“I mean you no harm, girl,” Anselm’s words came out gruffly, and he cleared his throat before he continued in a softer tone. “Can you understand me? Have you learned to speak my language yet?”
Brenna did not blink an eye at his question, but remained perfectly still. She watched him suspiciously. What reason did he have to be here when Garrick was away?
Anselm fiddled with the knife in his hands, his head bent as he watched the long blade gleam in the firelight. “I expected no less from you,” he said in a soft whisper.
Brenna frowned. What was he talking about? She had to strain to hear him as he continued. “I should not have come, I suppose. ’Tis too soon for you to forget what I did, or to understand why. I hated your people, girl, for what they did to my son. When you have a son of your own, you will understand. Garrick could forgive them, for he learned compassion from his mother, but I could not. We are a proud and vengeful people, but I was wrong to exact my vengeance from you and your family, who were not to blame.
“’Twas your northern Celts who held my son prisoner in a murky dungeon for nigh onto a year, and he only a youth of ten and seven then. They denied him nourishment, except for gruel not fit for dogs. They tortured him for sport, but were careful not to kill him, for ’twas their intention to use him against other Vikings who came to raid them. When Garrick escaped and returned to us, he was but a shell of the boy he was. It took over a year for his full strength to return and the scars to heal.”
Anselm finally looked up at Brenna, his blue eyes sad. “I know you do not understand what I am saying, girl. You hear my voice, but do not comprehend my words. ’Tis just as well,” he sighed. “I like you, girl. I admire your spirit and I regret that I took you from your land. You will never know this, though, for I am a man with fool pride like any other. I could never say these words to you if you understood them. But I can at least try to make amends and hope that one day you will no longer hate me as you do now.”
Brenna was tempted to speak to Anselm in his own tongue, to let him know she understood every word he said. It would give her some satisfaction to humiliate him thus, but she was reluctant to give up the one secret that might help her when she was ready to escape. Besides, she was disturbed by what her own people had done to Garrick and could see why Anselm might want revenge (even if she could not forgive him for what he and his men had done in her land). After all, Garrick had risked being captured when he chose to raid her people. Still, he should have been killed when taken, not kept to torture just for sport.
Anselm stood up and dropped the long knife on the table. Brenna watched it fall, then looked quickly back at the huge Viking.
“Aye, I know you would run me through if given the chance.” Anselm spoke again with his customary gruffness. “But do not try it. I have no wish to die yet, not with many years of fighting before me, accounts to settle, and grandsons to see and hold before I join Odin in Valhalla.”
Anselm moved to the hearth to warm his hands by the fire. It was as if he was daring Brenna to run for the knife on the table. Either that, or he was showing that he was willing to trust her. Wisely, she stayed where she was.
Still he continued to speak, perhaps clearing his conscience. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, girl, you have weighed heavily on my mind. But I see you have fared well here in my son’s home.” He glanced at her slyly. “Aye, you have fared well, while Garrick’s moods have a darker edge to them. Are you the cause?” Suddenly he grunted. “Bah! As if you would answer me even if you could. I am seven times the fool for talking to a wench who knows naught of what I say. And even more of a fool to give a prized horse to a slave girl. What possessed me to make such a decision—ah, ’tis done. Garrick will not like it, but mayhaps he will allow you to ride the silver mare when he learns she was yours in your land.”
Brenna had to lower her eyes so he would not see the sudden joy reflected there. She could not believe it. Willow here? And given to her—not Garrick—her!
Anselm crossed to the door to leave. Brenna stared curiously at his back. Why would he do such a thing? After all that he had put her through, it was inconceivable that he should be kind now.
As if in answer to her silent question, Anselm turned at the door. “Erin will tell you of the horse. I do not expect this to change your feelings for me, girl, but ’tis a beginning.” He chuckled. “My action will certainly give you cause to wonder at my motives.”
Whatever his reasons, Willow was here and hers again. She now had a reason to venture out into the icy breath of winter. She would need trousers, though, to ride comfortably and protect her from the cold.
Brenna suddenly twirled about the room in her excitement. She had not felt this happy for a long time. The fact that Anselm was responsible did not hinder her pleasure. Garrick, on the other hand, might forbid her to take Willow out after her run-in with the two men. A frown crossed her brow, but only for a moment. He could not stop her when he was not here to do so. And when he returned, well, the devil take him. Just let him try to stop her!
Brenna entered the stable and quickly closed the large door to keep out the cold. She was tightly wrapped in the heavy bearskin cape that Garrick had tossed at her one day when the last hints of summer had vanished. All of the slaves here had their own capes or jackets made of old furs stitched together and considered worthless for trading.
Brenna was certainly not happy with hers. Although the fur was clean, the skin was rough and terribly heavy. She was sure Garrick had given her the heaviest cape he could find, just for spite. But it was all she would have unless she raided the locked storehouse where clothing, provisions and Garrick’s treasures were kept. This she was determined to do one day with Erin’s help. For her escape, she would also need the weapons kept there.
The stable was warm, and the pungent odors of horse and dung filled her with nostalgia for home. As a child, she had spent most of her time in her father’s stable—whenever she was not practicing with her weapons or tagging along behind Angus.
Erin was nowhere in sight. He was probably sleeping in the back, but Brenna was not eager to wake him, not yet. She could hardly contain her excitement as she scanned the stable for Willow. When she saw the silver-flanked mare, Brenna ran to it, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Oh, Willow, my sweet Willow. I thought to never see you again!” Brenna cried.
In truth, she had begun to doubt she would ever see anything from her home again, including her aunt and stepsister. She had asked Garrick once to take her to see them, but he had refused without explanation, and she was too proud to ask again.
Brenna hugged Willow’s neck tightly; the horse snorted and shook its head in return. “I am so glad to see you,” Brenna said softly, “that I will even forgive you for throwing me the last time I rode you. It has been hell here, but you will make it bearable.”
“Who is there?” Erin called from the back of the stable, then came forward. “Oh, ’tis you, lass. What brings you here?”
Brenna chewed her lower lip nervously. She hated to fool Erin, but she couldn’t trust her secret to anyone, not even this old man she considered her friend.
“Anselm came to the house yesterday,” Brenna finally said. “He talked long, but I did not understand anything he said. I came to ask you what he wanted.” Brenna turned to Willow again, and the joy that entered her voice was genuine. “I found my horse, Erin! What is she doing here?”
Erin chuckled, unaware of Brenna’s deception. “The filly is yours again, lass, given by Anselm himself.”
“Did he say why?”
“Nay, only that I was to be sure Garrick understood that the horse was yours, not his.”
Brenna could not suppress her laughter. “Do you think Garrick will be angry?”
“Of course he will, just as he has been angry about everything of late. I cannot guess what is the matter with that boy. He is worse now than he was a few years back, when his temper first surfaced.”
“You mean when
Morna first ran off?”
“Aye.”
“Do you suppose Garrick’s foul moods are because Morna has returned?” Brenna ventured.
“Truly, I cannot say.”
Brenna understood Garrick’s harsh attitude no better than anyone else. He had not been so forbidding when she first met him. He had humor then, and teased her often. Now she never heard him laugh, and when he spoke, it was harshly. But then, he had hardly talked to her at all before he left this last time. It was as if they had begun a silent battle, speaking only with their eyes.
Brenna had hoped at first that she was the cause of his dark moods, but she could see no conceiveable 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 head-dress, 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 Cordella said. He did not know which of the two women to believe. He was inclined to believe Cordella’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?
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 th
at 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.