Fires of Winter

“Did you?” Garrick scowled.

  “Nay, but I’ll wager the next man will who comes across her. You do not mind sharing that one?”

  “Why should I? Mayhaps that will put her in her place,” Garrick said sourly.

  Perrin laughed. “You have yet to keep the promise you made at the feast? The wench is not tamed, eh?”

  “You do not have to remind me of that drunken promise,” Garrick grimaced. He recalled it clearly, for he was not that drunk at the time, merely angered by his brother’s constant teasing that he could never handle such a termagant as Brenna. Placing his hands on the yule boar dedicated to the god Frey and drinking from the sacred cup, he had promised before all that he would tame her.

  Little did he know then what a difficult chore he set for himself. The course he decided on had failed. She was not humbled by the outcome, but quite pleased, and since that was not the objective, it rankled him sorely. Yet to mar her with the lash would be useless, he knew; besides, his heart would not be in it. Although she would not bend to his will, at least she served him, even if it was not as he had first ordered.

  “So she will not work for you?” Perrin asked.

  “Nay, she works in the stable.”

  “You allow that?” Perrin looked surprised.

  “’Tis the only thing she would agree to,” Garrick admitted grudgingly, his scowl deepening.

  Perrin’s laughter rang through the hall. “So the wench was right! ’Tis you who has been tamed, not her.”

  “She said that?”

  Perrin’s laughter died and he frowned at the black rage that gripped his friend. “Come now, Garrick. I would not cause the wench harm because of my words.”

  “She will not be harmed, but by Thor, she will not be so pleased with herself on the morrow!”

  A dark cloud seemed to have enveloped Garrick. Perrin watched him and sighed inwardly. He sorely regretted his rash words, and hoped the girl would not fare too badly because of them.

  Garrick made his way to the slave quarters, a brooding anger eating at him every step of the way. Stealthily he opened the door to the women’s house and went inside. A soft reddish glow from the dying fire aided him in finding his quarry, and he moved to her.

  Brenna was fast asleep on a mat by the hearth, curled under an old woolen blanket. Her silken hair was loose and flowed behind her, looking as if bedecked with rubies from the firelight. Long black lashes shaded her cheeks, and her parted lips were moist like dewy pink rose petals.

  The sight of her so sweet and innocent in sleep stirred Garrick’s blood. That she was a she-devil when awake was forgotten. He bent and gently removed the blanket. When the chill air from the open door touched her bare feet, her face puckered in a frown and she pulled her legs up closer to her chest to seek the lost warmth. Her small form was hidden beneath a rough, voluminous nightdress no doubt given her by the plump Maudya, asleep across the room.

  Garrick well remembered the silken limbs that were now wrapped up so snugly, the soft arms and long, tapered thighs, the firm twin mounds of her breasts and taut flatness of her belly. He thought too of the delicate curve of her waist and the gentle, rounded buttocks that begged to be patted, the velvety smoothness of her back and the satin hollows of her neck that he had kissed.

  Garrick quickly shook the imaginings from his mind before they got the better of him, and he acted like a rutting stallion with no care for privacy. With a deft movement he clamped his hand over Brenna’s mouth to still her cry of alarm, for it would wake the others. Her eyes opened instantly, but before she could see who was abducting her, he picked her up and crushed her against the rock hardness of his chest, then carried her squirming form out into the night.

  When he reached the stable, he put her down. She faced him angrily, her hair flowing over her shoulders to her waist like a raven’s cloak. Then she recognized him and her temper cooled completely.

  “Oh, ’tis you,” she said in a tone that implied he did not merit her concern.

  “And who else would it be?”

  “One of your friends,” she retorted. “That one called Bayard I wager would like to pay me back in turn for what I did to him. Your brother too would like to lay me low.”

  “And you fear them?”

  “Nay, but I am not fool enough to take them lightly,” she answered.

  “’Tis only me you take lightly, eh?” he growled.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Why should I fear you, Viking? You have shown me your worst, but in truth, ’twas not so bad.”

  He stepped closer to her, his anger mounting again. “Do I carry you the rest of the way, mistress, or will you walk?”

  “Nay, I will not go with you. I do not like being roused from sleep for your pleasure.”

  “’Tis not my pleasure we’re about, wench.”

  “Oh? What then?”

  “Will you come?”

  Before she could say yea, for her curiosity was pricked, he took her elbow and pushed her roughly before him. She pulled away and halted when the rocks on the ground made her aware of her bare feet.

  “Why do you stop?” he asked, his tone impatient.

  “Is it your wish to have my feet bloodied? It seems you must carry me after all,” she said with an impish smile.

  He hesitated for a long moment, staring at her darkly before he yanked her to him and lifted her off the ground. At once she wrapped her arms tightly about his neck, and heard him grunt his disapproval as she did. With quick strides he reached the back of the house and the stairs leading up to the second floor. He mounted them rapidly, taking two steps at a time. Her weight seemed to be no more than a sack of feathers in his arms.

  Once inside the house, he let her slip to the floor, but Brenna purposely kept her arms about his neck a moment longer than she need have before she dropped them at her sides. His face was impassive as he pushed her on ahead of him.

  She had not been in this house since the day he took her innocence, and she immediately noticed the changes that had taken place since then. Ornate gold candle-holders were now affixed to the walls at intervals, and between them hung small, brightly stitched tapestries with gold-fringed borders. On the floor a narrow rug ran the length of the wide corridor. It was black and silver, with gold stitching spiraling along the edges. The atmosphere was quite an improvement over the gloomy one that prevailed before.

  Brenna hesitated when she saw that they were approaching Garrick’s chambers, but he shoved her inside, then closed the door behind them. She whirled on him, arms akimbo, her eyes flashing stormily.

  “Have you deceived me, Viking? For what purpose are we here?”

  “Our purpose, as you put it, I expect will be lengthy. Knowing your aversion to drafts, I chose this room since ’tis the warmest in the house at present.”

  “How thoughtful,” she muttered sarcastically.

  Indeed, the room was cozy. A fire blazed in the hearth, and warmed the large room entirely. Brenna noticed that here too improvements had been made. Two identical huge rugs that nearly joined, covered the cold floor in a bright blue and gold pattern. Two large tapestries hung on the walls. One was of peasants toiling in a field under a brilliant sky, and the other told a detailed story in miniature against a yellow background. A backless divan had also been added to the room. Covered in rich blue and white brocade, it had carved lions’ paws for legs.

  Brenna took all of this in with surprise before she eyed Garrick again. “Well, will you tell me now why I am here? And why did you come for me the way you did, in such secrecy?”

  He shrugged and walked to the small table where a skin of wine and a plate of cheese rested. “I did not know your mood, so I chose not to risk your making a ruckus and waking the other women. There is no point for them to lose sleep just because you and I have things to settle.”

  Brenna stiffened. “We settled everything. What else is there?”

  “We settled naught, mistress.”

  “Yet I work for you,” she replied, her voi
ce rising. “I earn my keep! What more do you want of me?”

  He walked over to the large coffer set against the wall and took from it a gray silk robe trimmed elegantly with white fur. Then he came to stand before her, only inches away, so that she had to tilt her head up to look at him as he spoke.

  “Aye, you worked, gladly, but not as I wanted. I gave in to you because at the time I could see no other way. Slaves are not supposed to enjoy their labors, mistress, yet you surely did.” He paused. “No more.”

  “Oh?”

  A cold smile crossed his lips. “We will start anew. You will do the tasks originally set for you, and you will begin with this,” he said, handing her the short robe. “There is a small tear under one arm that needs repairing.”

  She stared at him, aghast. “Lord in heaven!” she cried in exasperation.

  “Your god cannot help you, wench, nor will mine. You have only me to deal with.”

  “I won’t do it, Garrick!” she replied furiously, throwing the robe to the floor. “You know I won’t!”

  He shrugged again, unperturbed, and walked back to the table. “Then you will remain in this room until you change your mind,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Nay, only until you sleep, Viking.”

  “Then it appears you must be guarded again. Dog,” he called, and the white shepherd came from the bed. Brenna had not even noticed him, his fur coat blended so well with the ermine. “Stay by the door and see that the wench does not leave,” Garrick commanded.

  The animal seemed to understand every word. He turned his head and looked at Brenna inconsequentially before moving to the door, where he lay down to rest again. Brenna cast the dog a murderous look, then turned that same look on his master.

  “I have tried not to hate you, Viking, since you were not personally to blame for my being here, but you are making it difficult!”

  His lips turned up in a cynical smile. “Hate me all you like, mistress. ’Twill not change a thing. My feelings for you are not much different, for you have been naught but an ill-tempered, troublesome wench since you came, a thorn in my side that I can do without. At least we know where we stand.” He took a long draught of wine, then began to remove his clothing.

  “Now what?”

  “We have reached an impasse, so there will be no more discussion this night. To bed, mistress.”

  “I am no longer tired,” she said sourly.

  “So?”

  “You may force me to stay in this room, but I will not sleep in that bed with you!” she stormed.

  “Oh?” he crooked an eyebrow at her. “I thought by the game you played since last you lay there that you would be more than willing to do so again.”

  “You thought wrong!” she snapped, her cheeks reddening.

  “Well, no matter. Since I do not mind sharing my bed, you will sleep there. But never fear, mistress. I will not take advantage of you, for you will not find pleasure in this room. Now to bed, and if not to sleep, then to think on your stubbornness.”

  Brenna’s body urged her to consciousness. It seemed to cry out, Wake up, wake up and see what pleasures await you. The dream was dispelled and her eyes opened slowly in surprise at the strange sensations she felt, then they widened fully when she understood what was happening.

  She lay on her side facing the wall, her arms resting on the pillow under her face, one leg raised and bent at the knee, the other leg straight. She was on top of the soft ermine spread, as she had been before she fell asleep with Garrick beside her. But now her nightdress was pulled up and bunched about her waist, leaving her hips and legs completely bare.

  She lay perfectly still and managed to keep her breathing even as if she continued to sleep. Garrick’s chest was pressed against her back, the warmth of him seeping through her nightdress. His arm rested on her waist, his hand beneath the material was squeezed between her breasts, gently teasing one. She could feel his breath on her neck, hot and tickling, and his hand moved slowly downward, trailing over the taut curve of her belly, then on to her hip and down her thigh. The sensation caused goosebumps to spread over her legs. Then his hand moved deftly to her inner thigh and began to ascend with maddening slowness until it finally stopped on the soft mound of black curls between her legs. There the hand lingered, the fingers gently parting the curls, nudging their way into the moist, hot flesh that already quivered with delight.

  With startled wonderment, Brenna heard a soft moan escape her lips. She knew she should run, flee, but instead she slowly turned onto her back to lay the way open for those questing fingers. A seductive smile curled on her lips when she saw the ardent look in Garrick’s turquoise eyes.

  “It took you long enough to wake, wench,” he murmured in a teasing manner.

  It amazed her that he could be so warm and tender, when he was usually so abrupt and harsh. But she did not mind, and this amazed her also; she actually looked forward to this moment. The last time they had laid thus, she had experienced genuine pleasure, but she also sensed that even more intense delight could be reached.

  “I could have sworn, Sir Viking, that you said I would find no pleasure in this bed,” she said, running her fingers through the golden hair on his bare chest. “You cannot keep your word for a single night?”

  “It seems, mistress,” he replied huskily, lowering his parted lips to hers for a gentle kiss, “that I spoke in haste. But you have yourself to blame, for in truth, your mannish ways do vanish once you are abed.” He grinned down at her. “Why is that?”

  She shrugged, then smiled impishly. “I find that being a woman on occasion has its merits. And I am not too timid to admit it.”

  “Timid, ha!” he laughed. “Never that!”

  “’Tis well you know it, Viking,” she returned, her hand moving to his neck to pull him closer. “Now you will not be surprised by my actions.”

  She kissed him hungrily, and even though she had said the words, he was amazed. That her nearness had tempted him beyond control was a fact. That she was driving him wild with passion now was even more true. She urged him to take her, and he did, without hesitation. She opened her legs to him and he thrust deep into her inner recesses. He clutched her buttocks to press her even closer to him and rode her like a stallion rides the wind. Before the final thrust, he felt her legs wrap around his hips and then he was lost in that white sphere of fire and delight that had spurred him to break his word and make her his.

  Breathing heavily, Garrick rested his full weight on her small form, his head nestled against her neck. Finally he moved to get up, but her arms locked behind his head and held him tight, and her legs still circled his hips. He looked down, questioningly, and noted the alluring slant of her eyes, the sensual twist of her lips.

  “Show me your strength, Viking,” she breathed, squirming her body enticingly beneath his. “Continue.”

  “By the gods, woman, have you no shame?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Why?” she returned undaunted. “Is it shameful that I like this? Am I supposed to pretend otherwise?”

  “Nay, but no woman has ever asked more of me.”

  “Do not compare me with your other wenches, Viking!” she said hotly, and released her hold on him. “Leave off then if you have not the strength to satisfy me!”

  He grabbed the hands she pushed against his chest and stretched them out at her sides. “The tactics you use are unseemly, vixen,” he sneered.

  With deliberation he started to move in her again, and at the same time crushed her lips with a painful kiss. It took but a moment for the spark of desire to be rekindled. Garrick thrust with a steady, purposeful rhythm and at length released her arms and cupped her face in his hands. His kiss became more intense, more demanding. He could feel her hands roving over his back, kneading the hard muscles there. She began to moan softly and her arms circled his neck again, tighter and tighter she squeezed as if she would hold on for dear life. Even in his own fiery haze, he noted her wild abandon and at last the breath caught in her
throat and she went rigid, her nails digging into his shoulders like cat’s claws. His name escaped her lips in a throaty whisper. At that moment he joined her in that most sought-after realm of explosive delights.

  This time she did not protest when he moved to her side. They both lay exhausted, breathing heavily. When she touched his shoulder softly, his mind rebelled, for he feared that she would dare demand more of him yet.

  “’Tis not yet morning, mistress,” he said tiredly, his eyes closed. “Go back to sleep.”

  “I only wished to thank you, Garrick. That is all.”

  He opened his eyes to see the tender expression on her face before she turned away from him and pulled her nightdress down. He stared hard at the back of her head, wondering anew at the many different temperaments this woman possessed. This one he liked best.

  His features softened. “Come here, wench,” he said huskily and pulled her back into his arms.

  He knew she wouldn’t resist, and this pleased him even more. She snuggled close to him, and he knew without a doubt that he could grow accustomed to this woman without much effort.

  “’Tis nice, Garrick, not fighting with you,” Brenna breathed softly against his chest, already half asleep.

  He smiled to himself and unconsciously held her closer. The effect she had on him was startling. If she kept this up, he would want her again.

  “Yea, Brenna, ’tis nice indeed.”

  Brenna sat across the small table from Garrick, her morning meal before her. She was slumped back in her chair, moodily picking at her food, every few moments flashing Garrick a furious look. But he was too intent on his meal to notice.

  For one week now he had kept her confined to this room, with only the cursed white shepherd for company. Garrick brought Brenna her meals himself, but left her alone for the length of the day, only returning at night. He did not touch her again after the night he carried her here, even conceding when she insisted she would sleep on the divan instead of next to him in the large bed.

  Awakening that first morning after their night together, she was appalled at the memory of what she had done. It was not Brenna who had acted no better than a wanton whore, but her contemptible female body. That traitorous instrument had demanded to know the full fruits of its awakening, had even teased and cajoled Garrick to show her. He had stirred a fire within her that she never dreamed existed, but never again. The delicious pleasure she had experienced could be denied. Yea, that kind of ecstasy she did not need, for she would have to give up too much to attain it again….