Fires of Winter - Viking 1

by Johanna Lindsey

  At his nod she groaned. Her hands were stiff and sore from the washing, for they were unaccustomed to the chore, the scalding water and abrasive soap. Now she would have to lug buckets of water up to his chambers! She balked at the thought.

  "Why do you hesitate?" Garrick questioned, seeing the fleeting emotions cross her face. "A bath is a simple matter."

  "Then you do it!" she hissed. "I will not carry water up to your chamber."

  "I did not ask you to," he replied. "I will have the bath here. Will that suit you?"

  Indeed it would, she almost sighed. Instead she answered stiffly, "As you wish."

  She picked up two large buckets and went outside to the huge vat of fresh rain water at the side of the house. The cold wind lifted her skirts and sent a chill up her back. She filled the buckets, then almost dropped them when the handles bit into her sore fingers as she hauled them back into the house.

  Garrick had moved the barrellike tub that had been beneath the stairs over in front of the fire. He stood back and watched her silently as she emptied the cold water into the tub. Her unconscious grimace left Brenna's face when the buckets were light again. She reluctantly walked out of the warm cooking area of the hall to fill them again.

  On her return this time Garrick met her at the door. "Prepare my meal!" he barked impatiently and took the buckets from her. "At your pace I would wait all night for my bath!"

  Brenna hurried across the room to the hearth, grateful for his impatience, though she would not admit it was a kindness. It took many more buckets of water to fill the tub halfway. The amount of water Garrick brought was more than was needed for a bath, but Brenna said nothing.

  She kept her back to him and filled a wooden platter with the stew Janie had prepared earlier. A loaf of flat bread and a tankard of ale were placed on a tray beside the stew, for Brenna did not know yet where he would eat. Right here, most likely, since the fires in the main part of the hall were low, thus making it an unwelcoming room. Nor had she thought to kindle a fire in his chamber—or in her own, for that matter.

  With the cauldrons set to boil over the fire, Garrick came to the table and sat down on the long bench before his food. This time Brenna stood behind him, staring at the wide expanse of shoulders, the light gold hair that curled up off his neck, the huge, powerful bare arms that bulged with corded muscles. Brenna shook her head to avert her gaze, which had become almost hypnotized. The very sight of this man stirred something in her that she could not explain, and it frightened her.

  "Have you eaten?" Garrick asked over his shoulder.

  "Yea, long ago," she murmured.

  Brenna bit her lip as he continued eating. His meal was fixed and his bath prepared, but she was loath to leave the warmth of the room, yet even more reluctant to stay here and ponder the strange effect Garrick's presence was having on her this night.

  She came around the table so she could face him. "May I go now—Garrick? I will kindle a fire in your chamber before I retire."

  Garrick stared at her for a long moment before answering. His eyes left her face to rest on the soft mounds of her breasts that moved gently with her breathing beneath the rough material of her shift. His eyes then moved to the swell of her hips, accentuated by the crude belt she had tied about her waist. The shift was coarse and unbecoming, but there really was not much that could take away from her slim beauty.

  "Well?" she prompted stiffly, flushed from his bold scrutiny.

  His eyes locked with hers again and he smiled humorously. "You may light the fire in my room, mistress, but then return here."

  "Why?"

  His smile widened at the confusion on her face. "You are not to question my orders, but to carry them out without delay, Brenna."

  She repressed the angry retort which came to mind, and instead stalked from the room. She would find out why soon enough, she supposed. She struck up a fire in Garrick's chamber and in her own, then slowly made her way back to the cooking area below, hugging her bare arms as she came down the drafty stairs.

  She had purposely taken her time, and when she entered the hall, Garrick was finished eating and had already added the boiling water to the tub. He was standing with his back to the fire, removing his tunic. She had brought him a robe to don after his bath; it was slung over her shoulder.

  When Garrick saw her, he grinned and threw his tunic at her. "Soak this before 'tis ruined. You will have the rest in a moment," he said, and bent to unlace the criss-crossed leather garters which molded his trousers to his legs.

  She shot him a murderous glance that he did not see, then dropped the tunic into the one bucket he had left water in. When he started to remove his trousers, she quickly turned her back on him, her face blushing hotly. She had assumed he would want privacy for his bath. How dare he bare himself before her when she was fully clothed? Had he no shame?

  "Here," he said behind her, but she would not turn. Then, "What ails you, woman?"

  When she still would not turn, he laughed and tossed the trousers by her feet. She heard the water splash as he got in the tub, and only then did she pick up his trousers and put them in the bucket. When she finally turned cautiously to look at him, her eyes were drawn to his bronzed torso, the thick, sinewy muscles beneath the blond mat of curls on his chest, the powerful arms that could surely squeeze life from a bear if need be.

  "Would you join me, Brenna?"

  Her eyes flew to his head and she saw that he had been watching her stare at him. Her face turned three shades of red and she gasped, "Nay! I bathed this morn!"

  Indeed, she had even used the same tub, after Coran, the slave who helped the women with heavy chores, had filled it for her. But Garrick was only teasing her—he must be.

  "If you will not join me, will you scrub my back, then?"

  She saw the humor in his eyes and it infuriated her. "Nay, I will not!"

  "And if I order it?"

  " 'Twill be my nails your back will feel, not the sponge!" she warned him, then continued to take her stand. "You have me serving you in normal ways. Do not press me for more, Viking. If you overtax what you have gained, you will lose it all!"

  "Now she threatens me again," Garrick said in mock exasperation. "So you have not changed overmuch, as you would have me believe?"

  "I agreed to serve in your house, but not in this intimate capacity," she returned in a calm tone, though her eyes were broodingly dark. "May I go now?"

  He sighed. "Yea, go. Coran will empty the tub in the morn."

  Brenna left the room quickly and ran up the stairs. She entered her own small chamber and slammed the door soundly. She immediately regretted doing so, for Garrick would hear the noise and no doubt laugh that he had upset her so. Why did he insist on continuing with these small battles of will? Would he persist until finally she would do anything he asked of her? Nay, that day would never come!

  Brenna pulled off her shift and laid it neatly over the single chair in the room. There was a small coffer at the foot of the narrow bed but it was empty, and she had nothing of her own to put in it. The nightdress and one shift that had been given her came from the storage house and were slaves' clothing. She had also been given a bone-handled comb and a pair of soft-skinned shoes that were too big for her delicate feet. A fine lot of possessions, she thought with some humor, remembering how she had scorned the lovely gowns she once owned.

  She donned the nightdress that was laid across her bed, and immediately regretted that she had washed it earlier, for it was even more starchy than before. Then she sat on the bed, unbraided her long silken hair, and combed it till the firelight was reflected in its gleaming softness. Finally she climbed beneath the embroidered coverlet and tried to sleep.

  But sleep eluded Brenna and she knew why. She could not relax, not until she knew Garrick was abed. She tried to let the crackling fire lull her, but it was no use. Her body was tense, stiff as a board. She waited and waited, for what seemed like hours, to hear the door down the corridor open and close. Why was i
t so imperative that she know Garrick had retired before she could find sleep herself?

  When her own door opened, Brenna found her answer. How did she know he would come? Was it the bold look he had given her earlier that unconsciously warned her?

  He stood there by the door, wearing only the short silk robe she had brought him. Tied at the waist, the garment extended in a deep V to the belt, baring the curls on his chest. The firelight danced over his bare legs, the strong thighs and muscular calves. Long, powerful legs that would soon lay between her own.

  Brenna shook her head, stunned at her own thinking. She would not let it happen. Garrick had the strength, but she could outfox him.

  "What do you want, Garrick?" Brenna asked in a throaty whisper.

  "You," was all he said.

  She propped herself up on one elbow, her hair cascading over her shoulders. "I suppose this is one of those times you mentioned before, when your body craves a woman?"

  He grunted at her, not pleased with her question. "You remember well."

  "Why should I not? After all, 'tis not the man Garrick who wants me, only his body," she said lightly. "Will you have me here, or do you prefer your own bed?"

  A frown crossed his brow as he puzzled over her compliance. Brenna felt nowhere near the calm she displayed, though his hesitating helped her.

  "I see you cannot decide, Garrick. Well, this bed is much too small to fit your frame, so I will come with you."

  She slipped out of her bed gracefully and walked to the door, a sensuous smile playing on her lips. She stopped next to Garrick and placed a hand gently on his chest.

  "Have you changed your mind, Garrick? Tell me now, before I go any further."

  His bafflement at her acquiescence turned to a dark scowl. "Nay, I have not changed my mind."

  "Well, come then," she breathed and left the room before him.

  Her heart was pounding in her chest almost like a throbbing pain. He would be furious with her for tricking him, but she would not bear the brunt of that anger unless he caught her, and she was determined he would not. When she reached the stairs, she dashed down them with frantic speed and raced for the back door. Outside in the black of night, she would find somewhere to hide until Garrick's anger and his desire had cooled.

  But Garrick had locked the door, which she had not counted on, and before she could throw the heavy bolt, he was behind her. She screamed when he hefted her in his arms and tossed her over his shoulder, rendering her breathless, but only for a moment. She kicked and twisted until he nearly dropped her as he made his way back up the stairs. A sound whack to her behind did not stop her struggles; it only increased them.

  In his chamber, he kicked the door shut, then crossed the room and dumped his bundle on the bed. He stood and watched her scramble away from him to the foot of the bed, poised to jump if he pursued her. A cynical sneer played on his lips and he made no immediate move for her.

  "From one extreme to the other, eh?" he remarked, his hands on his hips. "And here I thought you would fit comfortably between the two."

  "You speak in riddles," Brenna said warily, relieved to see he was not blustering with rage.

  "Do I? Explain to me then about your performance of a few minutes past. What was that all about, mistress?"

  "I don't know what you are talking about," she said defensively, holding her chin high.

  He shook his head, letting his hands drop to his sides. "I should know better than to expect honesty from a woman. I should have realized you were playing me falsely. You were just too obliging, which puzzled me, but then I was not expecting tricks from you. Nor did I expect you to run from me again like a frightened virgin. What game do you play, Brenna? Explain the rules to me."

  "I play no games. Do you really expect me to open my arms passively to you?"

  "Yea, our last encounter did lead me to believe you would." He grinned at her.

  "Conceited cur!" she snapped, her courage returning twofold. "Have you forgotten that you lied to me that last time? You said you would not take advantage of me, but you did. And 'twas only my curiosity that allowed you to."

  He laughed derisively. "So 'twas curiosity that made you turn to me in passion."

  "You lie!" she gasped. "You woke me, Viking, not I you!"

  "But you did not try to escape. And by Thor, 'twas you who would not let me go and who brazenly taunted me to continue. Do you deny that?" She shrugged, then grinned impishly. "You could not understand that, could you? You see, for you the act was completed, but I found it lacking." At his dark scowl, she quickly added, " 'Twas not your fault though. It just took me longer to solve the mystery."

  "The mystery?"

  "Yea, to reach the end, as you did. To find out what made the act so desirable. How is that for honesty, Viking?"

  "And you did enjoy it?"

  "Yea, I admit it."

  He frowned at her and demanded, "Then why in thunderation did you now run from me?"

  "Just because I enjoyed it once, Viking, does not mean I crave it again, as you men forever do. My curiosity has been appeased, and so I can do without a repetition of the act."

  "The act!" he grunted, thoroughly vexed. "There is a better word for it."

  "What?" she sneered. "Surely not lovemaking, for there was no love in what we did. Not for me, and especially not for you. You, the man, do not even participate. You have readily admitted 'tis only your body that craves release. So do not come to me for that release, when any woman will do."

  "But I have come to you," he replied, a decidedly wicked smile turning his lips.

  Brenna's eyes clouded with fury. "I refuse! I will not be used to satisfy your body's cravings!"

  "So you refuse," he said lightly, the evil smile still on his lips. "That will not stop me from having you."

  Her eyes lit up with cunning. " 'Tis fortunate, I suppose, that your body does not get these urgings often. But tell me, do you, the man, ever seek a woman?"

  "Why should I?"

  "Not even Morna?"

  She expected to arouse his anger by her question, and possibly even to suffer a reprieve because of that anger. But she did not expect the icy rage that contorted his features and sent a cold chill down her back.

  "How came you to know of Morna?" he asked in a deadly calm tone.

  "Have you not learned that you should never do battle with an enemy until you know all you can of him? I made it a point to know of you."

  "You consider me your enemy?"

  "You are certainly not my friend or ally. So, yea, we are enemies."

  "Nay," he returned coldly. "We are master and slave. We make war with words, not weapons. And now I grow tired of the words."

  "You will let me leave, then?" she asked hopefully.

  "Yea, you can leave—after the act, as you call it, is finished."

  Garrick's sudden leap across the bed took her by surprise, and in a panic she jumped away from him. But she was not quick enough and he grabbed her foot, holding it secure while the rest of her tumbled forward to land flat on the floor. The impact knocked the breath from her, and her elbows, which hit hard, smarted terribly and brought tears of pain to her eyes. She cursed herself silently for allowing the glistening drops to well up and make her eyes glassy. A woman's weapon, tears; she would not use them to aid her cause.

  "Are you hurt?"

  "Would it matter?" she snapped.

  "Are you?" he repeated harshly.

  "The only thing that hurts is your grip on my foot!" she lied, quickly wiping her eyes on her palms. "Release me, damn your hide!"

  "Nay, Brenna," he said softly. "Not yet."

  One hand holding her ankle, he moved his other hand up her calf and lifted her nightdress. When she kicked out at him with her other foot, he laughed and grabbed it too, then twisted her until she was forced to turn over on her back. He was crouched at the foot of the bed, holding her ankles, one in each hand. She stared in disbelief as he slowly started to stand, pulling her legs up with him as he
straightened.

  "Cease, Garrick! Stop it, I say!"

  But he continued to lift her up off the floor, up and up until he had her dangling in the air above the bed. Brenna was torn between whether to use her hands to brace herself, or to try to push her nightdress back in place, for it fell about her head, baring her limbs for his view. Before she could decide, though, he lowered her gently on the bed till she lay on her back. But he kept her legs raised and slowly spread them wide.

  When he fell to his knees, she tried to pull away from him, but he yanked her back. Then in a swift movement he dropped her legs over his shoulders and fell forward on top of her at the same time, pinning her legs high with his arms so that she could not lower them. He did not even need to remove his short robe, for it had opened with his exertion, and his throbbing member pressed against her, searching for the moist cavern of her womanhood.

  "You are a depraved beast!" she gasped.

  "Nay, I am determined to have you, Brenna, that is all," he murmured.

  She glared at him murderously. "So far you have only gained my anger, but if you force me now, Garrick, you will have my hatred as well. 'Tis not a pretty thing, my hate. You will never find peace with it."

  His answer was to plunge deep within her, bringing tears to her eyes again at his brutal onslaught. He took her without mercy, quickly, while she whispered her loathing in his ear. When he finished, he let her legs down one at a time and then moved to her side. The moment he released her, she scrambled off the bed as if it burned her and ran from the room, slamming first his door and then her own down the corridor.

  Garrick pounded his fist into the bed. "Loki take her!" he growled.

  What he intended as a pleasing encounter had turned into a hollow victory indeed.

  Chapter 21

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  THE first snowfall was long in coming, and did not occur until late fall. With it came a storm that lasted a full week, froze lakes and ponds and left snowbanks four and five feet in height. The land was blanketed in dismal white, and few were wont to brave the icy wind and falling snow. Garrick was one of the few. He had been gone a fortnight before the snowstorm began, and even with it finished, he had yet to return.