Fires of Winter

by Johanna Lindsey

  She also had her dagger. For some reason, they had not taken it from her. Either they did not imagine she would use it on them, or they thought the hilt of the weapon that glittered on her hip was merely an ornament. Whatever the reason, she was grateful.

  Arno moved about the room preparing food. After he set a large pot of soup to boil over the fire, he gathered blankets for Brenna’s bed. These he placed on a rug by the fire and motioning with his hand, indicated she would sleep there. Then he went outside to see to the horses.

  Brenna walked slowly to her temporary bed. She felt sick to her stomach with apprehension. On the morrow she would either kill a man or suffer the consequences for trying. She did not look forward to the outcome, whatever it was to be.

  The aroma of the soup was tempting. She had not eaten all day. But she was afraid to do so now for fear she could not keep the food down.

  Brenna lay down on the fur rug. The rope about her wrists was annoying. She considered cutting it, but quickly decided against taking the chance. It would not do to lose her dagger just for her own comfort. Instead she unsheathed the weapon and placed it under the rug within easy reach. Before Arno returned, she was asleep.

  As it turned out, the Viking called Cedric did not return the next day, or the day following that. In fact, Brenna was left alone with Arno for more than a week. Her endurance was tested to the limit those first few days. Every little noise she heard was Cedric returning, even the moaning of the wind.

  To help her through those first days, she did not even have the hope that Garrick would find her, for it snowed the first night and for three days more. Now Garrick would not know that she had left no tracks to follow. He would never guess that she had been taken away by ship. He would curse the snow for covering her trail, but it would do her no good, for he would search north of the fjord and never come close to her.

  Damn the snow! Damn Cedric and Arno! Damn the woman they spoke of who told them of her! Who was that woman? Did Cordella make good her threat? But Cordella could not speak to these men, nor would she know how to find them. The ugly scene with Morna came to mind. She was the only one who would attempt such foul play. But then there were those who felt they had scores to settle; Bayard, Gorm, even Hugh—and especially the Viking she had shamed in battle by wounding him. Any one of those men could have sent a woman to do their foul work in contacting Cedric and Arno.

  The second day Arno took pity on her and removed the rope from her wrists. That night, after Brenna was sure he slept, she attempted to sneak away quietly. But he had cunningly left a trap for her just outside the door, a cart full of wood that she stumbled over in the dark. Before she could even get up, he was there, dragging her back into the house. She cursed him in her own tongue, and fought him with all her strength. In the end he subdued her, and after that he kept her tied at night, this time to the iron bar over the round fireplace in the center of the room, so that she could not reach her dagger if she needed it. At least he let her go during the day.

  After a week passed, Arno also became impatient. He fretted and grumbled to himself, and this caused Brenna to relax somewhat. Perhaps something had happened to Cedric and he would not return at all. Arno had already shown that he did not want to bring Brenna here, any more than she wanted to be here. Mayhaps he would let her go.

  After nine days passed, with still no sign of Cedric, Brenna finally broke down and spoke to Arno. She had nothing to lose now, for since there was no one there for him to speak to, she had no chance of overhearing something useful.

  He was preparing bread for their morning meal and quite edgy when Brenna approached him.

  “Your friend seems to have forgotten we are here,” she began, gaining his startled attention. “How long will you keep me here?”

  “You speak my language well.”

  “As well as you,” she replied.

  “I was told you were here but a short while. You must have had a good teacher to have grasped a new tongue so quickly. Was it your master?”

  “He taught me many things,” she remarked evenly and came closer. “One of which is you cannot keep what you take from another in this land, not without paying dearly for it.”

  Her warning struck home and Arno jumped up from the table nervously, as if Garrick was already there to collect her. “Young Haardrad will never know you were brought here!”

  “He will in time,” Brenna reasoned hopefully. “He knows the land well and will search every inch of it. And when he does not find me there, he will at last look this way.”

  “Nay, he will give up before then.”

  “You think so, Viking? What you did not take into account is that I love Garrick Haardrad, and he loves me.” She said the half-truth with conviction. “’Tis love that binds us, and love that will conquer all obstacles.”

  Arno sat down and stared hard at her, making her uneasy. “Mayhaps, wench. But ’tis out of my hands. I am only keeping you here for another.”

  “You helped to bring me here!” she accused him with a pointed finger. “You stop me from leaving. You are just as responsible as your friend.”

  “Cease your prattling, woman!” he stormed. “I liked you better before you found your tongue.”

  “You know I speak the truth. Garrick will not forgive this slight unless you release me now.”

  “’Tis not my decision to make. Save your arguments for Cedric. You are his now.”

  “I will die before I am his!” Brenna spat, thoroughly repulsed, then she lowered her voice. “Cedric is not here now. You can let me go before he returns.”

  “He is my friend, wench, the only one I have,” he replied. “I may not agree with what he does, but he has my loyalty nonetheless.”

  “Your friend will bring about your death!” Brenna warned, grasping at anything to make him see reason.

  “There is little truth in what you say, for Garrick Haardrad will not look for you here. And if he ever does, ’twill be too late, for by then Cedric will have had enough of you and you will be sold away from here. Know this, wench. My loyalty is to Cedric and his family. I farm on their land. I am vassal to Cedric’s father, Latham Borgsen. What you ask would get my throat cut sooner than your master would.”

  “Then take me to your liege. By your own words, I know he will not approve what you have done.”

  “Enough!”

  Brenna steeled herself for one last try. “Please.”

  She humbled herself uselessly, for Arno stalked from the room, leaving her exhausted from trying and devastated at failing. When Arno returned, Brenna was silent once again. He did not attempt to change that. Then Cedric finally came, a little past midday.

  From the moment he walked into the room, Brenna felt as if she was the long-awaited meal caught by the starving beast. Cedric’s eyes did not leave her. His lustful intentions were so obvious that Arno was reluctant to demand an explanation of his absence, and looked away in embarrassment.

  Cedric removed his cloak and Brenna’s eyes were drawn to his bare arms bulging with muscle, and covered with scars. There was strength there, and Brenna knew the power of a man bent on having her, especially a man with strength. What chance did she have? But then, she had never wanted to kill Garrick, not even in the beginning. This man, yea, this man she could kill with no regrets.

  “Has my pretty prize given you trouble?” Cedric asked Arno, though his eyes were still on Brenna.

  “Not until this day.”

  “Oh?”

  “She speaks our tongue, Cedric, and very well.”

  “Is this so, wench?”

  Brenna did not answer, but moved closer to her temporary bed, where her one hope lay hidden. She must be in control of the dreaded situation when it finally came.

  “She also knows us by name,” Arno continued. “If Haardrad ever finds her, she will tell him all. I told you we should never have taken her.”

  “You sound worried, when there is no need. He will never find her.”

  “Will you
sell her soon?”

  “Nay, I think not. If Haardrad does look for her here, we will kill him. ’Tis that simple.”

  “Have you lost your senses, Cedric?”

  “Enough! I have been delayed long enough by my father sending me on fool errands to collect a prized horse he bought from his cousin. The whole time I thought of naught else but her and I will wait no longer to have her.” Suddenly he laughed. “Will you stay and watch, Arno? Or is it not time you paid your respects to my father?”

  Arno glared at Cedric, then looked at Brenna and saw her silent plea for help, but he quickly turned away. In exasperation, he stormed from the room, slamming the door soundly in his wake.

  The closing of that door was so final, yet Brenna had expected no less. Arno was a man torn between his loyalties and what he felt in his heart. Unfortunately for Brenna, his loyalties came first. That was the way with all Vikings.

  Now the test began. Brenna would either leave here with blood on her hands, or be violated by this young bastard and forever lose the hope of Garrick’s love. Garrick was no different than other men, unwilling to share what they claimed as their own. He had proved that where she was concerned. He would never forgive her, even though she was blameless. How unfair was the judgment of men.

  Still, it had not happened yet, though the moment was definitely at hand. Cedric moved in closer, slowly, like a snake about to strike.

  “Come now, my pretty,” he said cajolingly. “You speak my tongue. You know what I want.”

  She said not a word, but her eyes spoke for her. Dark, smoky gray eyes relayed her disgust and loathing, her profound contempt. Yet he was not daunted, not even surprised.

  “Will you fight me, then?” he raised a brow, his lips curling repulsively. “I do not mind, wench. I am sure you put up an admirable struggle when you were a maid first taken, but you have naught to defend now. If you prefer to pretend the virgin still, ’tis fine with me.”

  Brenna could not contain her disgust any longer. “Loathsome pig!” she hissed. “If you touch me you will not live long to regret it!”

  He laughed at her warning. “I will regret naught, but relish the touching. Do you truly believe your master will come bounding through that door to prevent me from having you? Nay, wench, there will be none here to stop me.”

  Brenna wisely held her tongue. Let him think she was helpless. Let him fall into her trap unawares. It would be her only chance.

  Cedric slowly began to remove his weapons. First his sword, then a crude ax with a chipped blade. How many skulls had split under that ax? How many men had fallen to this young braggart? Would her sin be great for killing him? Did she not have the right?

  Cedric leaped at her all at once, taking her by surprise. Brenna screamed, not in fear, but in regret, for they fell many feet from her weapon and she could see no way of getting nearer to it.

  “Now the victor claims the spoils,” he murmured before he ripped her shift to her belt.

  Then he fought to untie the belt, and Brenna fought desperately to stop him, her fists hammering at him. One blow brought forth a curse as blood oozed from his split lip. He slapped her, rendering her nearly unconscious. In her dazed state, her belt seemed to open magically and the rest of her shift tore effortlessly in half.

  Blinding pain cleared her muddled mind as both his hands came down to torture her bared breasts, squeezing them cruelly, delighting in her anguished screams. He continued mercilessly, it seemed endlessly, until finally Brenna could stand no more and fainted to escape the pain.

  Garrick stood in Brenna’s room, a candle on the mantel his only light. He stared venomously at the cold fire and the remains of the two gold arm rings, now black, but still retaining their original shape. This was how she repaid his generosity. This was what she thought of his caring.

  Garrick no longer held his anger in check—he had not for days. Why should he pretend to others that he was unaffected? He was furious, so much so that if he could find Brenna today he would kill her. But there was little chance of finding her—she had made good her escape.

  Never again would he come close to trusting a woman. Having given him her word, he actually believed she would honor it.

  “Fool!”

  He drained the tankard in his hand and walked out of the room. He would order everything within it burned. He wanted no memory of the lying bitch left behind.

  Garrick entered the hall, where Maudya was just placing his meal on the table. “Where is Erin?” he barked at her.

  Maudya jumped nervously and scampered out of his way. “He is coming.” Then she added, hoping to pacify him, “Erin is old, Master Garrick. It takes him longer these days to cross the yard than it used to.”

  “I did not ask for excuses, mistress,” he growled in return, then he pounded his fist on the table. “Odin and mighty Thor, help me! Will I have obedience from no slave under my rule?”

  His call to his gods frightened Maudya more than his rage, and she ran from the room as if those very heathen deities were about to devour her. She passed Erin on his way in. He was vexed at seeing her white face and terror-filled eyes.

  “You have no need to take your anger out on the poor wench,” Erin said boldly to Garrick, taking more liberty than he knew he should. “She has done naught but serve you well.”

  Garrick was angered further. “You overstep your place, old man. You would do well to remember who is master here!”

  “I know well enough whom I serve with love—and patience when needed.”

  Garrick was adequately chastised, but he hid this under a stern countenance and moved to the reason why he had called for Erin again. “Tell me once more what you recall of the day Brenna left.”

  “Again? Garrick, we have been over this four times thus far. I have told you everything.”

  At that moment Perrin strode into the hall, but his bone-weary expression relayed that he had no encouraging news. Garrick ignored him after a single glance and continued his interrogation.

  “Just repeat your story, Erin.”

  Erin sighed. “I did not know the lass had returned that day, nor that you had come and gone. I curse myself for my weakness, for falling ill on a day that has since caused you such misery.”

  “Never mind what it has caused me, Erin!” Garrick said harshly. “Just repeat what happened.”

  “I did not expect to be needed that day, so I went early to Rayna’s for her special potions. She put me to bed for most of the day, and God’s truth, her mixtures made me feel well again. I returned to the stable late, and that was when I heard the shepherd howling as if he were a hound from hell. The storm had not yet begun and the air was still, so ’twas not hard to hear the animal from the stable, even with my old ears. I found him alone in the house, but thought nothing of it till I realized the animal could not have started the fire or made the bread that was then burnt to a crisp. I knew the other women had not been to the house, so that was when I sent Coran to tell you what I found. Since both your mount and Brenna’s were not in the stable, ’twas only natural I assumed she was still with you at your father’s house. Before you came with Coran, the storm had begun, covering the tracks you hoped to find.”

  Garrick gritted his teeth as he remembered cursing the heavens for the snowstorm that had thwarted any chance of finding Brenna quickly. He had not found her at all, and too many days had passed.

  “And you said when you opened the door that night, Dog ran out and off to the front of the house?”

  “’Tis as I said,” Erin replied.

  Garrick slammed a fist into his palm. “I have searched every inch of land to the east, all the way to the base of the mountains, but there was no sign of her!”

  “And the mountains?” Perrin finally spoke.

  “Any fool would know they could not survive there in winter, yet I did cross the lower hills.”

  “And Dog? He would have more luck than you,” Perrin said. “Did you not take him with you?”

  “I could
not find him when I left the first time. Erin says he returned the next day, wet and injured. He died hours later.”

  “I am sorry, Garrick. I know you raised him from a pup.”

  Garrick said nothing. He had yet to deal with that loss, or to think of anything save finding Brenna.

  “I still insist she did not run away, Garrick,” Erin said stoically. “She is out there hurt, perchance—”

  “Do not say she is dead, old man!” Garrick cut him off with such vehemence that Erin quickly regretted his words almost spoken.

  Perrin tried to ease the tension that suddenly filled the air. “If Dog returned wet, the nearest lake is northwest of here. Have you been that way, Garrick?”

  “Yea, and north. And my father is still looking west, to the coast.”

  “I have also been north and east, along with many others.”

  “You have my thanks, Perrin, for your efforts, but ’tis time to quit. Erin has told me naught different. There is no clue to the direction she fled, not one.”

  “You have given up?”

  “That woman is as cunning as any man. She swore once that when she escaped I would not find her. ’Twas only because she had Dog with her the first time that I brought her back.”

  “But to just give up when, as Erin said, she might be injured, unable to return.”

  “Then I would have found her. Nay, my father will not quit, but I am through being the fool. She is gone, and I do not want her name mentioned in my presence again.”

  The icy water thrown on Brenna’s face brought her back to consciousness. She choked and coughed, feeling she must surely be drowning. Then her eyes flew open. She was aware of immediate danger, but she could not recall what was threatening her until a tall form loomed before her.

  Cedric stood at her feet, completely devoid of any clothing. She saw then that she was also bared to his view, her torn shift thrown open. He feasted his eyes on her with a libidinous grin and she moaned inwardly. Was it over? Were her most private parts already violated by this grinning whoremaster? Nay—nay! She could not believe her mind would so desert her, leaving her helpless in the face of danger.