He could not know that she understood his every word. She felt only contempt for his boast until one arm yanked her to him and his demanding lips crushed hers. His other hand covered her breasts and cruelly squeezed them as he taunted her with his strength. Her arms were useless, trapped between her body and his, but her teeth came down on the probing tongue violating her mouth. He pulled back just in time, and shoved her away from him, so that she fell against the other women.
“Daughter of Hel!” Hugh cursed loudly and came forward to strike her, but was checked by Anselm, who bellowed his name. Hugh lowered his arm and turned on his father accusingly. “She would spill my blood without the sense to know she would die for it!”
“I warned you she is full of hate,” Anselm replied.
“Hatred that she would die for. Bah! She is mad, I think. Give her to my brother Garrick, then, as was your wish. He hates women and will take pleasure in abusing this one. Let him use her body as a release for his hate, and see if they do not kill each other. I will take the fiery-haired wench.”
“Enough of this talk, Hugh,” scolded the woman dressed in yellow silk. “Do you forget your mother and your wife are present?”
“Your pardon, mistress,” replied the unabashed Hugh. “I did forget, indeed. I am finished here. You may do my father’s bidding now, and question the captives.”
“I was not aware I needed my son’s permission to do so,” the woman retaliated, her tone coldly authoritative.
Loud guffaws came from those listening to the exchange, and Hugh bristled. A warning look from his father stilled his caustic retort. Hugh spread his arms wide. “Your pardon again, mistress. I know better than to duel verbally with you.”
Brenna seethed inwardly. She had heard clearly what the bastard Hugh had said about her, just as everyone else who understood him had heard. Give her to Garrick? Let him abuse her with his hatred of women? Well, they would learn soon enough that she would take no abuse. The man she thought she would marry would die if he dared to touch her. God, how she hated them all!
Linnet was watchful, apprehensive. She forced herself not to interfere when the Viking mauled Brenna, hoping that his crude treatment would at least snap Brenna out of her bitter silence. But it did not. She wished to high heavens she could understand what they were saying. If only she had joined Brenna’s lessons with Wyndham. Ah, how little did they guess the future then. How could they communicate with their captors and even discover their true circumstances, unless Brenna was willing to speak for them? Only she knew their language.
Linnet’s anxieties were dispelled a moment later when the Viking dame in flowing yellow silk left the table and came to stand before them. She was a small, graceful woman with chestnut hair and dark brown, almond-shaped eyes.
“I am Heloise Haardrad. My husband is Anselm the Eager, chief of our clan and the man who brought you here.”
Linnet quickly introduced herself and the others, then she asked, “How is it you speak our tongue?”
“Like you, I was brought to this land many years ago, though not under the same circumstances. I was betrothed to Anselm and we married. I am a Christian, as I assume you are.”
“Yea, of course!”
Heloise smiled. “But I also worship my husband’s gods, to please him. I will help you all I can, but understand that my loyalty is here.”
Linnet braced herself to ask the question that was uppermost in all their minds. “What is to become of us?”
“At present, you are my husband’s prisoners. ’Tis up to him to decide what to do with you.”
“Are we slaves, then?” Cordella asked in a haughty tone, although she had little to be arrogant about.
Heloise raised a brow in Cordella’s direction. “You lost your rights when you were captured. I am surprised you need to ask the question. Did you think you would be brought here and set free, given homes and property of your own? Nay, you are the property. You will belong to my husband, or whoever he chooses to give you to. I do not particularly like the term slave. I prefer “servant,” no different than what you must have had in your own land.”
“Our servants were free!” Cordella snapped.
“You may have called them free, but in truth, they were not. And you, my girl, had best learn your place quickly, or ’twill not go well for you.”
“She is right, Cordella,” Linnet said quietly. “Hold your tongue for once.”
Cordella turned in a huff and ignored them. Heloise laughed softly. “I think you and I can become friends, Linnet.”
“I would like that,” she replied sincerely. At this moment she needed a friend more than anything.
“’Tis unfortunate that you are here,” Heloise continued sympathetically. “But I hope you will all adjust quickly. I do not condone my husband’s raiding and returning with prisoners, but I have little say about this part of his life. I realize that you and your family were deceived into thinking there would be an alliance, and I am sorry for this.”
“Your husband gave his word!” Cordella interrupted again. “Does a Viking have no honor?”
“Della!”
“I do not blame her for feeling wronged. Yea, my husband has honor, but not for those he considers his enemies. He gave his word falsely to your arranger, the man you sent here. You see, my youngest son, Garrick, was taken prisoner by your people once, and treated inhumanly. My husband has hated you Celts ever since. He had no intention of keeping his word when he gave it. He would never allow our son to marry a Celt.”
“Was that man Garrick?” Linnet asked curiously, nodding to the tall Viking. “The one who looked my niece over?”
“Nay, that was my first born, Hugh. Garrick is not here, though ’twould make no difference if he were. There can be no wedding, you understand.”
“Yea.”
“Garrick knows naught of this. He sailed in the spring, before you sent your man here. I am truly sorry for what has happened, and especially for the deception. If I could change your lot, I would.”
“Should you let them hear you say this?”
Heloise laughed. “They cannot understand us. I did not teach my husband my language; I learned his. My husband knows how I feel about taking captives, that I disapprove. As you can see by the servants here, all of whom were taken at one time or another, I cannot stop him. This is just another part of Viking life.”
“What will become of my niece?” Linnet asked with deep concern.
“She will be made to serve, like the rest of you,” Heloise answered and turned to Brenna. “Do you understand, child?”
Brenna said nothing and Linnet sighed. “She is stubborn and resentful. She will not accept what has happened.”
“She will have to,” Heloise said gravely. “I will not lie to you. If she proves troublesome, she could be sold at one of the markets far from here, or she could be put to death.”
“Nay!” Linnet gasped.
Brenna showed her contempt by glaring hostilely at Heloise before she turned stiffly and walked to the back of the group.
“Do not worry on it yet,” Heloise said. “The girl will be given time to adjust. My husband admired her courage; he will not wish to see her come to harm.”
Linnet looked worriedly in Brenna’s direction. “I fear she will bring harm to herself.”
“Take her own life?”
“Nay, seek vengeance. I have never seen such hatred. She has brooded silently ever since we were taken. She will not even speak to me.”
“Her bitterness is understandable, but it will only be tolerated for so long.”
“You do not understand why she is filled with more hatred than the rest of us,” Linnet said quickly. “Her father died the day before the attack, and she has yet to recover from this. She was never in accord with the marriage to your son, but her father gave his word and she would have honored it. So she was prepared to receive her betrothed, not your husband, who attacked us without warning. She saw so much death that day. Her brother-in-law,
“I understand. Go on.”
“And then Brenna was bested. To understand what this did to her, you have to know that she had never been defeated before. She was her father’s only child, raised without her mother, who died giving birth to her. To Angus, her father, she was the son he never had. He knew naught of a girl child. He taught her everything he would have taught a son. That day, when she was defeated, I suppose she felt as if she had failed her father. And then her personal servant, a woman who was like a mother to her, was brutally killed. Brenna screamed hysterically then for the first time in her life. She must feel shame now not only for that, but for being unable to help her people. She has brooded silently ever since.”
“’Tis a shame,” Heloise agreed, her dark brown eyes thoughtful. “But she is an intelligent girl, is she not? She will realize that she has no choice but to accept what has befallen her.”
“Why should she?” Cordella questioned, having listened quietly for as long as she could. “What is there for her here, or for any of us? But Brenna? Ha! You have not seen pride ’til you have seen hers. She will never accept this enforced slavery. Look at her now. She will not even speak to you, let alone serve you. You will have to kill her first!”
Heloise smiled, her eyes hard as she gazed at Cordella. “Whether she serves or not will not be my concern. She has been given to Garrick and will go to his home. You, on the other hand, fall under my domain, since Hugh has chosen you, and he and his wife live here in my home. Hugh owns you now, but I rule this house, and you will be answerable to me.”
Cordella’s face turned ashen, but she said no more. She did not care to be under this woman’s rule, but she had seen the look the mighty Hugh had given her. Mayhaps all was not lost.
“Will I be allowed to accompany Brenna?” Linnet asked anxiously.
“Nay. My husband desires to keep you for himself. You will stay here also.”
Linnet’s cheeks burned hotly. “I—I am…” She could not finish.
“Do not worry, Linnet. I am not a jealous woman. ’Tis common here that our men will pleasure themselves with their women slaves. I believe that we are not unique in this, that ’tis the same the world over. Some women will not tolerate their husbands’ concubines in their homes, but I am not such a one. So rest easy. I still say we shall be friends.”
“Thank you.”
“As for the rest of you,” Heloise said, her voice filled with authority again, “you will remain in my house for a time, but not for long. When my husband decides, you will be given to friends of his, those who have served him well. I do not think your lot will be as hard as you imagine. In time, all of you will adjust.”
Brenna was put in a small boat resembling a canoe, and taken further inland. Only one man, Ogden, escorted her, and he had been given explicit instructions from Anselm’s wife. The journey was a short one. Soon high cliffs bordered the fjord again, casting the water and the entire valley into murky gloom. Then she saw it; Ulric Haardrad’s stone house, perched high up on the cliff, appeared like nature’s own extension of the gray rock.
The Viking accompanying Brenna was not pleased with his task. As they approached the wooden landing, he rowed the small craft with increasing speed. He would have preferred, and thought briefly on it, to slit the girl’s throat and toss her into the bottomless depths of the fjord; for hadn’t she wounded his brother and so caused him untold shame? But then Ogden would have Anselm to answer to—not to mention Garrick, who owned the girl now. And to be honest, there was no honor in killing a woman, let alone one who was bound and helpless. Now she was nothing like the black fox who fought with such cunning against his brother. Still Ogden hated her, this woman who dressed and acted like a man and looked at him with the eyes of a tigress, hot and venomous.
The landing was not directly below the stone house, but further up the coast, where the cliff began its craggy decline. Here Ogden roughly yanked Brenna from the boat and dragged her up a steep, rocky path. The trail was a narrow one made by the slaves who hauled the great stones up to the site Ulric had chosen for his house. At the top was a huge boulder pushed to one side. If need be it could be used to block the way from the fjord. Ogden noted that Ulric’s house would make an ideal fortress in case of war.
The house resembled the wooden domiciles of Norway only in one respect: it was windowless. Otherwise it was like the huge stone manors Ogden had seen on the Scottish coast; it had chimneys through which smoke could escape, and a second floor to live in. Rather than facing the sea or the fields behind it, the entrance to the house was on the side, where old, gnarled trees grew. A storage house and livestock sheds, as well as the stable, were behind the house; all were made of wood.
Before he died, Ulric had given this house and a few acres of fertile land to Garrick in Anselm’s presence, so there would be no dispute afterward. Anselm had not wanted the house anyway, for its stone walls made it so cold in winter. For Garrick, however, it was an inheritance. Though but small, it was the only one he would receive, since by tradition all Anselm owned would go to his first born, Hugh.
Garrick was not a farmer like Ogden and other free men who had fertile land here, nor was he a fisherman, as most were. He was a hunter, skilled with the arrow and spear, his hunting ground the dense forests bordering his land. He liked to trek to the unpopulated lands further inland, where the lynx and elk abounded. In winter, he was not opposed to sailing north through the warm coastal waters as far as the North Cape, in search of polar bears. As proof of his hunting skill, he had a large cargo of furs gathered over two winters, which he took to trade in the East.
Although Garrick was not a farmer, he allowed his slaves to grow small quantities of produce; thence the onions and peas that graced his table, rye for bread, and barley for the honey mead consumed nightly.
Ogden had stayed a week at Garrick’s house the winter before he sailed east. His hospitality was as generous as his father’s. Lavish in supplying food and drink, he even gave Ogden a pretty slave girl to warm his bed, which sorely needed it in that cold house.
Ogden liked Garrick, and decided thoughtfully that the young man did not need this gift from his father. This girl would be a thorn in Garrick’s side, a veritable she-devil who would like as not slit his throat some night while he slept. Still, she was Garrick’s problem, and, for the moment, his housekeeper’s.
The entrance to the house was open to let in the breath of summer. The weather was already turning cooler, a sign that the season of the midnight sun was drawing to a close and making ready for the long winter night, when the sun deserted her northern peoples completely.
“Ho! Mistress Yarmille!” Ogden bellowed as he stamped into the hall, tugging Brenna behind him as he would a roped cow.
“Ogden!” The surprised greeting came from the opening at the end of the hall.
This area had been closed off years earlier with a makeshift wall, for Ulric in his old age could not tolerate smoke from the cooking fires, and had ordered the cooking done behind this wall. Others had tried to do this, too, but not for long, for the warmth of the cooking fires was more desirable than the absence of smoke.
Yarmille stood by the opening, gowned in soft blue linen, a gold band securing her straw-colored hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, “I did not know Anselm had returned.”
“Just this day,” Ogden replied. “The feast is in progress now.”
“Really?” Yarmille raised a tawny brow. This woman had been a beauty in her day, but no traces remained now that she neared two score and ten years. It was a wonder that this was so, since she had not led an overly hard life. “I trust the raid went well?”
Ogden grunted and released his hold on Brenna. “As well as any. There was treasure for all, and seven captives returned with us. One man went to Valhalla, praise his luck! My brother was wounded, though not badly.” Ogden did not say how. “I believe Anselm will give him one of the captives, and one will go to the widow of the dead warrior.”
“And this one?” Yarmile nodded toward Brenna, who stood erect, her raven locks falling about her shoulders in disarray. “He gave her to you?”
Ogden shook his head. “To Garrick. She was the one offered to him as bride.”
That story had traveled far. “The Lady Brenna? Well, well. So Anselm kept his promise.” At the Viking’s questioning look, she explained, “I was there after that fool arranger left. I believe Anselm’s words were, ‘A bride is offered, a bride Garrick will get, though no wedding will take place.’”
Ogden laughed, for he knew of Anselm’s hatred for the Celts, and that he would never allow such an alliance. “A bride with no wedding vows—I like that. But I doubt Garrick will.”
“How so? She looks pretty enough. In something other than those awful leggings, she should be quite beautiful.”
“Mayhaps, mistress. But her beauty does not disguise her loathing.”
Yarmille moved to the girl and turned her face toward the door to see better in the light, but Brenna snapped her head away, not even deigning to meet the woman’s eyes.
Yarmille frowned disapprovingly. “A stubborn one, eh?”
“To be sure,” Ogden answered sourly. “She has the look of a runaway, and will no doubt try to bolt at first chance. She is a fighter too, this one; in truth, she is trained in warfare. So be careful, mistress.”
“What am I supposed to do with her?”
Ogden shrugged. “I have done as instructed by Mistress Heloise. I have delivered the girl to you. She is in your care now, since you run Garrick’s house in his absence.”
“This I do not need,” Yarmille snapped irritably. “When Garrick left he took almost all of his slaves to sell, leaving me with only a few to care for this iceberg of a house. And now I have this one who will have to be closely watched.”
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