Fires of Winter - Viking 1

by Johanna Lindsey

  Brenna had hoped at first that she was the cause of his dark moods, but she could see no conceivable reason why she would be. No, Morna was the cause, she was sure. Morna was a part of Garrick, even though he hated her now. Yet the only reason he hated her so much was because he had loved her that much. This thought disturbed Brenna greatly and she shook it off, not wanting to ponder it.

  "I am going to ride my horse, Erin," she announced with determination. "Have you any objections?"

  "Nay, but—"

  When he did not continue, she smiled. "Will I return?" He nodded sheepishly, and she added, "I have not been provoked to leave Garrick's house yet."

  "But you have your horse now, and a sturdy horse she is, one you know and trust. She could take you anywhere you wanted to go."

  "She cannot take me home, Erin," Brenna murmured, and some of the joy left her eyes for a moment. "Come now, help me saddle her. It has been months since I have ridden, and even longer since I have ridden Willow. I will not ride long, for I am sure the cold will chase me home."

  "At least you admit this is your home now," Erin said as he hoisted a saddle over Willow's back.

  "Home is where the heart is, and my heart is across that black sea."

  "For your own sake, lass, I hope your heart will be here some day."

  Garrick broke through the forest of dense pine from the east, but stopped his mount at its edge when he saw the rider crossing the open field of tall grass covered with thick patches of snow. He could see the rider clearly, for the dusky sky was a mellow blue, affording him enough light without the sun's rays.

  Garrick sat back and admired the grace of the silver-gray horse as it raced swiftly across the field, but he did not recognize the animal as one of his own or one of his neighbor's. However, he did recall seeing such a horse in his father's stable.

  The rider was small, surely not his father or Hugh. His mother perhaps? Garrick's curiosity was piqued until the rider's fur hat flew to the ground and he saw the jet-black hair beneath it. Then he felt his fury rise.

  Brenna had stolen his father's horse. There was no other plausible answer—she was escaping. His first impulse was to chase her and show her immediately that she had failed. But the shifting of his own mount reminded him that the stallion was weary and in no condition for a spirited race.

  Before Garrick could make a decision, Brenna reined her horse in a wide arc and circled back toward the fallen headdress, but she did not stop to retrieve it. Instead, holding tightly onto the horse's mane, she swooped down to try and grab the hat as she passed.

  Garrick stiffened. She could have broken her fool neck if she had lost her hold on the animal! With fresh anger he watched as she circled to try again. This time she succeeded. Now she pulled in the horse and stopped, tossing the hat high into the air and then catching it, just like a child who has won a coveted prize. Even with the great distance between them he could hear her laughing uninhibitedly as he had heard only once before from Brenna.

  Before Garrick could recover from his confused emotions, Brenna surprised him further by galloping off in the direction she had come. Garrick relaxed and his temper cooled. His concern about why she was riding his father's horse was forgotten. Uppermost in his mind was that she was not trying to run away, as he had first imagined. He would not have to mete out the punishment due a runaway slave. He was pleased about that, at least, for he had no desire to hurt Brenna.

  He could no longer see her now, for she had descended the sloping hills that led to his home. The sound of her merry laughter continued to echo in his mind the way it had the day he saw her offer Coran a ride home. It still rankled him that she had enjoyed the company of a slave more than his own.

  In many ways, Brenna was still a child. Her tantrums and utter defiance gave proof to that fact, as did the foolishness he had just witnessed in the field. And she still clung stubbornly to the past, to her childhood days when she was given a free rein to live out her desire to be Lord Angus's son, not the daughter she was. Linnet had told him much about Brenna, things that contradicted most of what Cordelia said. He did not know which of the two women to believe. He was inclined to believe Cordelia's description of Brenna, for she reconfirmed his own opinion of women as a whole. But he had seen the proof of the aunt's words that Brenna had yet to grow up completely.

  By the gods, he was bewitched! He could not chase the little vixen from his mind even when he tried. He had hoped this long absence from home would help, but even when he was stalking prey, Brenna and her willfulness were in his thoughts. It was little consolation that Brenna had dispelled his brooding over Morna, for his thoughts now were just as dark. From the blonde bitch to the raven-haired termagant—both were the same, for they could not be trusted.

  Garrick urged his horse toward home. He was returning with a variety of furs that would be cured and readied for spring, when he would again sail for the trading markets of the East. He had startled two black bears from their hibernation and had felled one.

  This was a perfect excuse to call out his neighbors and have a feast for all to share. Brenna would not like that, but Loki take her. The bearskin would be sold come spring, and perhaps Brenna would too. This was one way to rid his thoughts of the Celtic wench. Or was it?

  Chapter 23

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  BRENNA stood before the fire in the cooking area with a warm woolen blanket draped over her shoulders, and briskly rubbed her hands together to dispel the freezing numbness. It was doubtful she would ever get used to such icy weather, but the next time she went out into it, she would be better prepared.

  Light tapping sounds drew her attention, and she walked slowly away from the hearth to open the back door, wrapping her blanket more tightly about her. She hid behind the door to avoid the sudden rush of cold wind, and quickly closed it as soon as Janie, Maudya and Rayna plodded in.

  The old woman clucked her tongue, peeled off her cloak and hung it by the door. "Why do you bar this house, girl? The master will not like it."

  "Have you not heard of the slaughtered dog found on the door stoop?" Brenna retaliated caustically.

  "We have all heard of the dead mongrel, but 'tis no reason to bar the door," Rayna returned, and moved to the hearth to add wood to the fire. "Yea, 'twas the deed of the Borgsen clan, there is no doubt," she continued. "The feud between them and the Haardrads has not reached the point of bloodshed again. They merely slaughter the livestock."

  "What feud?" Brenna asked.

  "There is no time for that story now," Janie interposed, taking off her own wrap. "Master Garrick has returned and has ordered a feast."

  Brenna's pulse quickened at learning Garrick was home, but at the same time, the thought of a feast like the last one made her cringe. "Where is he?"

  "Gone to gather his neighbors to bring in the bear he felled," Maudya answered cheerfully, obviously looking forward to a large gathering of men again. "Erin sent us up here to put the pots on to boil and prepare the hall. Coran is bringing kegs of ale from the storehouse."

  "And how long will this feast last?"

  "There is no telling. Since 'tis winter with naught better to do, it could last for weeks."

  How would Garrick act after being gone for three weeks? Would he be glad to see her? Brenna mused. She pinched herself for her foolish wonderings and began to sweep the hall with a vengeance. She must remember that she had sworn to hate Garrick. She could concede him nothing, not even a smile of welcome.

  So when Garrick entered the hall, Brenna had worked herself into a fine temper. Yet catching sight of him standing at the end of the makeshift wall which separated the cooking area from the drafty hall, she felt her heart beat faster and her anger was momentarily forgotten. He was arm in arm with Perrin, and laughing at some comment the other had made. Then he saw her and their eyes touched like a gentle caress.

  She lost herself in those aqua eyes, which still twinkled with laughter, but not for long. Some wicked voice inside her head upbraided her, and
regretfully she turned away.

  Only a few seconds passed before she felt Garrick's presence directly behind her. He took her elbow and without a word, escorted her from the hall. They passed Perrin, who grinned but said nothing, and saw Gorm and two others just coming in the back door. Garrick ignored them all and pulled her up the stairs behind him. When they reached the top, she finally jerked away from him.

  "Where are you taking me, Viking?" she demanded in a harsh whisper.

  "To bed," he replied and grabbed her quickly, sweeping her off her feet before she could escape him.

  "But you have guests below!" she protested.'

  Garrick laughed heartily, a sound Brenna rarely heard. "They can wait; I cannot."

  Cradled in his arms as he carried her into his room, Brenna felt overwhelmed by the desire that flooded her senses. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought the urge to succumb to Garrick's advances.

  "Put me down!"

  He grinned devilishly. "As you wish."

  He dropped her on the bed, then followed her there, straddling her hips with his knees. She sat up with all her force and pushed him with both arms, but did not even knock him slightly off balance.

  "Can it be you have not missed me, wench?" he teased her as he removed his belt and threw it aside. She leaned back on her elbows and stared up at him haughtily.

  "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 ask
ed 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 you have at home and forget about this one. She belongs to Garrick by my word, and if he ever decides to sell her, 'twill be to me, for I can offer him more for her than you would care to part with."

  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.