Fires of Winter (13 page)

Janie’s eyes widened when she saw her. “Brenna! Oh, Lord, I forgot about you again. I have been so busy,” she apologized, “ever since Yarmille roused me from my sleep.”

“’Tis all right, Janie. I only just woke anyway. What time of day is it?”

“’Tis afternoon, and many others are just now waking too,” Janie replied tiredly, pushing her stringy hair away from her face.

“No wonder I am so famished,” Brenna said, surprised that she had slept so long. “Have they been like that the whole night?” she asked, nodding toward the hall and the raucous sounds coming from it.

Janie sighed. “Yea, it has not stopped. Some passed out from overindulgence, but most were wise enough to retire for a while before continuing the celebration. Still there are those who are bleary-eyed and still singing in their cups.”

“When will it end?”

Janie shrugged. “Mayhaps on the morrow, hopefully. But you had best return upstairs quickly, Brenna. The men drift in here from time to time to bother us. ’Twould not go well for you if you were seen. They have had their fill of me and Maudya, who is even now in the guest room. They go wild over a new wench who they have yet to try.”

“I understand,” Brenna replied, sure that Janie was exaggerating. After all, Garrick had not once looked at her like that.

“I will make you a platter now and bring it up.”

“Very well.” Brenna turned to leave.

But she had lingered too long. Behind her came a roar that sounded like a wild beast. Alarmed, she glanced over her shoulder and saw a burly giant stomping toward her. Two others stood by the opening to the hall, laughing and cheering him on.

“Brenna, run!” Janie screamed.

Although it was against Brenna’s nature to run from anything, her common sense told her this was not an opportune time to take a stand, for she had no weapon and was unquestionably outnumbered. She bolted for the door, but had lost too much time debating with herself. The Viking grabbed her long braid and jerked her back against him.

“Unhand me, you bloody heathen!” she stormed.

But he only laughed at her outrage and futile struggle; besides, he did not understand her words. She had to bite her lip to keep from snapping his head off in his own tongue. To do so would not aid her plans, so she hissed at him in her own language, although it gave her little satisfaction, as he carried her back inside. He had her hooked under one arm like a piece of baggage as he passed through the closed-off cooking area to join his two friends by the hall next to the stairs. She noticed that Janie was no longer in the cooking area, but Janie could not help her anyway.

“Well, Gorm, a fine prize you have captured. I swear you have the luck of the gods this day.”

“She would be Garrick’s new slave. I wonder why he has kept her hidden until now,” another said.

The man holding Brenna guffawed. “You can look at her and ask that?”

“Nay, Garrick does not care for women anymore, not since Morna played him falsely.”

“Aye, but this one is different.”

“I agree, Gorm. Still, Garrick would not make use of the wench as I would. Nor is he possessive of his property. So why did he keep her hidden?”

“I think she hid herself. I would say by the way she fought me that she did not want to be found.”

“Anselm says this one fights like a man.”

“With a weapon, yea, but she has none—ouch!” Gorm cried and dropped Brenna to the floor, his hand going to his thigh where she bit him.

“She may fight like a man with a sword in hand, but she fights like a woman without one!” Another man roared with laughter.

Brenna was on her feet in an instant, but she stood in the midst of the three men, with only the hall at her back. The big one who had held her scowled his displeasure and reached for her again. Brenna had already suffered from his strength and was not about to be caught once more. Feigning a show of fear, she dodged Gorm’s outstretched hand and collided with one of the other men. In so doing, she lifted a knife from the man’s belt, then slipped from his light hold and stepped back, making sure they could see the metal gleaming in her hand.

“Thor’s teeth! You have been duped by a crafty wench, Bayard.”

The man whose knife she held shot his friend a murderous look. “She needs to be taught a lesson!”

“Then do so. For myself, I have no desire to return to my wife with a wound I could not explain easily.”

“Gorm?”

“Aye, I’m with you, Bayard. She’ll make the liveliest tumble I have had yet.”

“Then I will take the arm with the knife, while you grab hold of her.”

Brenna divided her concentration between the two of them. Fools, she thought contemptuously. Their free talk in front of her was a better weapon than her knife. She was ready for them when they came at her. She held the knife before her, and when Bayard jumped for her arm, she lowered it quickly and slashed at his middle, making a narrow rip in his tunic that was instantly soaked crimson.

“For your effort, pig!” she spat at Bayard even as she pointed the knife at Gorm to ward him off.

The animosity on their faces made her wary now, and she backed away from them slowly. However, she stopped short when she came up against the hard frame of yet another Viking. She realized her mistake too late. She was in the hall, and a group of men surrounded her. She turned in a flash before the one behind her could lay his hands on her, and quickly stepped into the open.

The hall was wrapped in a cloak of silence. Brenna’s eyes darted all about her and met stunned faces. No one moved accept Gorm and Bayard, whose intent was still clearly malicious. If they all rushed her at once, she knew she was lost. Still, a few would die in the process and at least she would have revenge of a sort.

At least Brenna was in control of her actions. She had not panicked as would most who were so grossly outnumbered. When one sodden drunk sidled up to her, patted her buttocks familiarly and uttered a scurrilous jest, she whirled on him but stayed the knife. Instead she raised her skirt and gave him a kick that sent him sprawling backward. Once again she faced her two antagonists, who had taken advantage of the diversion to move in closer.

Everyone in the room suddenly roared with laughter at the drunk’s thorough humiliation. Some of the tension was gone as comments about Brenna were bandied about. Many there knew her, and they were amazed to see her ready to fight again. All curiously watched her and the two men pursuing her, and noted the blood that stained Bayard’s tunic.

“I applaud the entertainment, Bayard,” Anselm’s deep voice roared from across the room. “But do you think it wise to arm a slave?”

At the obvious jibe, Bayard’s face turned bright red. Rather than challenge a man as powerful as Anselm for his taunting remark, he went along with the mockery. “Nay, but ’twas the least I could do to liven up the feast. Too many were wont to sleep rather than drink.”

More clamorous guffaws followed, and Brenna watched warily as her two adversaries gave up the pursuit and blended in with the crowd. She turned toward the voice she recognized all too easily, her eyes smoky gray, ignited by the fires of hatred. She saw Anselm instantly, seated at a corner of one of the two long tables. Their eyes met, and it took all of Brenna’s will to keep from screaming in rage and attacking him like a wild animal does its prey.

“Put down the knife, Brenna.”

She tensed when she heard the voice. “Nay, I keep it!”

“What will it gain you?” Heloise asked.

“’Twill keep me from being mauled by those bungling asses!” she snapped, looking around her once before she stuck the knife in her belt.

“Yea, I suppose it will. But Garrick won’t allow you to keep it.”

Brenna’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and her hand rested on the hilt of the knife. “He will regret trying to take it away,” she said acidly, then nodded towards Anselm. “Speak for me and tell your husband that I challenge him. He may choose the weapon, for I am adept at all.”

Heloise sighed and shook her head. “Nay, Brenna. I will not tell him that.”

“Why?” Brenna frowned. “’Twill be my words you speak, not yours.”

“A Viking will not fight a woman. There is no honor in it,” Heloise replied softly.

“But I must see him dead!” Brenna cried, frustration in her voice. “’Tis not my way to lay in hiding for my enemy, so I must fight him fairly. He must face me!”

“He will not fight you, girl. Rest assured, he knows how you feel towards him.”

“’Tis not enough! Can you not understand that I am torn apart and your husband is responsible. My people are dead because of him—men that I grew up with, that I broke bread with and cared for. My sister’s husband—dead! Even one of your own who was there—” she caught herself before she revealed too much. “Who was a friend. He was also cut down. And my servant, an old woman whom I loved dearly.” Brenna’s voice rose, and she became distraught with the memory. “She fell with an axe in her back! Why her? She posed no threat. If a Viking will not fight a woman, why is she dead?”

“The men grow a little wild when they raid,” Heloise answered sadly. “Many die who should not, and ’tis unfortunate that this happens. There are many regrets afterward. Anselm also has regrets.”

Brenna looked at her with disbelieving eyes. “How can he when he keeps my aunt and stepsister as servants?”

“And yourself?”

“Nay, I will not serve.”

“You will in time, Brenna.”

“I will die first!”

Brenna’s outburst had caused the hall to grow quiet again. Her words were not understood, but the men around her knew rage when they saw it. Hugh Haardrad moved in close, fearing for his mother’s safety.

“Does she threaten you, mother?” Hugh asked.

“Nay, her anger is for your father.”

“I do not trust a slave with a knife, especially this one,” Hugh replied gruffly. “Keep her attention and I will take her from behind.”

“Nay, Hugh, leave her be,” Heloise ordered. “She is prepared to fight right now. Indeed, she wants to.”

Hugh laughed. “So? What chance has she?”

Brenna shot him a murderous glance. This was the man who had dared to touch her intimately when she was bound and helpless.

“Swine!” she hissed, and spat at his feet.

Hugh’s look grew venomous, and he instinctively raised a hand to strike her. “Why you—”

“Hugh, stop it!” Heloise demanded.

At the same time Brenna drew the knife from her belt and faced him with outstretched arms. She grinned, daring him to come at her.

“The bitch!” Hugh growled. “’Tis fortunate I did not choose the hellcat, or she would be dead now! And likely he feels the same, from the looks of him,” he added, nodding toward the rear of the hall.

Brenna turned to see Garrick standing in the doorway she had come through earlier. His face was set in a dark scowl, and his eyes told of his cold rage. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

Janie stood behind Garrick, her expression anxious. It was obvious she had brought him. Oh, Janie, Janie. You thought to help me, but I fear you have only brought me more trouble, Brenna moaned to herself.

Garrick approached them slowly, his displeasure written all over his face. When he reached them he ignored Brenna and addressed his mother, though not in his Norwegian tongue.

“What is she doing here?”

“Ask me, Viking!” Brenna snapped. He gave her a steely look.

“Your friends Gorm and Bayard chased her in here, Garrick,” Heloise explained quickly.

“And the knife?”

“She took it from Bayard.”

“I can blessed well speak for myself!” Brenna interjected angrily.

“I am sure you can, wench,” Garrick replied in a tight voice. “So tell me then. How were you found? I will not believe my friends entered the sewing room.”

“I came below.”

“You were told to stay put!” he reminded her harshly.

“Is it your intention to starve me then?” she asked indignantly, feeling a tight knot in her throat. “No one brought me food so I sought it myself.”

His features softened only slightly. “Very well. So ’twas someone else’s forgetfulness that caused you to be found. But that did not give you leave to steal a weapon, mistress!”

“I did so only to protect myself!”

“From what? he asked brusquely. “No one would harm you here.”

“Mayhaps not harm, but what they intended was as bad!” Brenna returned.

“What they intended is permissible in this house, mistress,” Garrick said, his brows narrowed.

“You would allow them to take me, then?”

“Yea. I have not denied my friends their pleasure before, and I will not start now.”

Brenna’s eyes widened, her confusion obvious. “Then why did you keep me hidden from them?”

“I would have given you time to adjust to your new life,” he replied easily, as though his thoughtfulness should be appreciated by her. “I will still give you time.”

She glared at him contemptuously, her eyes a stormy gray. “Again you show yourself to be a fool, Viking, for I will never adjust to the life you would force on me! I will not whore for your friends!”

His eyes brightened with barely controlled anger. “I think the time has come, wench, to prove who is the master here.”

Heloise finally interceded. “Garrick, nay. Not here before all.” She spoke in their tongue, assuming Brenna could not understand.

“She needs be taught a lesson!”

“Yea, but privately, son. She must be handled differently from the other slaves, for her spirit is too proud.”

“Spirit can be broken, mistress.”

“You would do that to such a beautiful creature?”

He crooked his head at her. “Why do you take her side? Do you expect me to tolerate her tantrums?”

“Nay, but I feel a sort of kinship with her,” Heloise admitted. “At one time I felt much the same way as she does now. But I was won with love.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“You could try kindness, son,” she said softly.

“Nay, ’tis not my way.”

“There was a time when you were not so hard, Garrick. Has Morna destroyed you so?” Seeing that his eyes narrowed, she added quickly, “Forgive me. I did not mean to remind you of her. But this girl is not Morna. Can you not practice a little tolerance for her sake?”