Fires of Winter

  He knelt down beside her and shook her roughly, but stopped as he felt the heat that permeated even her thick velvet tunic. He put his hand to her face and drew in his breath sharply. She was burning with fever.

  “My God, Brenna, what have you done?”

  She opened her eyes and stared at him in confusion. “Why do you speak to my god? Your pagan gods will be angry.”

  “Does it matter which god I speak to?” he asked angrily.

  “They are one and the same, I think. But I ask them and you, why did you try to kill yourself?”

  “I am not dead,” she said in a soft whisper before her eyes closed in sleep again.

  Garrick’s face was ashen. “You will be if you do not fight this, Brenna. Wake up!”

  When she did not stir, he picked her up and carried her swiftly into the house and up to his room. There he laid her on the bed and covered her with the warm ermine spread. He stirred up the fire, then came back to the bed.

  “Brenna. Brenna!”

  She would not wake. He shook her shoulder, but still she did not open her eyes. He began to panic. He knew nothing about fevers. Yarmille must be called. She knew much of herbs and potions. She had cured Hugh when he was a boy, taming a raging fever he had.

  Garrick left the room. After waking Erin and telling him to send the women to the house, he himself rode to fetch Yarmille. They returned within the hour and Yarmille closeted herself in the room with Brenna, forbidding anyone else to enter.

  Garrick paced tirelessly before the fire in the hall. Maudya came in quietly, bringing food and drink for him, but he did not touch them.

  Erin sat at the table watching his young master with deep concern. “She is a strong lass,” he said encouragingly. “I have seen many fevers in my day. ’Tis only a matter of cooling her when she is hot, and warming her when she is cold.”

  Garrick looked at him stonily, as if he had not heard a word the old man said. He continued to pace, the loss of sleep affecting him not at all. Hours passed and day turned to night again.

  Yarmille came into the hall, looking tired and haggard. Garrick held his breath as she stared at him for a long moment without speaking.

  Finally Garrick could not stand the suspense any longer. “The fever has passed?”

  Yarmille shook her head slowly. “I am sorry, Garrick. I have done all I can.”

  He came forward. “What are you saying? That she has not improved?”

  “She did for a while. The fever dropped. She took my potions and ate some broth. But then the fever returned and everything I gave her, she vomited. She can keep nothing down and now she is much worse than before.”

  “There must be something you can do!”

  “I will make a sacrifice for her,” Yarmille suggested. “That is the only thing left to do. If the gods are pleased, they may spare her life.”

  Garrick blanched and ran from the hall up the stairs to his chambers. Erin, who had stayed with Garrick the whole day, got up from the table, tears glistening in his eyes.

  “Is the girl really so ill?” he asked.

  Yarmille looked at him disdainfully and said in a haughty tone. “She is. And the gods won’t help her. Why should they? She will die before morn.”

  With that Yarmille left the hall to return to her home. Once outside, a contented smile came to her lips. She would make a sacrifice all right, but to insure the girl’s death—though she doubted help from the gods would be necessary. With Yarmille’s potions and an open balcony door in Garrick’s chamber, her death would be assured.

  If only she had seen the threat the girl posed sooner, she could have gotten rid of her before Garrick even saw her. She had been sure that Garrick would not take to the girl, that he would shun her as he did all the others. Still, all things come to those who wait—and she would not have to wait much longer…

  Erin entered Garrick’s chamber to find him standing beside the bed, a defeated man. A fire was burning in the hearth, yet the room seemed terribly cold.

  “Would that I could do it all over again, it would be different, Brenna,” Garrick said in a hollow voice. “I will never forgive myself for this.”

  Erin moved beside him, his face drawn with worry. “She cannot hear you, lad.”

  “She was speaking when I came in the room,” Garrick told him. “In such a childlike manner.”

  “Aye, she is no doubt reliving her past. I have seen this deep sleep before, where devils play havoc with the mind. For some ’tis not so bad; for others it can be a living hell, where death is welcome.”

  “She cannot die!”

  “So you love the girl, Garrick?”

  “Love? Love is for fools!” he answered heatedly. “I will never love again.”

  “Then what does it matter if the girl dies, if she is only another slave to you?” Erin said wisely.

  “It matters!” Garrick said forcefully, then all anger suddenly left him. “Besides, she is too stubborn to die.”

  “I pray you are right, lad,” Erin replied. “Myself, I would not give a fig for Yarmille’s opinion. There is always a chance, with God’s help.”

  Brenna sat on her father’s lap, her new sword with sparkling gems clutched tightly in her tiny hand. “Did I thank you, father? Oh, I thank you again! My very own sword, made especially for me. I could not have asked for a better present!”

  “Not even a pretty gown, or a fancy trinket? Your mother loved such things.”

  Brenna made a face. “Those are for girls. Girls are silly and cry. I never cry!”

  Alane pushed Brenna into the steaming bath. The water was scalding hot. Steam filled the room, making a white fog which hid Alane from sight.

  “What would your father say if he knew you were fighting with the village boys, and in the mud no less?”

  “Father would be proud of me. I won, didn’t I? Ian has a black eye, and Doyle a swollen lip.”

  “They let you win only because you are Lord Angus’s daughter.”

  “I am not his daughter. I am not! And I won fairly. Now let me out of this bath before I boil to death!”

  “You must get clean and pretty, Lady Brenna.”

  “But the water is too hot. Why does it have to be so hot?”

  Brenna’s stepmother’s disembodied face came out of the foggy steam. “Brenna, you are a disgrace to your father. When will you learn to be a lady?”

  “I do not have to do what you say. You are not my mother!”

  Alane blew away the steam. “She is your mother now, Brenna.”

  “Nay, nay, I hate the widow, Alane, and her daughter. Why did father have to marry her? Cordella is always teasing me. And the widow is a witch.”

  “You must show them respect.”

  “Why should I? They hate me too. They are both jealous of me.”

  “Mayhaps they have no kindness in their hearts, girl, but you do. ’Tis up to you to make them welcome here.”

  Brenna was duly chastened. “If I must, I must, but I won’t like it.”

  Snow began to fall, heavy thick sheets of it, covering the land in a blanket of ice. Brenna ran across the frozen lake, skidding and sliding. She waved to Cordella, who stood by a tree, wrapped in a mantle of silver, her red hair like a flame against the white snow.

  “For shame, Brenna. A young woman your age acting like a child. The ice will break and you will fall in. Then what will you do?”

  The ice cracked with a deafening sound and Brenna tumbled into the icy black water just as Cordella had predicted. She began to shake uncontrollably. Her hands were numb with cold, and she could not crawl back onto the solid ice.

  “Help me, Cordella. I am freezing.”

  “Did I not say you would fall?”

  “Della, please help me out. The water is so cold. It hurts, it hurts terribly.”

  “’Twill hurt also when your husband first takes you. Then you will know real pain.”

  “I saw an act of coupling in the village. ’Twas not so horrifying as you would have m
e believe, Della.”

  “Wait and see. Soon your future husband will come for you. Then you will suffer.”

  “I will not marry a Viking. I will marry no man. Did I not shun two score of wealthy suitors?”

  “You will be married, Brenna. Your father has given his word.”

  Linnet came from a great distance, walking slowly toward Brenna out of the dark. Finally the woman reached her. Her face was tired and sad as she pulled Brenna out of the freezing water and began to wrap blanket after blanket about Brenna’s shoulders until the girl felt as if she would suffocate in the warmth.

  “Angus is dead, Brenna.”

  “Nay!” Brenna screamed in agony. “My father cannot die! It is not so!”

  The village was weeping. Angus was laid to rest. The sun was not up yet, but it seemed terribly hot for so early in the morning.

  “The Vikings come, Lady Brenna.”

  “Wyndham! Is this the way your kinsmen come for a bride? To attack and kill? Alane, no! You must not die too! I cannot help you, Aunt Linnet. He has broken my sword. I cannot help any of you. I will kill him for what he has done to my people, I swear!”

  “I am Heloise, wife to Anselm. You will be given to my son Garrick.”

  “I will not be owned!”

  “Have I found the means to tame you, wench?”

  “He will rape me. My God, how will I endure the agony Cordella said I would feel? Where is the pain? Cordella lied! She made me show fear to the Viking when there was no need. But ’twas beautiful. He is beautiful. Such a magnificent body, so much power and strength. He makes me forget that I hate him. He makes my will his own.”

  Laughter came from far away. Cordella and Yarmille laughing. Anselm and Hugh laughing.

  “He is a beast! He cares naught for me. How could he abuse me so before his guests? I am free of him now. He will never find me. I could not have stayed with him any longer, not when his touch turns me to honey.”

  Swords clanging together. The noise was deafening, and hurt her ears, finally she screamed.

  “I cannot kill you, Garrick, even for my freedom. I do not know why, but the thought of you dead hurts so terribly.”

  Brenna trembled. “I am so cold. I am ill and he does not even know it. He will be sorry when he finds me dead. How could he do this to me after I saved his life? ’Tis so cold, so cold.”

  “Yarmille, close the door before…before…”

  Brenna floated in the warm lake, her eyes closed to the welcome sun. Not a care creased her brow. Not a thought disturbed her peace, gently floating, the warm water a natural balm.

  She awoke and the warm lake was replaced by a soft bed which felt uncommonly hard for some reason. She blinked her eyes several times before she recognized Garrick’s room, then turned her head to find him sitting beside the bed in one of the thronelike chairs, looking terribly haggard and unkempt. Yet he was smiling at her. And his eyes were warm.

  “You do not look well, Garrick. Have you been ill?”

  He laughed at her concern. “Nay, wench, I am fine. But how do you feel?”

  She tried to sit up, but groaned. “I feel sore all over, as if someone took a stick to me.” She glanced at him suspiciously. “Did you beat me while I slept?”

  He looked affronted. “How could you think such a thing? You have been gravely ill for two days. ’Tis no doubt the sickness that has made you weak and sore.” He got up and pulled the covers up about her neck. “The women have kept soup warmed for when you woke. I will bring you some.”

  Brenna relaxed in the big bed when he left. Is he sorry? He shows concern, but does he really care?

  She could not wait for the food. Sleep took hold again and pressed her into peaceful darkness before he returned.

  The last month of the year was a bitterly cold one, bringing snow and ice to the land in abundance. Brenna spent a good deal of the month in bed, having her every need pampered by Janie and Maudya. Even Rayna grudgingly brought her a special soup full of herbs known for their healing powers.

  The women served Brenna eagerly. She was one of them, one who had narrowly escaped death. Yet she was also the master’s favorite, which became more apparent every day, though Brenna did not see it so.

  When Garrick finally pronounced her well enough to return to her chores and her own room, Brenna was hard pressed to hide her relief. However, the most strenuous task she was allowed to perform was to baste the hind quarter of a small boar with honey, and she was thoroughly annoyed that she was still being cosseted by the other servants, under Garrick’s orders.

  Brenna threw open the door to Garrick’s chamber without knocking. He looked up from his evening meal, more startled by her presence in his room than by the loud banging of the door. He ignored her rigid stance and the stormy gray of her eyes and continued eating.

  “You should be abed, mistress,” he said sternly, without looking at her. “You have no doubt had a trying day and need your rest.”

  She came further into the room. “What I need is for you to relax your concern. I am not a cripple, Garrick,” she said tightly, trying to control her temper.

  She knew it was pointless to argue with him when he was so damned benevolent. She hated his new attitude. He was like a forgiving father with an errant child, when forgiveness was the last thing that was needed.

  “Do you doubt that I am well?” she continued.

  He shook his head, still not looking at her. “Nay, but you cannot be allowed to overdo things, Brenna. You nearly died, but were granted life. Is it not reasonable that you begin that new life with a measure of caution?”

  “Nay, ’tis most unreasonable!” she snapped, forgetting herself. “First you keep me confined to bed longer than necessary. Now you treat me like a fragile doll that will break if moved. I am well, I tell you!” Brenna threw up her hands in exasperation. “God’s mercy! I am not an idle person. I was ever willing to work in your stable but you said nay. If all you will allow me to do is work here, so be it. Yet I must have something to do.”

  “This is not what your sister would have me believe.”

  Brenna was startled out of her anger by his words. “You spoke with Cordella?”

  “Yea, at length.”

  Brenna clenched her fists. The thought of Garrick and Cordella talking, laughing, making love together, drove everything else from her mind. So she was right. Those many nights Garrick had come home late, making her wait up for him, he had been with Cordella!

  “Brenna, come here.”

  “What?” she asked without hearing him.

  “Come here!” he repeated.

  Still she did not move or look at him. Finally he came to her and touched her cheek.

  His fingers against her skin were like a shock, and she slapped his hand and backed away from him.

  “Don’t you touch me!” she cried, pain and anger in her voice. “Don’t you ever touch me again!”

  Garrick stared at her in confusion. “Thor, help me! What is wrong with you, woman?”

  “You—you are mad if you think I will share you with my sister! If you want her, then you can have her, but don’t you ever come near me again, or I swear I will kill you!”

  A twinkle came into Garrick’s eyes and he grinned in amusement. “Why would I want your sister when I have you? And why would you even think that, when I said only that I talked to her?”

  “You have not made love to her?”

  “Nay, I have not. But if I had, why should this upset you, Brenna?”

  She felt her face redden deeply and realized how foolish she must have sounded, almost like a jealous wife. She turned away from him, wondering at her own reaction.

  “Brenna?”

  “I would not mind if you take another woman,” she replied quietly, feeling that unwelcome lump rise in her throat. “If another can take care of your needs, I would be glad of it, for then you would leave me be. But ’tis not right that you should have both me and my sister. Can you not see the wrong of it?”
r />   “Is that the only reason you will give me?”

  Her eyes shot open wide. “There is no other.”

  “Very well, I will not press you for it.”

  She glared at him. “I tell you there is no other reason!”

  Garrick grinned at her, his dimples deepening. “You take offense easily this night,” he said with humor in his voice, and moved to his coffer. “Mayhaps this will lighten your temper.”

  She fixed her gaze on him, entranced for a moment at the way his golden hair fell over his forehead, making him look so boyish and harmless, not at all like the Viking warrior, ravisher and coldhearted master she knew him to be. She was loath to take her eyes from his face, but finally she looked at the box he took from his coffer and her eyes lit up with curiosity. As he came toward her, she could see that the box was a miniature chest carved in an Eastern design and inlaid with ivory. It was quite lovely.

  She met his eyes as he handed the chest to her. “What is this for?”

  “Open it.”

  She lifted the lid. Inside, on a bed of blue velvet, were a matched pair of gold arm rings in the shape of coiled snakes, with bright red rubies for eyes. She knew that for the Vikings, rings like these were prized. She had seen Hugh’s wife wearing gaudy bands on her bare arms, and even Heloise wore arm rings. The men did too. The wealthier the man, the more costly the arm ring.

  These that Garrick showed her were tasteful. She lifted one and found it was heavy—made of solid gold, no doubt.

  Brenna met his eyes again. They shone softly with aqua lights.

  “Why do you show me these?” she asked, handing the chest back to him.

  Garrick kept his hands at his sides. “I do not show them to you, Brenna. I give them to you. They are yours—the chest too.”

  She looked at the rings again, then stared at him incredulously. “Why?”

  “’Tis my wish.”

  “To give a slave such costly trinkets?” She became incensed. This was his way of assuaging his guilt for locking her in that horrible cell. But she would not forgive him for that. “When do I wear them, Garrick? When I am washing your clothes? When I sweep the hall? Nay, I will not wear your gift.”