Fires of Winter

  “What is amiss, Brenna?” Linnet asked. “You do not look well at all.”

  “I am merely tired. I did not sleep well in the stable.”

  Linnet’s concern was visible in the tightness of her expression. “My quarters are empty. You may sleep there for a while if you like. The men will not return until midday.”

  “Nay, Aunt. I will make my way home. I have no wish to see Garrick this day.”

  “But the feast…”

  “Will continue without me. I will not celebrate when I have naught to be thankful for.”

  “What has happened, Brenna? You were so happy when last we spoke.”

  “I have been a fool.”

  “Because of Garrick? Does he not care for you as I—as we thought?”

  “He cares, Aunt, but not enough,” Brenna replied and started to walk back to the stable. “Not nearly enough.”

  “Brenna, wait!” Linnet called after her. “He will ask for you. What will I tell him?”

  Brenna turned and shrugged. “The truth. I have gone home and will not return. I will see him when he has had enough of revelry.”

  It was a short distance from Anselm’s settlement to Garrick’s house on the cliff, but to Brenna it seemed an endless journey. She rode aimlessly for a while, brooding over Garrick’s aloof attitude.

  It took several moments after she had reached the stable, before she realized that Erin was nowhere to be seen. That was a stroke of luck. Now she would not have to explain why she was alone. The house was also empty, and as cold as the outside, if not more so. Brenna did not bother to light the fires in the lower half of the house, but went straight to her room. There she sat on her bed, staring dismally at a crack in the floor.

  At last anger came to the surface and slowly took hold, searching for an outlet. Brenna was beside herself with this new anger born of hurt. Since Garrick was not there for her to vent it on, she chose the next best thing—his gifts. She yanked off the two gold arm rings and threw them at the wall, but they merely fell and rattled on the floor, coming to rest undamaged. Disappointed, she started a fire, then tossed the rings into it, but the process of melting the gold was too slow and not at all satisfying. Next Brenna tore off her beautiful gown, ripping it again and again till it lay in shreds on the floor.

  The sight of what her destructive actions had wrought, brought tears that stung her eyes. “’Twas too rich for a slave, so a slave should not have it!” she cried aloud. Then remorse overcame her as she thought of the kind woman who had made the gown for her. “Heloise will not be pleased.” More tears fell. “Look what you have made me do, Garrick! ’Tis your fault and no other’s,” she said childishly, then threw herself on the bed. “Damn you, Viking! I do not like this hurt I feel!”

  Sleep came unexpectedly and lasted most of the afternoon. It was late when a sound outside Brenna’s door woke her. She immediately scrambled beneath her covers, hating to be found in this predicament. A second later, before she could completely hide her nakedness, her door was thrown open and Garrick bounded into the room.

  His face was a mask of fury. “I did not give you leave to return here, mistress!”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “Yet you did as you pleased!” he shouted before his eyes fell on the ruined gown. Then he turned on her with new rage, and yanked her from the bed. “I came here to drag you back with me if necessary, but I see you have made that impossible!”

  Hot color burned her cheeks as he held her cruelly before him. “’Twould not do to have a guest in your father’s house wearing coarse wool, now would it, Viking?” she taunted him with sarcasm to hide her own humiliation.

  “Nay, it would not,” he answered coldly. “And since you prefer your slave’s garments, ’twill be all you will have, wench, for you will receive no more gifts from me!”

  “I did not ask for any!”

  He made as if to strike her, but instead shoved her away from him, and she fell back against the bed. “You will stay in this house, since ’tis where you prefer to be. I will find another to entertain me at the feast.”

  His words struck her harder than his hand would have.

  “Do you think I care?” she shouted, though her voice cracked with the lie.

  “It matters little if you care or not,” he replied, wounding her further. “And henceforth you will abide by my rules, wench, for I am through being lenient with you.”

  “What will you do, Viking?” she demanded recklessly.

  “Will you take my life as carelessly as you took my love?”

  He stared hard at her for a long moment, his eyes moving over her soft curves, stopping at her heaving breasts, then resting on her face, seeing her proud beauty, her defiance, her spirit. She was like a wild, untamable creature, yet vulnerable.

  “Nay, I will not take your life, Brenna,” he said, deeply, thoroughly impassioned by the sight of her splendor. “I will take your love again—now.”

  Before she could cry nay, he fell on her, his only effort that of lowering his breeches to unsheath his manhood, which throbbed to be inside her. Brenna was shocked and repelled by this onslaught. She was too enraged to be stirred by the rape, and fought him wildly, clawing his bare arms till blood dripped on her bed. But he did not stop or try to stay her hands, pressing on until his gift of life poured into her and he collapsed.

  When he left the small bed and fastened his breeches, Brenna trembled in outrage at the way he had callously taken her with no thought for her, only his own animal needs. She would never forgive him for that.

  “Remember my warning, Brenna,” he said as he crossed to the door. “Do not leave this house.”

  Even now he was asserting his power over her, reminding her that she belonged to him, that she could only do what he allowed her to. He scorned her love, yet he controlled her life.

  “Did you hear me, mistress?”

  She glared at him with malice, her eyes dark cinders. “The devil take you, Viking! May you never find your Valhalla, but rot in hell with Loki’s daughter!”

  Garrick seemed to pale. “Those are harsh words, Brenna, even spoken in anger. Another would slay you for such a curse.”

  “Do so! Kill me!” she screamed. “I don’t care anymore!”

  Garrick did not answer, but quickly left the room before he took his anger out on her again. He went directly to the stable, and for the second time did not notice that Erin was not about. He mounted the poor beast who had run his best that morn, though Garrick still lost to Hugh. Losing had soured his mood considerably, but finding Brenna gone was the last blow.

  Garrick bolted from the stable, his temper boiling. “Damn fickle woman!” he growled at the wind. “First she cried her hatred so stubbornly, then she turned about and said she loved me—now she hates me again. I gave her all I had to give, but nay, ’tis not enough for her! Loki take her! I do not need this vexation.”

  Garrick spurred his horse on without pity. He would drown in mead this night and forget the stubborn vixen at his house.

  Brenna started the cooking fire, then prepared a loaf of flat bread as she had seen Janie do so often. She was in a much better frame of mind now. After Garrick had left, she had cried some more, but then she realized how foolish she had been. Garrick was willing to share his life with her, to give her what he could. She must accept that and be grateful for it. One day he might change and love again. After all, she had changed.

  The house was quiet, with only the occasional crackling of the fire to break the stillness. Dog was sprawled out beneath the table, so Brenna did not see his head when it suddenly perked up. However, she did hear the noise outside that had aroused the white shepherd.

  Could Garrick have returned already? If so, then he must have missed her company. Brenna smiled at that thought and waited for the door to open. It did, although very slowly. Cold air rushed into the room and chilled Brenna, but not as much as the realization that Garrick would not enter his house in such a stealthy manner, nor would anyone
that she knew.

  A man stepped carefully around the half-opened door—a tall man, nearly Garrick’s height, with golden brown hair and light blue eyes. He was warmly wrapped in fur pelts of different colors, and a single-edged sword was clasped in his hand.

  Brenna held her breath. She did not know this Viking, and from his look of surprise when he spied her, he did not know her either.

  Dog came to her side, his low growl bringing back some of her courage. The dagger Garrick entrusted her with rested on her hip, and this also lessened her apprehension, though her weapon was little good against a broadsword.

  “Brenna?”

  She was bewildered. Did he know her after all? But no, his tone was questioning. He must only know of her, and so must also know Garrick. Perhaps there was nothing to fear, then.

  “Who are you?” she asked, but his expression showed plainly that he did not understand her.

  Brenna bit her lip in indecision, wondering if she should speak his tongue or not. Dog continued to growl threateningly. Did he sense danger?

  “The wench is alone, Cedric.”

  Brenna caught her breath and whirled around to face the stranger who had come in from another part of the house. Before she could even appraise the situation, the young man called Cedric grabbed her from behind. She cried out in startled alarm, and at that moment Dog bared his teeth and attacked the Viking’s leg.

  Cedric yelled in pain as Dog drew blood, and he raised his sword to sever the animal’s head.

  “Nay!” Brenna screamed, and grabbed the Viking’s arm to stay him. She forgot her own fear and mustered all her strength to keep the sword from reaching its target. Yet it was not through her efforts that Dog was spared, for she was like a mouse against a deadly hawk. The other Viking acted quickly and kicked Dog away from the descending sword.

  “She would not kill the dog,” he said warningly, “so neither can we.”

  “Ah! ’Tis a fool’s errand, this trickery!” Cedric spat and released Brenna in order to tend to his leg. “We have the girl, Arno. That is enough.”

  “We will do this as the woman wanted it done,” Arno replied. “’Tis the only reason I agreed, because we will never be suspected.”

  Cedric grunted and remarked with sarcasm, “The purse of gold swayed you not a little, eh?”

  Arno ignored that question and stared angrily at his friend. “Is revenge against a dog worth your father’s wrath?”

  “How so?”

  Arno threw up his hands in exasperation, a coiled rope he held sliding up to his shoulder as he did so. “Must I remind you that your father loathes the feud you and your brothers started. ’Tis my thinking, and you know it too, that Latham would frown on this deed. If we are found out, ’twill bring the peace of these last years to a bloody end.”

  Brenna stood silently between these two men as they argued. She did not understand exactly why they had come here, but she knew it boded her no good. Though he would live, Dog was hurt, and could not come to her aid again—and Garrick was enjoying himself at the feast.

  She felt a twinge of resentment that Garrick had left her here alone to fend for herself. Then she chided herself. It was not his fault, but hers, that she was here facing God knows what.

  Before Arno finished his last words, Brenna slipped slowly from between them. In frantic haste, for this was her only chance as far as she could see, she turned and started to run. Suddenly her feet became tangled in something and she fell forward, scraping the palms of her hands against the hard floor.

  With dread, she realized her error as she was roughly yanked to her feet. She glared at this Viking who had cunningly thrown his rope at her feet to stop her. Her eyes were as dark and wild as a tempest as she watched him gather the short rope and wrap it about her wrists.

  He did not look at her once to see the fury and contempt she felt, but turned to Cedric once he finished binding her hands together.

  “We have the horse and now the girl. Let us be gone before this plan goes awry.”

  He did not wait for an answer from the younger man, but quickly grabbed an old cloak by the door and threw it over Brenna’s shoulders, then left the house, pulling her behind him with the rope. She felt degraded and helpless, like a poor trussed-up animal. How dare they treat her like this?

  Brenna was led along the side of the house, past the cell where she had spent one wretched night, to the front of the house. She was more confused than ever, and frustration and anger further prevented her from thinking clearly. They started down the steep cliff path to the landing below. There Brenna saw Garrick’s ship, awesomely proud, floating on the smooth waters of the fjord like a sleeping dragon. Beside it and just as impressive was another huge Viking ship.

  She was deposited on this second ship, and in no time at all it moved slowly away from the landing, away from possible rescue, away from Garrick. Brenna fought the panic that rose to overwhelm her. Where were they taking her? And more important, for what reason?

  She watched the Vikings closely. The current carried the ship along with it, yet the two men still struggled with the oars. If they had come from the direction they were headed now, she wondered how they had possibly managed to fight against the current. Why bring such a large ship to steal a single slave when a small boat would have sufficed?

  Brenna saw the reason for it when she surveyed the empty ship and found it was not so empty. In the shadows behind her she made out the shape of a horse. Since she was not tied to anything to restrict her movements, she moved closer and finally recognized Willow.

  This was even more confusing. Garrick had many fine animals. If these Vikings were pirates, thieves in their own land, why did they take only one horse and one slave?

  Brenna reached every imaginable conclusion about her predicament, and all were disheartening. She waited eagerly for the Vikings to speak, to give her more information, but they were silent, bent on their task. At least she was not being taken out to sea. They had gone inland and now reached a landing on the opposite side of the fjord.

  As she and Willow were taken off the ship, she looked dismally out at the deep water of the fjord. Even if she managed to escape from these men, how could she possibly return to Garrick? She could never man this ship alone, nor could she attempt to swim back to safety, for she did not know how to swim.

  Two horses were tethered near the landing. Brenna was lifted up onto Willow’s bare back and after the men climbed on their own mounts, they started to ride in the direction they had come from, back toward the sea. After going only a short way they turned south, away from the fjord, further away from Garrick.

  Garrick. What would he do when he found her gone? With Willow gone also, would he think she had run away again? The thought might come to him, but he would reject it. She had given her word not to escape him, so he must conclude that she did not leave of her own accord. He would search for her, but would he think to cross the fjord?

  The night seemed cloaked in a shroud. Not one star blinked down from the heavens. It was not a night to find one’s way in the dark, but the two men beside Brenna knew exactly where they were.

  Less than an hour passed before the horses stopped. Brenna could just barely make out the silhouette of a house on flat land. She strained her eyes to see more, but there was no time, for she was pulled down from her horse and quickly taken inside the dwelling.

  The house was dark, and the acrid smell of trapped smoke hung heavy in the air. The men started a fire and Brenna looked about the sparsely furnished room. There was only a single stuffed pallet on the floor, a small table with two benches, and a few cooking implements by the fire.

  Many fur rugs covered the dirt floor and the walls, adding some luxury to the room. On closer inspection, she noticed too small personal items, though they did not number many. A brass tankard sat on the table, and four beautifully painted plates of glass were set on wall racks. Two fine axes with amber handles were crossed above the door. In one corner was a shelf full of clay pot
tery, thin cups, vases and bowls, all etched with heathen designs.

  Brenna finally returned her attention to the two men. Arno was removing the many fur pelts wrapped around him, while Cedric was staring with apt interest at Brenna. She felt her blood turn cold.

  “Mayhaps I will delay my leaving.” Cedric said, his eyes still affixed on Brenna.

  Arno looked up and frowned. “Your pleasure can wait. We discussed this at length while waiting to be sure she was alone.”

  “I know,” Cedric said, then remarked, “the woman Adosinda said this slave was a beauty, but she is much more than I anticipated.”

  “Cedric.”

  “Very well!” he replied in annoyance. “I will return to my father’s feast. But I will be back come morning. And she is mine first, Arno. Remember that!”

  Arno shook his head. “I want no part of her. I have bad feelings about what we have done.”

  Cedric laughed. “I do not believe my ears.”

  “Say what you like. She belonged to another man, she did not want to leave his house, and I fear he will not rest until he has her back.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “There will be blood shed yet because of this deed. I feel it—I know it to be so.”

  “If you know so well what the morrow will bring, then tell me how he will ever find her?” Cedric asked with sarcasm.

  “Ah, ’tis a coward I have for a friend.”

  “Because we are friends, I will not take exception to your loose tongue.”

  Cedric did not show even a little remorse as he stalked to the door. He took one last look at Brenna, and she cringed at the meaning she read in his cold eyes.

  “Take good care of her for me, Arno,” he said, then left the house.

  Brenna was shaken. She looked at Arno hopefully, but he quickly ignored her. He would offer her no help. He would leave quietly while his friend ravished her. She could not let it happen; she would not!

  Some of her old spirit returned. She had fought Garrick, and with some degree of success. She would overcome this Cedric also. He would expect her to be his victim, not his opponent. She would have that element of surprise on her side.