“Why should I miss you? You are not the only man around here, Viking.”
The coldness that came instantly to his eyes shocked her. “You will not dally with any man save me.”
Now anger flared in Brenna and black smoke gathered in her eyes. “And what of your friends? I was told you allow them to bed any female slave you own!”
He grinned at that. “Do you at last agree I own you, Brenna?”
“Nay, but your loathsome friends think you do!” she retorted hotly.
“Well, you need have no fear on that score, mistress. They will not bother you.”
“You will tell them to leave me be, then?” she asked in surprise.
“Aye.”
“Why will you do this?” she questioned skeptically. “Certainly not for me.”
“’Tis enough that I do not choose to share you yet,” he admitted in a careless tone.
Brenna’s eyes darkened even more. “Yet—yet! You are contemptible! When you tire of me, you will just throw me to the wolves, eh? Well, let me tell you something. You have given me your warning not to dally. Now I give you mine. If I find a man I desire, I will have him, be he slave or freeman. You will not stop me!”
“I will have you whipped, mistress,” he said coldly.
“Then do it now, damn you, Viking!” she stormed. “I will not be threatened!”
“You would like that, eh?” He took her wrists and spread her arms out on the bed, leaning down close to her. “You have a clever way of distracting me from my purpose, wench.”
“That was not my intent!” she cried in frustration, squirming beneath him.
“Then be still.”
Brenna felt tears well in her eyes as he released one hand to raise her skirt, then moved to lower his trousers. She felt like a whore. She felt dirty, but he wouldn’t understand.
“I hate you, Garrick!” she hissed, trying desperately to stop her tears of weakness.
He said nothing as he nudged her knees open, then fell between them. But when he finally looked down at her face again and saw the tears, he froze.
“Why do you cry?” he asked in a surprisingly soft voice. “Did I hurt you?”
“Nay, I can stand what pain you inflict.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“I never cry!” she snapped childishly.
“You deny the tears that fall from your eyes, Brenna?” He shook his head. “Is it because I am intent on making love to you again?”
“You do not make love, Viking. You force yourself on an unwilling victim.”
“Would you let me make love to you?”
“I—nay, I would not.”
He bent down and kissed the tears that fell on her temples. “Then why do you mention it?” he asked softly.
“You would not understand.”
“Ah, but I do,” he said, and held her face between his hands, then kissed her softly. “You would rather I made love to you gently than force you.” He lowered his lips to her neck. “But more than that, you would rather I not have you at all.” He kissed her lips again, passionately this time, and her arms circled his neck without her knowing it. “Is this not so, Brenna?”
She felt like a puppet in his hands and answered mechanically. “Yea, you are right.”
“Then go.”
Brenna opened her eyes wide, the sensuous spell now broken. “What?”
He rolled to her side and fastened his trousers. “You may go. Is it not what you want?”
“But I do not understand,” she replied, her surprise evident as she quickly got off the bed and faced him. “You don’t want me anymore?”
He laughed. “You tell me you hate me, that you do not wish my attentions, and when I grant your wish, you argue with me. Make up your mind, Brenna. Have you had a change of heart?”
Her gray eyes widened even more. “Oh!” she gasped and stalked from the room.
Brenna hurried down the stairs and met Janie on her way into the hall, her hands full of empty tankards. On hearing Garrick leave his room, she stopped Janie and offered, “I will take those in.” Quickly she took the tankards, before Janie could refuse.
When she entered the hall, she groaned inwardly as she saw who the tankards were for. Anselm and Hugh had arrived, along with Bayard and two other men. Brenna gritted her teeth and continued to the long table where the men were gathered.
When she passed Perrin, he winked at her, which made her smile despite herself. She handed tankards to the two men she did not know. They dipped them into the enormous cauldron filled with foaming mead that sat on the table. Then she set one beside Bayard, who was, fortunately, involved in a discussion with Gorm, and did not notice her. When she came at last to Anselm and Hugh, her expression was filled with loathing as she set the tankards down by them, but this quickly changed to a tight smile when she met Garrick’s eyes as he took his place at the table.
In the next moment Brenna gasped as Hugh grabbed her about the waist and pulled her down on his lap. “So you tamed the vixen after all, brother,” Hugh said to Garrick, chuckling. “I would not have thought it possible.”
“Did I not say I would?” Garrick replied.
Brenna forced herself to remain still. If it were anyone but Hugh who held her, she might even consider flirting with him. But not with Hugh, whom she despised.
“You have had her for three months now and you are seldom home to make use of her anyway. Why not sell her to me?” Hugh offered. “I will give you three of my finest horses—four if you insist.”
Brenna watched Garrick closely for his answer. His brows were knitted together in thought, his hands clasped over his middle as he slouched back in his chair. When he did not answer immediately, Brenna felt panic rise within her. She had not considered that he might sell her. She realized with dread that he really did own her. He had the right to sell her and she could not say yea or nay.
Brenna was about to disclose her secret, that she knew what Hugh had offered and plead with Garrick to refuse him. But Hugh’s impatient voice stopped her. “Well, what say you, brother?”
“You could have had the girl for naught, but you chose her sister instead,” Garrick reminded him.
“In truth, I did not think she would ever be manageable. I wanted a spirited wench, but this one nearly bit my tongue off when I tried her out. But yet you have tamed her, it appears.”
“So you have changed your mind, eh? Methinks you would start a harem as those caliphs have in the East. ’Tis fortunate you have a timid wife who does not mind your dalliances, Hugh.”
Laughter resounded round the table from those who were listening, and even Anselm joined in. All but Hugh were amused, and Brenna cringed as his hold tightened around her waist.
“You have not given an answer, Garrick,” Hugh said in a cold voice.
“Why do you want the girl?” Garrick asked seriously. “She is not as agreeable as you believe. Her tongue is as sharp as the blade of your sword, but of course, you would not understand her. She is obstinate, defiant, stubborn to a fault and decidedly hot-tempered. Her only attribute is that she is comely.”
“The reasons you have just given are why I want her. I admire her spirit.”
“You would cripple her, Hugh, for you would not have patience with her stubbornness,” Garrick said sharply, then softened his tone and added, “Still, it matters not, for I have no desire to sell her yet.”
“Then I will take my pleasure with the vixen now,” Hugh said and rose from the table, one huge arm still around Brenna’s slim waist.
Garrick came to his feet also, his countenance darkly threatening. “Nay, brother, I will not sell her or share her either.”
Hugh hesitated for a moment. Then he chuckled nervously and, releasing Brenna, sat down again. Brenna stood frozen, feeling the tension in the room like a weight around her neck.
Anselm had been quiet while his sons argued, but now he cleared his throat and addressed Hugh sternly. “Be content with the fiery-haired wench
Both sons looked at their father incredulously.
“You have already said you could not trust her in your household for fear she would try to kill you,” Garrick reminded his father. “Why would you want to buy her back?”
“I gave her to you with the hope you would want to keep her, but if you do not, then I would see her free rather than have the wench belong to someone else.”
“You would pay me the fortune I would demand, just to set her free?” Garrick asked.
“Yea, I would.”
“’Tis unheard of, father!” Hugh protested.
“Nonetheless, I would do it.”
Brenna stared at Anselm in astonishment. Again she must be thankful to him. Damn him! How could she kill him now, knowing this?
“Go see to the food, mistress!” Garrick ordered in an unreasonably sharp tone.
Brenna turned to see him scowling at her and reasoned that he was not too pleased with his father’s words.
“You need not shout, Viking. There is naught wrong with my hearing,” she admonished him haughtily and turned to leave. She stopped by Perrin first and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “’Twould appear you must wait forever to find him in a good mood. Poor Janie.”
“Poor me,” he whispered back at her, his expression full of woe. Then he grinned. “’Twould help matters if you would but smile at him.”
Brenna straightened and laughed aloud. “Shame upon you, Perrin, for even suggesting such a thing.”
She then left for the cooking area, unaware that Garrick followed her with his eyes, now become the dark color of turbulent waters in the deep sea.
In all her years, Brenna wondered if she would ever again see anything as beautiful as the northern lights. She gazed in wonder at the swirling violet mist in the sky. The ground, the buildings, everything about her was painted a bright, glowing violet. Who would ask for a sun to light the way, when they could have such magnificent displays of color instead. If only it were not so cold, Brenna would have stayed and watched the glowing mists indefinitely. But it was cold—freezing, in fact.
“Come on, Coran, before my feet turn to ice and me along with them.”
She hurried along with the young man. He too was bathed in violet and looked as though he belonged on a tapestry.
It was a stroke of luck when Coran asked her if any more supplies were needed from the storehouse before he retired for the night. There was really nothing needed that couldn’t wait till morning, but Brenna made the excuse that they were low on rye for bread, and it they fetched it now, Coran could sleep later in the morning.
Brenna made him wait while she got two sacks from the small storage area behind the stairs where food and spices were kept. She hid one of these sacks beneath her cape, then told Coran she would accompany him in case she saw something else they might need.
This was the opportunity she had hoped for. She could get weapons that she would hide away until she needed them. And if she could find a lighter cape she would exchange hers, though she had to admit now that the heavier one did keep her warm.
Brenna was thankful it was late and the other women were busy in the hall, clearing away the remains of the roasted bear that had been served earlier.
Coran unlocked the sturdy door to the storehouse and quickly lit the candle that was just inside. Brenna was disappointed to see that the room contained only foodstuffs, but was amply filled indeed. A large vat like the one outside the house in which rain water was collected in warmer weather was full almost to the brim with barley, and another was filled with oats. Salted meat was hung from the rafters—small game that Garrick had caught. There were barrels of rye, and one full of mountain apples and other dried fruits. Large sacks containing peas, onions and nuts, and many smaller sacks of herbs and spices were on shelves built on the walls. What Brenna was after was obviously behind another locked door, the one at the back of the storehouse, where a smaller room had been added.
“What is back there, Coran?” Brenna asked innocently enough, pointing to the closed door.
“’Tis where Master Garrick keeps his wealth.”
“Do you have the key?”
“Aye,” Coran answered. “But ’tis forbidden to use it unless ordered.”
“Have you never used it?”
“Of course,” he replied proudly. “Four times each year I clean and polish the weapons kept there. And ’tis where I put the furs after they are tanned.”
“Could you open the door now, Coran? I would love to have just one look.”
“Nay, I cannot.”
“Please, Coran,” Brenna said very sweetly. “The master need never know. I could look about while you fill the sack with grain.”
Coran shook his head slowly. It was obvious he was terribly afraid to do as Brenna asked. However, she was determined to get inside that room.
“I must not, Mistress Brenna. ’Twould mean a whipping if the master found out, mayhaps worse.”
“But he won’t find out, I promise,” Brenna persisted. “He is making merry in the hall at present, and does not even know we are here. Please, Coran—for me.”
He hesitated only a few seconds more, then smiled timidly. “Very well. But only for as long as it takes me to fill this sack.” He moved to the door and opened it. “And you must not touch anything.”
Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Coran. I will not forget this.”
His cheeks reddened, and he ducked his head bashfully and went to fill the sack.
Brenna threw the door open wide to let the candlelight filter into the smaller room. She had expected treasures, but not the abundance that she could see even in the dim light. There was a small pile of furs, which would grow high before spring, and beside this was an open coffer filled with exquisite material: silk, brocades, velvets made of the finest fabrics. On a shelf against the wall were beautiful chalices made of brass, silver and even gold, and inlaid with jewels. Beside them were carved and engraved silver platters and tankards.
On a long table were many oddities of value, statues of marble and ivory, gold candle-holders, tiny brass incense burners, a jeweled cross a foot in length, ivory chessmen, and many other treasures. In a carved teakwood chest lined with velvet that sat on the center of the table, Brenna saw jewelry that dazzled her senses: necklaces of rubies and diamonds, armbands of gold and silver studded with gems or delicately carved. Another chest was open on the floor, and filled with gold and silver coins.
Finally the weapons caught Brenna’s eye. Hanging from the two side walls were arms of every description. Crossbows and arrows, spears of different lengths, axes and broadswords, spiked clubs and, on a special rack, jeweled daggers. Brenna went over to these and took one inlaid with amber stones. Perhaps the amber, which was reputedly Thor’s favorite stone, would protect her. Not that she would need Thor’s help.
Brenna looked at the crossbows, which she was expert in handling. She took one, along with a supply of arrows. She put these in the sack tied to her belt, and stuck a sword through her belt. It was not as lightweight as her own had been, but that precious sword was no more.
Brenna started to leave the room, her sack full, but a pair of black leather boots caught her eye. Her own! Next to these on a shelf were her clothes, the ones she had worn to bury her father. She was still wearing them when she lost the most important battle of her life to Anselm Haardrad.
Brenna quickly grabbed these, then pulled her cape tightly about her and left the room just as Coran approached.
“I had not realized Garrick was such a rich man,” Brenna commented uncomfortably. She prayed Garrick would not notice the missing weapons.
“Aye, ’tis not many who know this.”
“But he is so young to have accumulated so much wealth. He must have raided often in his youth.”
Coran grinned. “Nay. Most of what you saw he brought with him from the East. Our master is a crafty tradesman.”
After Coran locked the doors, they returned to the house together. Hearing the sounds of revelry still coming from the hall, Brenna bid Coran goodnight and went quickly upstairs to the sewing room.
Though it was the middle of the night, Brenna was still wide awake. She turned over and burrowed deeper into the furs. There was a small fireplace in the room, but she had not bothered to light a fire in it. Now she wished she had. It was odd, but she could not remember ever being cold at home. Yet there had been chilling winters there too.
Home—so far away. No one was left there to make it home for her. She missed her father terribly. If he were alive, he would be moving heaven and earth to find her. A comforting thought, but not realistic. She missed Linnet, too, who was so close, yet unreachable. And God forbid, she even missed her stepsister.
If these self-pitying thoughts do not stop, I will be crying soon, Brenna chided herself. A moment later, she heard the stairs creak under a great weight and Garrick bellowed out her name from down the corridor.
“Brenna!” he yelled again.
“By the saints, Viking, must you shout the house down?” Brenna said to herself as she went to open the door. She called out to him in a soft whisper, “I am here. You have no doubt aroused your mother with your blustering,” she added as he came over to stand before her. “Did you consider that?”
“That good woman is used to being roused from sleep during a feast,” Garrick answered in a loud voice which made Brenna grimace.
“By her husband, yea, but not by a drunken son,” she scolded quietly. “Now what did you want?”
“I am not drunk, mistress,” he said evenly enough, his dimples showing as he grinned. “To answer your inquiry, I want you,” he added as he laughed and grabbed her about the waist, lifting her from the floor and carrying her against his hip to his room. Once inside, he set her down. She backed away from him toward the divan while he closed the door. When he faced her he grinned, but did not approach her.
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