“Be gone with you!” Brenna shouted furiously, her face reddening. “I do not need you to watch over me!”
Garrick laughed heartily. “Now you would order me from my own stable. Does your audacity have no bounds?”
She looked at him and could not help but grin. She had overstepped her limits this time, she knew.
“You are right,” she said, her anger gone. “Stay if you like, though I do not know why you would wish to.”
He refrained from pointing out that he did not need her permission. Instead he watched her quietly, noting that she did indeed know what she was about. When she brought oats to the stallion, Garrick spoke again.
“How fared you last night?”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering at his concern. “Well enough.”
“You did not miss the softness of my bed?” he asked her, his eyes gleaming mischievously.
She grinned at his question. “I find my new bed much more to my liking, since I need not share it.”
He moved closer to her, taking advantage of her lightened mood, and tilted her chin up. “What makes you think you will not share it?”
Before she could answer, his arms enclosed her and he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was a shock to her senses. It was her first kiss, for she could not count the one given by Hugh. Garrick’s mouth was gentle against hers, and moved softly. Then his tongue parted her lips and sweetly explored her mouth, giving yet another jolt to her senses.
Brenna found to her amazement that this tender closeness was immensely pleasing. Her blood seemed to be speeding through her veins and making her light-headed. She also found she wanted to be even closer to this man and wrapped her arms about his neck, pressing her body firmly against his hard one. She felt him jerk in surprise, and then his arms seemed to crush her while his kiss became more demanding, as if he would devour her whole.
Had her simple movement spurred him to this ardent attack? She liked it and didn’t want him to stop. She felt the fires of passion burning in her. He was the enemy, but that didn’t seem to matter to her traitorous body. The feel of him was like a drug, blinding her to all else.
This was not right, she told herself, even as she delighted in the reeling of her senses. She must stop him; she must. Finally she gathered the strength to pull her lips away and gain the time she needed to recover her wits, which she did quickly. When he would not release her, she laughed softly in his ear.
“Would you take me here, tumble me in the hay with Erin about?”
His arms left her so quickly she fell back a step. He stared at her for a long moment, a dark scowl on his face. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away, and she had to suppress her laughter so that he would not hear it and become even further enraged. She had won another round, though this one had been much more difficult.
A fortnight had passed since Brenna began to work at the stable. She and Erin had become close since then, for he treated her like a daughter, and she enjoyed working with him.
Brenna finished currying the white mare and patted her flanks. When her work at the stables was done, Erin sometimes let her take one of the horses out for an hour or so. She chose the brown stallion this time. Waving to Erin, she mounted the horse and left the yard. She urged the animal into a canter, and when they passed through the flat meadow, pressed him into a hard gallop. For the first time that day she felt free. With her dark hair secured in back and the reins held loosely in one hand, she flew past the row of trees to her left toward the land that lay between the cliffs and the fjord. She forgot her captive status and her struggles in this strange and alien land. An exhilaration that she had not felt in months took hold of her. The sky was blue, and in the distance she could see the waters of the fjord glistening in the sun as she and the steed beneath her raced effortlessly across the hard ground. A smile was on her lips, and she felt her whole body alive with new-found freedom and joy. She lost all sense of time. It seemed that she had been riding for hours, for days, yet she felt not at all tired and the horse seemed as eager and fresh as he did when they first left the stables. The smile left her face an hour or so later when, in the distance, she saw two riders fast approaching her. They were still too far away to identify. Who could they be? she wondered. Not Garrick, for he had returned from his morning ride shortly before she left and she attended to his winded stallion. Hugh perhaps? And Anselm? Her face hardened at the thought that she would confront her sworn enemy. But as they came closer, she saw with surprise that they were unknown to her. They were upon her now, and as they saw the woman with the dark hair they looked at each other, smiled and reined in their horses. They were tall and blond. Brenna did not like the looks of them. One had darting eyes which she did not trust, and the other, a long jagged scar running across one cheek which gave him an evil look.
“You are no Viking with that hair,” said the one with the scar. “A captured slave, perhaps?”
A look of rage passed over Brenna’s face. She reached for the knife she kept hidden in her boot and held it low, waiting for the right moment to attack. They saw the glint of the knife’s blade and nodded to each other, then rode quickly on either side of her, one grabbing her horse’s bridle, the other attempting to wrest the knife from her hand. She lashed out with the knife, but the one she lunged for threw up his hand, which was slashed by the blade. He swore as blood flowed from the wound.
An ugly, angry scowl appeared on his companion’s face. As Brenna turned, he dragged her from her horse. She hit the ground and lay stunned for a moment, while he grabbed the knife from her and pinned her arms behind her head. The other wrapped a piece of cloth around his hand and now, a cruel look contorting his face, he brutally tied her arms tightly together above her head.
“So you would provoke me, wench,” said the wounded one with a snarl as he lowered himself on top of her and, securing her legs with his, began to move against her. Brenna felt his manhood against her and kicked furiously, but his weight pinned her and she could not move him. He pulled fiercely at the top of her shirt and ripped it down to the waist, exposing her white, perfectly shaped breasts. She kicked and she bit, but this only increased his pleasure, and he fumbled at his pants to free his swollen member. As he made to enter her, he heard the sound of pounding hooves nearby and looked up in alarm.
Please, dear God, let it be a friend, not a foe, prayed Brenna silently. She took advantage of his hesitation and tried to buck him off, but his great weight still would not be moved. A second later, to her surprise, his bulk was off of her and she heard him say to his companion with fear in his voice, “Let us be gone.” He grabbed his pants, pulling them up as he ran to his mount. The two of them gave the spur to their horses and galloped off.
Brenna turned her head and saw Garrick rein in his steed a few feet from her. She lay without moving, red-faced with humiliation, her fear of a minute ago forgotten. Oh, that he should have to rescue her as though she were one of those weak, helpless women she despised. And trussed up like a turkey, too. She closed her eyes in shame for a moment. When she opened them she was surprised to see Garrick bending over her with a look of concern in his aqua eyes.
“You are not harmed, Brenna?” he asked softly as he reached down to touch her face.
“Leave me alone!” she cried, blushing with fury.
He pulled back as though he had been slapped, and a hard look settled over his features. “Get up,” he said and pulled her to her feet. He gave her the torn shirt to cover herself, then pushed her toward her mount. “That’s the last time you ride alone,” he said tightly. “Who gave you permission to leave the yard at all?” She did not answer him.
He looked into the distance. “I did not get a close look at your attackers, and though I will send men after them when we return, they are likely itinerant traders or brigands. Chances are they will have left the fjord by then and will not be found. You could have been killed,” he added angrily, turning back to her. “Now get on your horse,” and he pushe
He did not speak to her or acknowledge her for the rest of the return ride, and when they entered the yard he tossed the reins of his horse at her and strode away.
Brenna saw Garrick daily now, in the mornings when he went for his customary ride, and most days in the afternoon too. Each time he returned, he would turn the sweaty stallion over to her. They did not talk. In truth, he had not said one word to her since that day when he had rescued her. He did not even acknowledge her presence, except to toss her the stallion’s reins; then he would walk away stiffly.
Brenna often puzzled over why he ignored her so purposely, and wondered if what he had said was true, that he did not bother with women except when his body demanded he must. It rankled her some that she had no effect on him, for she had begun to think otherwise. He, on the other hand, still had the power to make her immensely aware of his presence. She would find at the oddest times that she had him on her mind, and this did not sit well with her. Most annoying was the fact that she could not forget that day he had sought to humble her, but had accomplished naught. Garrick had obviously dismissed it from his mind completely.
Brenna soaked in a small tub. Her head rested on the rim, and her thick black hair floated all about her in the warm water. Her thoughts were gentle, her mood relaxed.
She was alone in the small house; a fire blazed in the hearth nearby. Janie and Maudya were still up at the big house, no doubt serving Garrick his evening meal.
Brenna did not hear the door when it quietly opened, but she sensed the intrusion when cold air touched her face and made her shiver. She looked up to see a very tall Viking standing just inside the doorway, and surprised emerald eyes looking down at her.
“Go back the way you came, Viking, and close the door before I catch a chill.”
He closed the door, but from the inside, then moved closer to her. Brenna looked down to make sure her hair covered her body from view before she looked back at the intruder suspiciously. She had not seen this man before, but his height and build reminded her of Garrick, and her eyes admired him slowly. His face was pleasingly handsome, and she noted humor and even kindness there. The smile on his lips reached all the way to his eyes and crinkled their outer edges.
He obviously had not understood her order. This language barrier was indeed a nuisance. She could make herself clear, but still she would not. Instead she motioned with her hands for him to go, but he just shook his head, his smile broadening.
“Be gone, damn you!” she shouted in frustration.
“There is no need for you to get upset, mistress.”
Her eyes widened. “You speak my tongue.”
“Yea, Garrick taught me when we were young,” he replied, amused at her confusion.
“Who are you?” she finally asked.
“Perrin.”
Her expression became knowing. “If you have come for Janie, she is not here.”
“I can see that,” he replied and moved even closer. “So you are Garrick’s new slave.” He stated this as a fact, not seeing the hot fury that leaped into her eyes when he spoke. “I have heard much of you.”
“And I of you,” Brenna retorted angrily. “I do not respect a man who does not claim his son, or take the mother of that son to be his own.”
Perrin looked astonished; then he frowned. “So Janie has a loose tongue.”
“Do not blame Janie,” Brenna replied coldly. “She spoke of you only with love and pride, and does not hold your cowardice against you. You do not mind that other men bed the mother of your son?”
A look of deep hurt crossed his face. “I mind. But there is naught I can do about it yet. She belongs to Garrick.”
“And you fear to ask him for her,” Brenna said with obvious contempt.
“What I fear, wench, is his refusal, for then I could not ask again.”
“If I were you, I would take what I wanted. You Vikings seem ever willing to do that.”
Perrin suddenly laughed, surprising her. “So you are as arrogant and outspoken as they say. I see Garrick has not tamed you yet.”
Brenna smiled at this despite her earlier anger. “If you look closely, you will see that Garrick is the one who has been tamed. He was no match for me.”
“I wonder if Garrick agrees with that,” he replied, and finally moved next to the tub.
Brenna stared up at him impishly. “You like what you see, Viking?” she teased, amazed at herself for doing so.
“Most assuredly,” he answered.
“Well, if you have in mind to see more, you can forget it now. I will choose my own lovers, not they me. And you, to be sure, will not be one of them.”
He laughed heartily, his green eyes twinkling. “Those are brave words for a wench who finds herself at my mercy.” He ran a finger through the water, grinning down at her.
“Careful, Viking.” Her voice grew cold. “Janie would never forgive me if I had to harm you.”
“Ha!” he chuckled. “And you would no doubt tell her, wouldn’t you?”
“I would.”
He stepped back. “Well, you have naught to fear from me, wench. I will not touch you.”
She smiled at him. “I did not fear you, Perrin. I fear no man.”
He crooked a brow at her. “Not even Garrick?”
“Especially not Garrick.”
“You would be wise to, mistress,” he replied seriously. “Do not take him as lightly as you seem to.”
With that he turned and departed, leaving her wondering over his unexpected warning.
Garrick sat alone at the long table, finishing a hearty stew and brooding on his solitude. Dog lay at his feet, his tail thumping noisily on the cold floor, waiting patiently for a scrap of meat. Most times Garrick enjoyed the peaceful quiet, but at other times like now, he almost wished he had remained at his parents’ home instead of moving to this cold, empty house. He missed the warmth of his family, of good talk and companionship. He did not even have Yarmille to keep him company at meals, for she only stayed at his house when he was away. When he was here, she lived at her home with her son. And now that he had fewer slaves for her to supervise, she only came twice a week to give them instructions.
Garrick absently speared a chunk of venison and gave it to the shepherd. Soon the servants would finish their duties in the house and return to their quarters for the night. Then he would be completely alone in this big house, with only Dog to follow him to bed.
Three years ago he had thought it would be different. How wrong he was. He had hopes of a new family that would add pleasure to his life. Sons that he could watch grow, a loving wife to warm his bed. A bigger fool never lived than was sitting at this table! Now he would never have a woman to share his life. He would never trust one enough to give his love to her. He would not ever leave himself open to that hurt again.
Dog perked up his head when Janie’s shrill giggles came from the cooking area. A moment later Perrin came into the hall, a satisfied smile on his lips. He hailed Garrick and joined him at the table.
“I swear you spend more time with that wench when you come to visit than you do with me,” Garrick said good-naturedly, glad to be interrupted in his brooding.
“I admit I find her company more pleasing than yours. Your disposition is usually too sour, when hers is oh, so sweet.” Perrin laughed.
“Humph! I should have known she was the only reason you came,” Garrick replied, pretending to be affronted. “Off with you, then. I free her from her duties to await your pleasure.”
“You wound me, Garrick,” Perrin said, bringing his hands to his heart to emphasize his point. “’Tis a sorry day when a man seeks a woman’s company over that of a trusted friend.”
“Aye,” Garrick returned, no longer teasing. Then he smiled. “So what has kept you away so long? I missed you at the feast and have not seen you since we returned home.”
“I have been harvesting what few fields I have. Unlike you, I have not so many slaves that I need not bother with the crops myself.”
“You should have asked for help, Perrin. My fields were harvested a month ago. The slaves had naught better to do, nor had I.”
“Mayhaps next year I will—but for a price.”
“Bah! You wish to put a price on friendship? Now ’tis you who wounds me!”
“I will hold you to it then, Garrick, if you return from the East in time.”
Surprise crossed Garrick’s features. “You will not sail with me in the spring?”
“I have not decided yet,” Perrin answered soberly. “My mother did not fare well during the winter with me away.”
“We did well our first time at trading,” Garrick replied.
“Mayhaps we did tarry too long with the Slavs so that we had to stay. But that should not happen again.”
“That, only Odin can say for sure,” Perrin admitted. “We will see.”
Janie came in with tankards of ale and both men fell silent. Garrick saw the look that passed between Perrin and the girl, and almost envied the relationship they shared. He wished he could take a wench so lightly, without committing himself.
When Janie left, Perrin grinned and leaned closer to Garrick. “I happened upon your new slave on the way here.”
“Oh?”
“Aye. I stopped by the women’s quarters first to see if Janie was there, but instead I found that black-haired beauty at her bath.”
Garrick’s eyes darkened. “And?”
“I wonder why you put her from you when your bed is big enough for two.”
“Humph!” Garrick grunted. “You must not have had words with her or you wouldn’t have asked that. She is a rose indeed, but her thorns are too sharp for my liking.”
“Oh, I had words with her—quite a few,” Perrin smiled.
“She boldly teased me, in fact, only to turn around and threaten me if I should touch her.”
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