Fires of Winter

by Johanna Lindsey

  Though it was too late to change what had happened, she would be damned before it was repeated. She had been a fool to think Garrick would change his mind because of it; he was still determined that she would serve him as he demanded. She could not forgive him for that, not after the tenderness that had passed between them.

  With Dog resting between their feet, Brenna absently offered him a morsel of meat, accustomed to doing the same at home with her father’s hounds, which romped through the manor. When the white shepherd nuzzled her hand for more, she realized what she had done and looked up to see Garrick scowling at her. Good, she thought viciously. It was better than the self-assured smirk he had worn so often of late.

  “What displeases you, Viking?” she asked in an innocent tone, though her eyes were alight with mischief. “Do you fear I have taken the dog’s loyalty from you?” When his countenance darkened even more, her grin widened and she pressed on. “You did not know he and I have become friends, eh? But what did you expect when you keep us locked together? ’Twill not be long before he does not even raise his head when I walk from this room.”

  Garrick stared at her coldly for a long moment before he finally answered. “If you speak the truth, mistress, then ’tis time I put a lock on the door.”

  Brenna’s face turned ashen. “You wouldn’t!”

  “I would indeed,” he replied, an icy tinge to his tone. “Tonight, in fact, since I have naught better to do.”

  “I was only teasing you, Garrick,” Brenna said, trying to make light of it. “You can trust your dog to do your bidding.”

  “’Tis you I don’t trust,” he returned pointedly and made for the door with angry strides.

  “How long will you keep me here?” she demanded furiously.

  He turned at the door, the old sneer coming to his lips. “’Tis not I who keeps you here, wench, but yourself. You have only to serve me as I desire and you may enjoy the same privileges as the other slaves.”

  “You pompous, overbearing ass!” she stormed, coming to her feet, her fists clenched. “You will rot in hell first!”

  “You are a stubborn wench,” he sneered disdainfully. “But you will find that I can be more so.”

  With that he left the room, leaving Brenna so thoroughly maddened that she picked up her full tankard of milk and hurled it at the closed door. Seeing the damage done, she did not stop there. With a destructive glint in her eye, she toppled over the small table; the platter of food crashed to the floor and sent Dog scampering out of her way. Determinedly she went to the bed and tore the covers from it, then moved to Garrick’s coffer. With malicious pleasure, she flung its contents about the room.

  So intent was Brenna on her task that she did not hear Garrick return. She was grabbed from behind and thrown on the bed.

  “Your tantrums are those of a child, not the woman I know you to be!” he stormed, and followed her onto the bed.

  When Brenna turned to face him he was on his knees, with one hand raised to strike her. She stared at that fist without flinching, daring him to do his worst. But Garrick hesitated a moment too long and the impulse passed. He lowered his arm with a curse and left the bed, then looked down on her with heartless fury.

  “You have set your own task, wench. You will put this room to rights before eventide, or you will go hungry to bed this night. And if you have it in mind that one meal will not matter, then think again, for you will be denied sustenance until the task is done.” And with that he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  “What shall I do, then, Dog?” Brenna asked softly as if the powerful animal would have a solution to her problem.

  “Shall I starve myself for spite? ’Tis not to my liking, but ’twould show that domineering jackal he cannot order me about. Damn him!” she cried. “Why does he do this to me? He would break my pride and grind it in the dirt!”

  Everything was going so well before this, she thought. And now he would starve me. Aye, he has said the words and so cannot relent. ’Tis I who will have to concede this time.

  Garrick topped a small hill and rested the stallion there. He dismounted and ran his hands through his tousled hair. His shoulders erect, he gazed up at the northern lights shining in the otherwise black sky, those mystical colors that cast a strange light on the land.

  He had ridden hard for most of the day, at times not even aware of where he was, giving the great stallion his head to take him where he would. Still Garrick had not resolved the turmoil of his thoughts, and they had weighed heavily on him ever since he left the haughty Brenna. Her fate, the one he had set, hung like a dark cloud over his head.

  He cursed himself a hundred times for the words he had spoken in anger, the words that might very well end the girl’s life. Could she really be that stubborn? And over such a trivial matter? He should have followed his first impulse, which was to beat her. But he had been appalled at the thought of striking her lovely face. If he returned to his room and found it still in shambles, what then? If he backed down this time, he would never be able to handle the girl. If neither of them gave in, the girl would die…If only he knew more of her character, then perhaps he could predict how she would react. But who was there to enlighten him?

  “Imbecile!” he said aloud. “There is such a one who can shed some light on the stubborn woman I have found myself harnessed to.”

  Garrick turned his mount in the direction of his father’s house. After only a short ride, he entered Anselm’s smoky hall and found his father and brother engrossed in a game of dice. His mother was busy sewing.

  “Ho! What brings the merchant prince to our humble door this late of a night?” Hugh teased when Garrick joined them. “I would think you would need all your spare time to count the riches you have amassed.”

  “Nay, only half of it,” Garrick rejoined, though he was in no mood for this light banter. “I came to have a word with one of the new slaves.”

  “Is it only a word you would have?” Hugh asked, then slapped his knee and guffawed at his wit.

  “Enough, Hugh,” Anselm said solemnly. His curiosity pricked, he turned to Garrick. “Which one?”

  “One of the kin to Brenna,” he answered. “It matters not which one.”

  “Oh?”

  Garrick grimaced. “Father, I see the question on your face, but do not ask it. ’Tis I who have questions that need answering now.”

  “From Brenna’s kin?” Anselm replied, grinning. “You would know more of her, eh?”

  “Aye, I would know to what limits her pride would take her,” he admitted.

  “You do not make sense, Garrick. Have you problems with the girl?”

  “You are a fine one to ask me that—you who praised her spirit,” Garrick retorted. “Did you really think she would adjust to her new life here?”

  Anselm sighed. “So the girl does not please you?”

  “I have yet to decide if the pleasure she gives me in bed is worth the trouble she gives me out of it.”

  “Give her to me,” Hugh broke in. “I would know what to do with the vixen.”

  “You would break her spirit as well as her will,” Anselm remarked to his oldest son. “A woman with spirit is worth having, and must be tamed gently, not broken. Ah, Garrick, if that one ever gave you her loyalty, there would be none like it.”

  “You speak from experience?” Garrick asked, casting his mother a tender glance.

  “I do,” Anselm chuckled, “though I know I do not deserve the loyalty I have gained. Go find your answers, son. The women are out back.”

  When Garrick left the hall, Anselm shook his head and commented to Hugh, “Your brother seemed deeply troubled.”

  “Would that I had his troubles.” Hugh grinned, but Anselm could find no humor in the situation.

  Cordella quickly answered the forceful knock on the door before the noise woke the other women, who were sleeping. She assumed it was Hugh at the door, for she was expecting him. He had not come round to see her for the last few days. That
Viking’s amorous ways she had become well acquainted with in her short time here. She knew what he expected of her—resistance at every turn—and she played this new role easily. She could not afford for the Viking to lose interest in her, not if her plans were to be fulfilled.

  Hugh Haardrad must believe himself to be the father of the child she suspected she was carrying. She would give him a son, and so assure her own future. Hugh’s weak-kneed wife was thought to be barren; so Cordella had learned from Heloise, who said he had no bastards as yet either. Mayhaps one day she might even gain marriage from her deception. She knew the child could not be Hugh’s, but she would swear it was, and his own mother would concur, for Cordella had purposely complained bitterly to the older woman of the trials of the ocean voyage, how the cramps of her monthly time had made it worse. Yea, she had wisely thought ahead. At least she would not have such a hard time of it here.

  She was careful not to look overly anxious when she opened the door. It was not Hugh who stood there in the cold, but his brother Garrick. She had seen this one before on occasion, when he came to visit his father, and she had been entranced by his handsomeness. He was a striking man, much more so than Hugh. Still, Hugh would be head of the clan one day, with power and wealth, and so she preferred him.

  “You are Brenna’s sister?” Garrick asked her. At her slow nod he continued gruffly, “Then I would have a word with you, mistress. Will you walk with me?”

  Cordella hugged her arms and shivered as the chill wind ruffled her coarse skirt. “I will get a wrap.”

  “Nay,” he replied. Shaking off the heavy fur cloak he wore, he wrapped it over her shoulders. “I am impatient.”

  She bit her lip as she walked with him away from the house she shared with the other female slaves. She was a bit fearful that this tall Viking wanted her and was taking her away from the others to have his pleasure. Though she would indeed relish the experience, it would not suit her plans. No one but Hugh had bedded her since she first arrived and he put his claim on her.

  “I have a problem, mistress,” Garrick said as they walked slowly about the settlement. “I seek your help if you can give it.” He went on to explain about Brenna’s attitude and her stubborn refusal to serve him, ending with their last confrontation this morning. “I would know if she will prove stubborn on this also. Does she value her life so little?”

  Cordella wanted to laugh, but she dared not. So Brenna was acting true to form, just as Cordella knew she would. The Viking showed real concern, which Brenna certainly didn’t deserve. Mayhaps there was a way to further her own revenge, Cordella thought maliciously.

  “’Tis typical of Brenna,” Cordella answered. “But she would never do anything to risk her life,” she added firmly.

  “Yet she fought against my father when he attacked your home. She risked her life then.”

  “Brenna never really believed real harm would come to her that day,” Cordella explained with a convincing expression. “She assumed you Vikings would not kill a woman. As for Brenna’s stubbornness, ’tis only a ruse to see how much she can gain. She feels that menial labor is beneath her, and in truth, she is lazy and would be happy if she need not lift a finger to do anything. All her life she has had servants to wait on her.”

  “She did work in my stable,” Garrick argued. “She says ’tis only women’s work she will not do.”

  “Did you see her do the work?” Cordella asked. “Or did she coax someone else to do it for her? Nay, ’twas the same at home. Brenna expected everyone to serve her, even her family, while she spent all of her time diverting herself with the village men, tempting them away from their wives.”

  “’Tis a different Brenna you describe, not the one I know who shuns men.”

  “’Tis only what she wants you to believe,” Cordella said slyly. “Nay, the real Brenna is a tease with a whore’s heart. She knows she is comely and would have every man she knows fall for her charms. She even coveted my own husband, who was smitten by her also.”

  “But she was a virgin!”

  Cordella smiled. “Is she still?” She saw his dark scowl, yet this did not stop her from adding, “If you want her only for yourself, Viking, then you had best keep a watchful eye on her, for she would never be content with just one man. I know my sister well.”

  “I did not say I want her for myself, mistress,” he said brusquely.

  Garrick left his father’s house feeling more disgruntled and confused than when he came. Cordella’s words did not sit well with him and he returned home in a dark mood.

  A few minutes later Garrick stood before the door to his chambers. He hesitated a moment, wondering again what he would find inside. He held a tray of food awkwardly with one hand and threw open the bolt with the other, then went inside. Dog came to his feet immediately, his tail wagging. “Go on, Dog,” Garrick said, “your food is below.” He waited until the shepherd trotted from the room, then closed the door with his foot. Only a single candle burned on the mantel, but in the dim light he could see the room was in order. Surprised, he searched further until he found Brenna sitting on a chair staring into the fire. He set the tray down, then went over to her. He looked at her, wondering anew if what her sister said was true. Was Brenna just playing a game with him? Why should her sister lie?

  “Why did you take so long?” Brenna asked. “I am famished.”

  He wondered bitterly if she had only put the room to rights after hunger had gnawed at her belly for a while.

  “Aye, ’tis late,” he replied. He built up the fire, then stood up and waited for the tirade to begin. When it did not come immediately, Garrick eyed her speculatively and moved toward the table to join her, finally feeling his own hunger. Brenna was deep in thought as she ate, a frown creasing her brow.

  “You were detained, then?” she finally asked.

  “Nay, I simply forgot that you would be waiting on my return,” he answered rather sharply.

  Then suddenly she laughed, causing Garrick no small amount of confusion. “Good. I am glad that you can forget me so easily, Viking.”

  “Why so?”

  “Why not?” she countered, a smile on her lips. “You think I want myself bandied about in your thoughts? Nay, for I know not the direction of your thinking. Whether ’tis good or bad, I do not wish to weigh on your mind.”

  He grunted. “You have odd ways of proving that, mistress, what with your behavior thus far.”

  “So I have been on your mind?” she asked innocently, humor in her voice. “I am sorry, Garrick. I suppose I will have to change my ways, then.”

  He put down his food and looked at her hard. “What game are you playing, wench?”

  “No game.”

  “Am I to understand you will serve me now?” he questioned, bewildered by this sudden change.

  “Aye, is it not what you wished? I bend to your will, Garrick. How does it feel, to win this victory?”

  He felt the loser for some reason, but he would not tell her that. “I am glad you finally came to your senses.”

  “Did you give me a choice, Garrick?” she replied, a slight note of bitterness in her voice now.

  He watched her as she continued eating, her eyes averted from his. Still he could not fathom this change. After such stony resistance, after the way she would have defiantly faced a beating, he would have expected her to endure at least a few days without nourishment before finally giving in. Was it really just a test all along, as her sister had said, to see how much she could gain?

  “Your chamber is in order, Garrick,” Brenna said, breaking into his thoughts. “And your robe is repaired.” She pushed her empty platter away and stood up. “If you have no further need of me this night, have I your permission to return to the women’s quarters?”

  He hesitated before answering, his clear aqua eyes riveted to hers. “Nay.”

  “Oh? What is there needs be done, then?”

  “There is naught to do, mistress, but you will not stay with the others any more. Fro
m now on you will sleep in the room Yarmille uses when I am gone. ’Tis across from the sewing room.”

  “Why?” she demanded curtly, her eyes darkening to a stony gray, her hands on her hips.

  His brows raised questioningly, and there was a hint of mockery in his voice when he replied. “I thought you would bend to my will, mistress. Did you speak falsely?”

  He could see her back stiffen, and her eyes sparkled with fury, but her voice was surprisingly calm when she answered. “As you wish.”

  Then she left the room with cool dignity, leaving him to wonder at his reasons for wanting her near at hand.

  Brenna entered the cooking area tired and blurry-eyed, for she had slept little during the night. Janie was busy at the table, cutting up a hind of beef for a stew. The young woman looked exceptionally lovely in a clean gray shift, her coppery hair tied back neatly at the base of her neck. She looked serene and fresh, which made Brenna feel even more tired. Dog perked up when he saw her and left his perch by the roasting pit. He came and nudged her hand until she petted him. Then, his tail wagging, the big animal returned to its resting place.

  “Good morn,” Brenna said finally, to get Janie’s attention.

  “Oh, Brenna!” Janie exclaimed as Brenna joined her at the table. “God’s mercy, we have been so worried about you. When the master locked you up, we did not know what to think. And we dared not ask him why, for he has been in such a mean mood of late.”

  “’Twas only that my working with Erin did not agree with Garrick. Nor my long rides,” she added. “He would have me work here instead. ’Twas my own fault that he kept me confined to his chamber, because I refused to do as he wanted.”