After a week, Heloise came as promised. Brenna recognized her voice and that of Yarmille as they approached the room. As they entered, Heloise stopped short when she saw Brenna trussed on the bed, but Yarmille continued to walk into the room.
"You see," Yarmille said, her voice condescending. "As I told you, she is but a nuisance."
Heloise came closer, her eyes cold. "Is this the way you treat my son's property, to tie her up like an animal?" she demanded angrily.
"Ogden said she had the look of a runaway," Yarmille explained. "I only made sure she would be here on Garrick's return."
"Runaway?" Heloise shook her head in exasperation. "Where would she go? There is no place. Nor do we know when Garrick will return. It could be months yet. Would you keep the girl like this indefinitely?"
"I—"
"Look at her!" Heloise said sharply. "She is pale and has grown thinner in only a week's time. Have you no sense, woman? This girl will be a valuable asset to my son. He can sell her at market for a high price, or he can keep her for his own pleasure, but he will not appreciate the way you have taken her under your care in his absence."
Yarmille could see the truth in this and she paled slightly. It would not do for the girl to waste away during her confinement. At once she became furious with the girl for putting her in this predicament, but she hid this successfully beneath the tight smile she gave Heloise.
"You are right. I will see to the girl myself henceforth. This one will greatly please Garrick. She may even make him forget about Morna, do you not agree?"
"That, old friend, is doubtful," Heloise replied stiffly before she turned to Brenna. "You will be untied, child, but you must not attempt to escape from here. Do you understand?" she asked softly. "There is nowhere for you to go."
Brenna could not respond to the kind words, for they offered little hope, especially after these two women had just discussed her as if she were a piece of property. She turned her head away.
Heloise sat down on the bed. "This stubborn silence does you no good, Brenna. I had hoped you would be at least a little reconciled to your new home by now. Anselm thought you would please Garrick. If you. make the effort, 'twill go well for you."
Brenna would not face her, but Heloise did not give up. "If you have fears, speak to me of them. Mayhaps I can relieve them. Brenna?" She hesitated, then added, "My son will not be difficult to serve. He is not demanding or cruel. Mayhaps you will even like him and find happiness here."
Brenna's head snapped around, her eyes glowing like polished silver. "Never!" she hissed, surprising both women with the force of her tone and the fact that she did indeed have a tongue. "I have no fear, mistress. 'Tis you who will have reason to fear, for you will rue the day you tried to make a slave of me! Blood will flow from it, no doubt that of your precious Garrick!"
"What did she say?" Yarmille demanded.
Heloise shook her head and sighed. "She is still overly bitter, but 'twill not last. She will soon find she has no alternative but to bend—a little, anyway."
"And in the meantime?" Yarmille asked.
Heloise looked at Brenna thoughtfully, meeting her defiant gaze. "Will you behave if you are given the freedom of this room?"
"I make no promises!" Brenna retorted hotly and turned away again.
"Can you not be reasonable?"
Brenna would say no more, and Heloise gave up at last and left. Yarmille, however, remained.
"Well, Brenna Carmarham, now that her highness has departed, there is no need to free you just yet. This eve will be soon enough," Yarmille said woodenly, though she spoke for her own benefit, never dreaming that Brenna understood her perfectly. "Tomorrow you will be given extra food to put some meat on your bones, and taken out to air—just like a rug, you might say." She laughed at her own jest before she walked out of the room.
Brenna would have killed the woman if she had a sword in hand and was not still hindered by the cursed ropes. Of all the hypocritical, vile, loathsome creatures! Later she would be freed, at least, and on the morrow she would make plans to escape. They were fools to trust her!
Chapter 9
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THE great Viking longship moved up the fjord like a huge dragon with oars for wings, and floated peacefully to its home. The men wished to cheer and make a ruckus as they passed Anselm's landing, but Garrick stopped them. Though the midnight sun hovered like a large ball of fire on the horizon, it was still the middle of night, and nearly everyone would be sleeping soundly. There would be time aplenty on the morrow for revelry and the greetings of old friends. But for now Garrick wanted to be home, to sleep the remainder of the night in his own bed.
The men would stay the night at Garrick's house. In the morning they would go on to their homes, collect their families and return to Garrick's for a gala celebration. Exhaustion lay heavily on them all, for they had fought a storm that ended only hours earlier.
Two men elected to stay on the ship, since the cargo would not be unloaded that night. The others followed Garrick up the narrow cliff path, carrying only essentials with them. The house was dark and silent, for the weather was not yet cold enough to leave fires burning through the night Sunlight streamed in through the open door, giving them ample light to make their way about without banging into the long tables and benches which filled the hall.
Garrick made his way up the darkened stairs with little difficulty, for he knew this house well, having spent a good part of his youth here with his grandfather. On the second floor were four rooms: his own, the large master chamber on one side of the stairs; a small sewing room on the other side; across the wide corridor, a guest room furnished with two large beds; and the room given to Yarmille, his housekeeper. At the end of the corridor at the rear of the house was a door which opened onto stone steps leading outside. The door was there mainly to let in the fresh air of summer, but Garrick was rarely home at that time to enjoy it.
He opened the door now to light the corridor, then returned to the hall for some of his men, Perrin included, to show them to the guest room. The others would bed down in the hall on benches, hard beds being more to their liking.
Finally Garrick entered his own chamber. Here the backless couch, reportedly from the Orient, and the two thronelike chairs he had purchased at Hedeby would be brought. At present, the spacious room was poorly furnished by only his huge bed, a single high-backed chair, and a large coffer. No rugs, save an old bearskin, warmed the cold floor, and no coverings adorned the walls. This would be rectified once the cargo from the ship was unloaded, for Garrick had purchased extravagantly for his home in order to give the cold stone chambers some semblance of comfort.
Scant rays from the corridor lit the room. Garrick made his way to the large door opposite, which opened onto a small stone balcony. A majestic view met his eyes. The fjord lay far below in shadowy splendor. To the west was the deep blue of the ocean; the dark purple and gray of the mountains spread to the east. But most stunning of all was the orange fireball of the sun which hung low on the horizon.
Garrick stood there for many minutes before he again felt the exhaustion of his body. Leaving the balcony door open, which flooded the room with light, he crossed the chamber to close the door before turning to his bed. There, on the white ermine spread made by his mother from skins he brought her, lay the small form of a girl curled into a ball, looking ever so tiny in the center of the large bed.
Garrick stopped in his tracks. Her long black hair fanned out on the white ermine and hid her face. Her figure was obscure, wrapped in a woolen nightdress many sizes too large, so that he could not begin to guess the age of this sleeping creature.
Yet he was not curious, only angry that his bed was not available to him when he so greatly desired its comfort. He turned and stalked from his room. He went straight to Yarmille's chambers, entered without knocking and shook the woman roughly from her sleep.
"Mistress, wake up!"
Yarmille opened cloudy eyes to stare at the tall
figure looming over her small bed. His face was in the shadows, but she knew him instantly. "Garrick! You have returned!"
"Obviously," he answered dryly, the anger unmistakable in his tone. "And to find you have sorely overstepped your authority!"
"I—what are you talking about?" she asked indignantly, pulling the embroidered coverlet up about her neck. "You accuse me falsely."
Garrick's brows narrowed. "By what right do you allow a guest in my chamber when the room allotted for such lay empty?"
"A guest?" It was a moment before she made the connection, and then she laughed softly. "Nay, she is not a guest."
Garrick was close to losing all patience. "Explain, Yarmille, and keep it brief. Who is the female?"
"She is yours. Your mother bid me take her in hand, so I did not put her with the other women. And I knew that when you returned, the guest room would be put to use. I did not think you would mind over much if she shared your chamber."
Garrick stiffened in frustration. "First, I do mind!" he said harshly, not caring who heard him now. "Secondly, what do you mean, she is mine?"
Yarmille was not used to seeing Garrick this angered. She should have remembered his recent dislike of women, and put the girl someplace else.
"Your father raided in the British Isles this summer and returned with seven captives. This girl was one of them and your father has given her to you. She was the daughter of a lord, and thought she would be your bride."
"My bride!" he exploded.
" 'Tis only what she and her people thought, Garrick," Yarmille added quickly. "Anselm played them falsely, to make the raid go easier. 'Tis a long story that I am sure Anselm will be pleased to retell."
"What is wrong with the girl that Hugh should not take her?" Garrick asked, knowing that his brother always took the choice females for himself now that Anselm no longer kept the young and pretty ones.
"The girl is a hellish vixen. You must be in your father's disfavor for him to saddle you with such a gift. She is a fighter, I have been told, and thirsts for blood."
No doubt she would also be hard on the eye, and this was why Hugh did not want her. Why would his father give him such a girl?
Garrick sighed, too tired to ponder further. "She is sleeping, so you may leave her be for now But on the morrow you will move her elsewhere, I care not where."
"She will attempt to run away, Garrick. I cannot leave her in the women's quarters while they tend their duties. 'Tis too easy for her to sneak off from there."
"By Thor, woman! I said I do not care what you do with her, but she cannot stay in my chamber!"
With that, Garrick stalked back to his room.
The cool breeze ruffled the hair on Brenna's cheek and caused her to wake. She blinked sleepily at the sunlight filling the room and moaned. Morning already? It seemed as if only a few hours had passed since she had been untied and warned not to leave the room. She assumed a guard had been posted outside her door, but it did not matter. She was not ready to leave yet. Her body was still sore from the long confinement, and she knew she was in no condition to brave the unknown. She must get her strength back, and then see what avenues of escape were open to her. It would be foolish to leave without knowing something of the land.
She got up and closed both doors, sealing the room in darkness again, then crawled back into the bed. She had almost drifted back to sleep when she heard a voice raised in anger. A few moments passed, then the door opened and a very tall young man walked into the room.
Brenna was instantly alert, every nerve in her body attuned to danger. She did not move, but watched the Viking warily through half-closed eyes, prepared to dash for his sword if the need presented itself.
The stranger did not look in her direction or move toward the bed, but went to the chair against the wall and started to remove his clothing in a rough, angry manner. First the sword, then a short knife, then the sleeveless tunic was thrown on the chair seat. Next a leg was raised and the foot placed on the chair to unlace the leather garters and remove the soft skin boot.
Brenna scanned the man's features with eyes that seemed almost possessive. A man this pleasing to look upon she had never seen before. Long, wavy hair of a golden color curled about exceptionally wide shoulders. The nose was long and straight, the chin firm and smooth. The strong bare arms were corded with thick muscles, as were the broad chest and back, muscles that rippled and danced with each movement. Blond curls covered the chest, ending at the tight, flat abdomen. Narrow hips led to strong, tapered thighs. The whole body spoke of strength and power. It was superb, marred only by a few minor scars on the lower torso. Such a body was a dangerous weapon in itself. Brenna felt a strange and unknown sensation course through her.
The man started to unfasten his trousers, and Brenna stiffened. One part of her wanted to see the rest of this beautiful physique, but the practical side of Brenna knew no good could come from this. Fortunately, the man glanced at the bed and changed his mind.
Brenna held her breath. She had yet to think about what the Viking's presence here meant. Why he should come in here and make as if to prepare for bed was beyond her. She did not consider that this might be Garrick Haardrad.
The man turned now as if puzzled, and stared at the balcony door. Then he moved to open it again. After this, he closed the other door, shutting them in the room together, and returned to the bed.
Brenna no longer pretended to be asleep, for she had a feeling he knew she was awake. She rolled to the end of the bed, for it was placed in a corner with one side against the wall, and she needed an avenue for flight. She crouched there, her long tresses flowing about the woolen nightdress, her body tense.
Both of them froze when their eyes met and locked for a long moment. Brenna felt as if mesmerized by those aqua-colored eyes, so light, a gentle blending of both green and blue. Annoyed, she found she had been holding her breath, and released it.
"I think you have been playing a deceiving game, wench." His voice was deep, neither angry nor gentle. "You do not seem a wild vixen intent on escape, but a frightened child—though cunning mayhaps, for your game has gotten you a comfortable room."
She laughed boldly. "Frightened? Of you, Viking? Your first description was accurate."
"You are still here," he pointed out.
"Only because I was kept tied to this bed until last eve," she replied.
A tight smile formed on his lips. " 'Tis a convenient story, but one that can easily be proved false."
Brenna's dark brows narrowed. She was not accustomed to being accused of lying. Like a cat, she jumped from the bed and landed facing him, feet apart and arms akimbo.
"Know this, Viking!" she said furiously, looking at him with dark, steady eyes. "I am Brenna Carmarham and I do not lie. Were it not the way I said, then you can be sure I would not be here now!"
A glimmer of amusement came into Garrick's eyes as he watched this proud beauty. He ignored the implication of her words, and took them as an empty threat.
"Since Yarmille seems at a loss to know what to do with you, 'tis fortunate that I have come to take you in hand," he said lightly.
"How so?" she asked, raising a brow. Before he could reply she added suspiciously, "Who are you, Viking?"
"Your owner, so I have been informed."
Brenna gasped. "Nay, I will not be owned!"
Garrick shrugged. This was no meek slave he had been given: that at least was obvious. "You have little choice in the matter."
"I—said—nay!" Brenna shouted slowly, her entire being rebelling against the idea. Flashing eyes reflected her out rage. "Never!"
Impatience crept into his voice. "I will not debate the issue."
She surprised him when she replied haughtily, "Nor will I."
Garrick laughed despite himself. Never had he had a slave such as this one. Such glorious jet-black hair, almost blue in its richness, such creamy white skin—and a face that was a vision. He was almost tempted to inspect her further, to see what lay be
neath the unbecoming nightdress,
Brenna watched him warily as he sat down on the bed and ran long fingers through his wavy hair. So this was Garrick Haardrad, the man she was supposed to have married, the man who now assumed he owned her. He spoke her own tongue, which surprised her. But then, so did his mother, who must have taught him.
She wished he had not returned so soon, and that she had had time to assess her situation first. She didn't know whether to fear this man or not. He was decidedly pleasing to look upon, and she found herself almost wishing that things had turned out differently, that she was here to be his bride, not his slave. Anselm had ruined that, and she could hate him all the more for it
"What do you mean, you will take me in hand?" she asked.
"I do not tolerate useless property. My slaves earn their keep one way or another, or I dispose of them."
The very coldness of his voice, coupled with the heartless words, sent a shiver down her back. "You would attempt to sell me?"
"Attempt? You imply I do not have the right."
"You do not!" she snapped, unnerved by his callousness. "I told you I will not be owned."
"Odin help me!" Garrick implored in exasperation, then turned a stormy eye on her. "You will desist, mistress, lest I am tempted to prove the issue!"
She started to ask how, but decided quickly that she would rather not know. She would not concede, but since he had made no demands on her as yet, she could let the matter pass for now.
"Very well, Garrick Haardrad," she said matter-of-factly.
He looked at her suspiciously, not sure whether she relented because of his threat, or because she was his. If he was not so exhausted, he would not have put up with her haughtiness this far. This slave most assuredly would need taming. He realized he might enjoy the effort. This surprised him. It had been a long time since he had felt an instant attraction to any female. He wondered if it was her beauty or her proud defiance which intrigued him most. He wished now he were not so utterly exhausted. But no matter. He could wait. She would be here when he was ready for her.
"You may resume your sleep, mistress," he said tiredly. "We can discuss your position in the morning."
Fires of Winter - Viking 1 Page 7
