Fires of Winter

by Johanna Lindsey

  “So you came back,” Cedric said in a voice that held contempt. “You are like all my women, swooning when faced with a little pain. I had hoped you would be different, wench, that you could endure what I mete out.”

  The horrid memory of blinding pain shot through her mind. She looked down at her breasts and saw that small bruises had already formed where his fingers had dug into her skin. She quickly pulled her shift together, but it would not stay.

  “You are an animal!” she hissed, her blood racing with poisonous hate.

  Cedric chuckled evilly at her outburst. “You do not appreciate my methods of finding pleasure? You will, Brenna,” he said confidently, his voice rising with excitement. “In time you will love what I do to you, and the many different ways I will take you. You will find pleasure in exquisite pain, and beg me to inflict more.”

  Her stomach churned in revulsion. She would have to kill him, there was no doubt of that now. But how soon? What would she have to suffer before she found her chance?

  He was an evil monster with a warped mind. She stared at him in morbid fascination, revolted, yet unable to take her eyes away. The scars that covered his arms and torso were nothing compared to a long, horrid gash on his hip. And next to that was his protruding manhood, throbbing with anger—a shaft so swollen she knew it would indeed inflict much pain. Had it already? Was it now standing tall to have her again? She had to know. If the damage was already done, she could never return to Garrick without unbearable shame, knowing that what they might have had would never come to pass.

  She bit her lip, her misery intense. “Did you—” She could not bear to ask it, but she had to. She closed her eyes and rushed on. “Did you have me yet?”

  He laughed at her question. “Do you doubt it?”

  She cried out in anguish, but then she heard him laugh even harder. “Nay, wench. I will not have a woman unless she can feel every inch of my sword. She must know who has mastered her, and you will know now.”

  Brenna sighed with a relief that she felt for only a second. She realized with dread that she was in the same position as before, no closer to her hidden dagger. This time he was not on her yet, though he was ready. When he bent down, Brenna quickly scrambled away from him, using her feet and elbows to push her backward. But he was still too close for her to try to rise and run. In the next moment, with the mighty yell of a victorous warrior, he leaped on her.

  Brenna’s breath was lost when his body fell on her full force. She fought the black waves that clouded her mind once again. She felt terror-stricken, sure she could delay him no longer. Instead of trying to ward him off with her hands, she reached frantically behind her, praying she had moved close enough to her weapon.

  At first she felt nothing but smooth dirt beneath the rug, and she panicked. Cedric was already trying to pry her legs apart with one knee and he quickly succeeded. At the same moment, Brenna’s fingers finally touched the cold blade of her dagger and she pulled it to her until she grasped the hilt.

  Brenna would have cut his throat smoothly at that moment had he not become suspicious of why she was not resisting him. As it was, he saw her arm beneath the rug and the blade when she brought it out. He clasped her wrist and pinned her hand to the floor by her head, applying brutal pressure until she felt her own grasp weakening. She held on as if her very life depended on it, and as far as she could see, it did. She could not fail now, not when she was so close.

  He raised himself up on his knees, and with his free hand, formed a fist and prepared to inflict a stunning blow. He was furious. In Brenna’s mind flashed the further tortures he would mete out if she failed.

  In a last effort, before his fist came down and rendered her unconscious again, she tried to dislodge him by finally utilizing the rest of her body. She brought her legs up forcefully, and even though only one struck him, this propelled Cedric forward with a cry of pain.

  Brenna was startled by the outcome, for she knew not how her one movement had crumbled her mighty opponent. But finish him it did, for he fell forward onto the upraised dagger and lay motionless. Her relief was so great that she could barely breathe with his chest covering her face.

  It required a decided effort to finally pull herself out from beneath him. Still he did not move. If he was not dead now, he soon would be, and she felt no regret. Her sin could not be that great, for if any man deserved to die, this one did. She thought of the many women he had bragged about misusing and thanked God she had escaped without too much damage. They would not mourn his death any more than she would.

  These thoughts went through Brenna’s mind, but her body reacted in a different manner. As she stared down at the blood slowly covering the floor beneath Cedric, she was overcome with nausea. She turned away and lost all the contents of her stomach, then continued to retch painfully even when there was nothing left to spill forth.

  At last she rose, even though her stomach still rebelled. She realized that time was her new enemy. Arno might return at any moment, and then she would be in an even worse position than heretofore. She had killed a Viking, a freeman—and worse, the son of a chieftain. If she were found now, her life would be over. Arno would raise the alarm and she would be hunted down, but if she could reach Garrick first, he would protect her.

  In a burst of speed, Brenna gathered up anything that would be useful, food, covers, Cedric’s weapons, the rope that Arno had used to tie her at night, and to be on the safe side, flint. She put all this in a large rug and tied it into a bundle. Grabbing her cloak, she ran out of the house. She quickly found the crude shelter that housed Willow, but did not bother with the saddle that was there, only throwing a heavy blanket over Willow’s back. She found a sack of oats and added this to her bundle, then mounted Willow and rode out of the shelter.

  The sky was dusky blue, starless. She prayed Arno’s house faced the fjord, for she rode in that direction. In the distance, to the left, she saw Arno astride his horse, coming home. He saw her too and Brenna suddenly felt as if all she had done was for naught. But he did not make to ride toward her. In fact, he stopped and simply watched her leave.

  Brenna did not waste precious time wondering over this. Arno was no doubt in shock, realizing what had happened. She rode on, urging Willow to greater speed. Before she disappeared into a crop of trees, she looked back and saw Arno racing to his house.

  How much time would she have now? Arno would call others to assist in the hunt, and that would give her a little time, for he would have to first convince them that a woman was responsible for Cedric’s death. His death was an accident, even though she had wanted to kill him, but this would not help her cause. Dear Lord, to escape the smoke only to end in the fire!

  Brenna rode on, endlessly, it seemed. She did not stop or slow her pace until she finally heard the rolling waters of the fjord in the distance. She began to fear that she might have gone south, instead of north. She could not bear to think of her chances if this were so. As it was, she was still at a loss as to how she would cross the fjord and return to safety. She would need Garrick’s help. In her mind, she saw his house situated on the cliff, and wondered whether, if she called from the opposite cliff, she would be heard. It was possible, and this gave her hope.

  She approached the fjord cautiously. She was on a flat bank that reached the water’s edge. Across the water were dense woods. She could see no sign of a rising cliff that would lead home. Brenna was desolate. She did not know how far inland they had sailed on the ship, nor how far they had backtracked on land. She had ridden directly north, or at least she prayed it was north.

  “Merciful God, show me which way I should go!” Brenna cried aloud.

  As if in answer, Willow turned left and moved along the bank of the fjord. Tears came to Brenna’s eyes.

  “Please be right, Willow. Please!”

  Brenna was unmindful of the cold, except when her cloak fell open and the icy air touched her bare skin. Her bundle was wrapped loosely enough so that it fell on both sides of Wil
low. Brenna did not have to worry over holding it in place, so she used one hand to cling to Willow’s mane and the other to keep her cloak together.

  The hour was unknown to her until stars finally appeared. She did not know how long she had ridden. One hour? Two? At last she recognized the landscape across from her, and very near, the stone house on the cliff. It was all she could do to contain her joy. Deep waters separated her from her love, but he would conquer that and she would be safe again.

  She reached the top of the cliff, dismounted immediately and began to scream Garrick’s name. Only after some time passed without a response did she begin to wonder if he were home. He could very well be out searching for her. Yet someone must be there, for smoke came from the chimney. With all the doors closed against the cold, could they hear her cries for help?

  All of her earlier happiness dissolved. She was getting nowhere. Her cries were surely not reaching the house now, for her voice was hoarse, her throat so sore she could hardly bear the pain. To come this far and be this close, and yet not be heard or seen. Even if someone came from the house now, she doubted she could make a noise loud enough to draw their attention.

  Brenna sank down on the ground and fell prey to despair. Tears fell unchecked, then she burst into ragged sobs. What should she do now? She could not stay here and wait for morning when someone might leave the house—Arno would find her before then. Yet how could she ever get home without help? She could not swim or man a ship. And to cross the fjord in a small craft would mean leaving Willow behind. Yet that seemed her only course. Already she grieved at the solution she had come to. But then, she would have to find a boat first.

  Brenna mounted and rode back the way she had come.

  Brenna did not sleep that first night. She rode on past the landing where the Viking ship floated in a small bay. There was no other craft there, so she continued east along the fjord, riding till her back ached and her legs lost all feeling. Her stomach had long since stopped demanding nourishment.

  Finally, sometime the following morning, Brenna stopped, for Willow’s sake, not hers. She quickly fed the horse and herself and rubbed Willow down, then cut thin strips from the fur rug before covering Willow with it. Brenna poked holes with Cedric’s sword along the edges of her shift, then, using the leather strips, tied her shift together as best she could. Curling up in a ball beside Willow, she slept for a few hours.

  So it went for days. Little sleep, hurried meals and a constant fear of being found. Soon her rations diminished and she was forced to hunt game. She thanked God now that she had taken flint for fire and would not have to eat raw meat. So far she had done without the warmth of a fire at night, too fearful that her hunters were close. Now she had no choice.

  On the sixth day, Brenna gave up hope of finding a boat. She was not crushed, for this meant she would keep Willow with her. However, it left her only one other course, to reach the end of the fjord and circle around it. This would either bring her home eventually, or she would die in the wilderness. She had little hope left, and as more days passed and the fjord seemed to stretch endlessly, she lost even that.

  She continued on without thinking simply because she had no other alternative. At times she walked beside Willow, wearing away the wool coverings she had made for her feet. She hunted game only when she became so weak from hunger that she could not go on. Twice she gave up and collapsed, only to have Willow nudge her back to life. That faithful beast was not ready to let her die. When at last her body, full of countless aches and pains, would move no more, Brenna fell into a sleep that lasted a full day and night. Even Willow’s gentle prodding did not stir her.

  She woke at last, not refreshed and ready to go on, but so disheartened that she would not move, preferring to wait where she was for death to come and claim her. She lay there, covered with blankets that did little to keep out the cold, her limbs so numb she no longer felt pain.

  Willow tried her best to attract Brenna’s attention, but the girl closed her eyes tight, willing her beloved mare to go away and leave her to die in peace. When at last Willow did trot away, Brenna looked up to see her go, only then feeling a sense of loss. It was then she saw the lake for the first time, magnificent in its size, nestled at the base of the mountains. It was the end of the fjord.

  It took a full day to round the lake. This was the most hazardous and frightening part of her journey. In many areas she had to wade in the shallows, for jagged rocks from the mountain’s edge blocked her way. The warm current did not reach this far inland, and Brenna was threatened with frostbite as she waited for her clothes to dry.

  She crossed barren land where no game wandered. Through all this was the terrible snow, still clinging to the ground from the last storm. She had to dig through it to find nourishment for Willow once the oats were gone. Then she had to leave her course and go further north in search of food for herself. She passed streams and frozen lakes, and cursed the low mountain hills that slowed her pace. Once she found game, the journey was not so difficult, for she fashioned a crude bow by shredding her rope into thin strings, and with the ax carved adequate arrows. Finding game was the tiring task. She wondered how Garrick managed to bring so many pelts home in winter.

  With each step closer to home, her disposition improved greatly. She no longer felt hopeless and lost, but sure that she would make it. The cuts and blisters, the aching joints, these nuisances had become so much a part of her that they went unnoticed. There would be time enough to tend all her hurts, to regain the many pounds she had lost. Garrick would care for her and nurse her back to health. She would quickly grow strong in his love. And he did love her. Even though he did not admit it yet, he would in time.

  These thoughts urged her on whenever she began to despair. It made the hardships bearable, knowing that he would be there for her at the end of her journey. How he must have worried over her and scoured the countryside in search of her. He must have given up hope by now. It would make their reunion that much sweeter.

  When she at last came to lands that she knew, her relief and joy gave her added strength. If Willow were not in the same poor condition as she was, she would have raced the remaining distance. As it was, it took her another two hours till she finally topped the last hill, at the bottom of which sat Garrick’s house. Such a welcome sight, one she thought never to see again.

  Erin was in the stable when she opened the door and dragged Willow inside. The look he gave her was not merely one of surprise, but disbelief.

  “You have come back from the dead,” he said fearfully, his old face pale.

  Brenna found the strength to laugh feebly. “Nay, I did not die, though many is the time I wanted to.”

  He shook his head, staring at her with something akin to pity. “You should not have run away, lass.”

  “What?”

  “Nor, having done so, should you have returned.”

  She smiled at his misconception. “I did not run away, Erin. I was taken away by two Vikings from across the fjord.”

  He wanted to believe her, but all evidence said she lied. Yet he would not be the one to accuse her.

  “You look wasted away, lass. I will prepare food for you.”

  “Nay, I will eat at the house. Is Garrick home?” When he nodded uncertainly, she went on. “You know, I called from across the fjord, but no one heard me. I could not stay there, though, for I had killed one of the men who took me away, a chieftain’s son, I believe he was.” She looked dazed, trying to remember it all.

  “Do you know what you are saying, Brenna?”

  She did not seem to hear him. “I lost count of the days I traveled round the fjord. How long have I been gone, Erin?”

  “Nearly six weeks.”

  “That long?”

  “Brenna—”

  “Care for Willow, Erin. She has endured as much as I and needs a gentle hand. I must see Garrick now. I can wait no longer.”

  “Brenna, lass, do not go to the house.”

  She saw his co
ncern and it puzzled her. “Why should I not?”

  “You will not be welcome there.”

  “Do not be absurd, Erin.” Then she frowned. “Does Garrick also think I ran away?”

  “Yea.”

  “Then more is the reason I should see him quickly. He must know the truth.”

  “Brenna, please—”

  “’Twill be all right, Erin,” she cut him off and started for the door.

  “Then I will come with you.”

  The house was warm from the blazing cooking fires. Tantalizing aromas filled the air, making Brenna weak with hunger. In all her weeks away, she had not had a single filling meal, always having to ration because she never knew when she would find more food.

  Janie was the first to see her and immediately stopped what she was doing. Her eyes filled slowly with fear, but Brenna smiled and hugged her old friend. They said not a word, though, for Brenna was conserving her strength and Janie was too frightened to speak. Brenna went on into the hall, leaving Erin to explain.

  Garrick was bent over the fire in the hall, jabbing at the burning wood as if he were attacking an unknown enemy. Brenna took a moment to look her fill at him before she moved closer and stood behind him. He turned quickly when he sensed her presence, and they stared at each other for a long while. She saw the surprise in his eyes, then the anger, but she could contain herself no longer and she threw herself against him, clinging to him with what little strength she had left.

  She felt his body stiffen, and his arms did not return her embrace. Slowly he pushed her away from him.

  “So you returned.”

  She could not bear the look in his eyes or the tone of his voice. There was hatred there, not just anger.

  “Did you lose your way?” Garrick continued in that same bitter tone. “Or mayhaps you finally realized that you could not survive in the wilderness alone.”