprise at the new experience wore off, and Brenna brooded about her stepsister. She was almost tempted to take one of Garrick's horses and go seek out Cordelia. What the bitch had done was unforgivable. The terror and panic Brenna had succumbed to were bad enough, but what rankled the most was that she had shown that fear to the Viking. Against her will she remembered the pleasurable feeling that had spread through her when he entered her. Then quickly she pushed the thought away. Why Cordelia had filled her mind with lies was beyond her—but she would find out one day soon.
Brenna sat at the table in the long, narrow cooking area and watched Janie prepare loaves of bread for Garrick's evening meal. Maudya was by the fire, stirring a thick soup full of large chunks of chicken. Maudya was a tawny-haired woman of about two score years, short and pudgy, with a quick smile and florid complexion.
Both women had confided to Brenna how they came to be here. Surprisingly, their account was without rancor. They had been neighbors in their homeland, living in a village that w
as raided four years past. It was Garrick himself who had captured and brought them here. In those years he served his father, and went on many such raids. The two women did not mind their life here, for it was no different than they would have had at home, and they were well provided for. Maudya did not mind as Janie did the fact that any guest of Garrick's could bed them whenever he desired, simply because they were slaves and had no rights of their own. This was the only aspect of living here that Janie complained about. At least it did not happen often.
They both listened eagerly while Brenna explained her story, and were a bit overawed to learn the manner in which she was raised. She was doubly grateful now that her father had cared not a whit for custom or tradition, else she too might be like these other women, passive behind the yoke. She would never bend, either, and Garrick Haardrad would learn that truth in time, even if he did not accept it.
"Tell me about Garrick," Brenna prompted as she nibbled on some wild nuts Erin had brought them that morning. "Is he a fair man?"
"Indeed he is," Maudya answered easily.
"Except when he gives us to his friends," Janie added, the days of the feast still uppermost in her mind.
"Methinks you complain too much," Maudya chuckled. "I have heard you giggling the same as me when tousled in the hay."
"I do not mind one man at a time, but not one after another as it is at a feast," Janie returned in irritation. "Tell me you like the soreness 'atween your legs the next day?"
Brenna tried quickly to change the subject, for her own experience with a man was still too new, and she did not want to think of it yet. "What of the slaves he sold? Does he not care what becomes of them?"
"He had to sell them, Brenna," Janie explained. "He had too many here—those he took himself, those from Ulric and those his father gave him. He sold only the hardy ones who would fare well and, of course, those who were troublesome."
Brenna blanched at this, but Janie and Maudya did not notice. She soon regained her composure. "How many does he have left?"
"About twelve, I would say. There's us, and the two old ones you saw here yesterday. Then there's Erin and old Duncan, and five younger men. Of course, there's the children too."
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