Fires of Winter (32 page)

Garrick rose quickly. “Your pardon, Hugh. I would find Brenna before our father’s feast is ruined. She has a talent for trouble.”

“Sit down, Garrick, ’Twould take more than a little vixen to ruin this feast. I would discuss with you your voyage this spring.”

“Can it not wait until later?” Garrick asked impatiently.

“If you leave now, Morna will be sure to think you are afraid to face her.”

“Morna?”

Hugh motioned toward the door and Garrick turned to see Perrin, looking justifiably embarrassed, and beside him, his sister Morna. She looked as lovely as ever. Her flaxen hair was pulled back tightly, accentuating the strong bones of her face, and her full curves were pressed hard against the dark green silk of her gown. Their eyes met, and Garrick’s were as dark as a stormy cove.

Hugh was right. He could not leave now. He turned his attention back to his brother and sat down slowly. He would just have to trust Brenna not to do something that they would all regret.

In the sky, a red mist was gathering, tinging the white landscape. An ominous color, red—the violent color of blood and anger.

Brenna stared at the northern lights for several seconds, imagining the shafts of violet-red mist to be bloody arms reaching out to unseen enemies. Her stormy thoughts and the vivid memory of her humiliation because of Cordella’s lies brought out such imaginings. Her anger was barely controlled as she opened the door to the women’s quarters.

Numerous oil cups glowed with light, and a fire burned in the center of the room. Pallets lined the walls, and on one lay Cordella, an arm draped over her eyes, her fiery red hair spread out on the pillow beneath her head.

“Who is there?” Cordella asked in a bored voice. “Hugh?” She waited for an answer, but none came. “Linnet?”

“Nay, ’tis me, Della.”

Cordella sat up immediately, her face slowly losing all color. “Brenna—I—”

“You what?” Brenna demanded sharply as she came closer. “You are sorry? You meant to admit to your lies before I was humiliated because of them?” Brenna stood directly in front of Cordella, her hands planted on her hips, her eyes stormy with rage. “Why did you lie to me about what happens between a man and woman?”

Hot color returned to Cordella’s cheeks. “’Tis what you deserved!”

“Why? What have I ever done to you to make you so vengeful? I would know the answer, Della, before I take my
own
vengeance!”

Again Cordella blanched. Quickly she tried to justify herself. “Dunstan wanted you, but you were not even aware of it.”

“Dunstan?” Brenna’s brows narrowed. “That is absurd. He was your husband.”

“Yea, my husband!” Cordella shrieked bitterly. “But ’twas
you
he coveted. If you had known, you could have put an end to it. You were too wrapped up in trying to prove yourself worthy of your father’s pride. You were not aware of how others felt.”

“If what you say is true, why did
you
not tell me? You know I wanted no man, least of all Dunstan.”

“I could not have admitted to you or anyone that I could not hold my husband’s love.”

“And for this you would make me anticipate a nightmare? You thought ’twould be with my new husband, but it being the enemy who first ravished me made it even worse. Not the experience, Della, but the fact that for the first time in my life my courage fled completely.”

“I am glad if you suffered even a little humiliation, for I suffered much because of you!”

Hot fury flashed in Brenna’s eyes and her hand struck out and slapped Cordella soundly across her face. Her other hand reached for her dagger.

“I am not to blame for your hurt pride, Della! If you had any sense, you would see that. Had I found you the night the Viking first took me, I would have killed you. ’Tis still a pleasant thought.”

Cordella stared in disbelief at the blade in Brenna’s hand. “You would harm a woman with child?”

Brenna was stunned, and she drew back. “Do you speak the truth, Della?”

“Linnet knows. Ask her if you doubt my word.”

Brenna had not counted on this. She would not have killed her, for she could be generous in her new-found love for Garrick. She had meant to scare her greatly, however. Now she could only make false threats.

“You have trifled overmuch with my life, Della. If you ever do so again, I will forget that I am Christian and drive this blade through your heart—child or no child!”

As Brenna sheathed the dagger, Cordella smirked with new courage. “You do not frighten me, Brenna Carmarham! Hugh will protect me. And you will pay dearly for what you did to me this day!”

“Is more revenge worth your life, sister?” Brenna countered in a menacing tone before she turned on her heel and stalked from the room.

Brenna was furious. The meeting had not gone at all as she had planned. She could not believe Cordella’s audacity. She would wash her hands of her stepsister, and never see the lying witch again. The one slap was hardly adequate retribution, but she would be satisfied with it.

The red mist had not stayed long to light the sky. It was dismally black again as Brenna hurried back to the hall. She now regretted the harsh attitude she had taken toward her aunt, and looked about the hall for her to make amends. Linnet was nowhere about, so she made her way to where Garrick sat.

As she sat down beside him, her self-consciousness returned twofold. Many eyes stared at her wonderingly, and Garrick’s were the most curious.

“You saw your sister?”

“Yea, I saw her.”

“She is well, I trust?”

“She is with child!” Brenna snapped irritably, then immediately regretted her harshness.

“But she
is
well?” Garrick persisted.

“She was in good health when I left her,” Brenna conceded. She had too much on her mind to wonder about his concern.

Because of her new-found feelings, she looked at Garrick in a different light. She noticed quickly that he was not totally at ease, and wondered if she was the cause. She decided to convey some of her new feelings to him, but sensed she must do it in a subtle way. It would not do for Garrick to become suspicious and misconstrue her motives.

She smiled at him in a flirtatious manner. “Did I tell you how splendid you look this day, Garrick?”

As she had guessed, he looked at her skeptically. “I recall you had the opportunity to do so, but you let it pass.”

Her smile brightened. “Then I tell you now: you do indeed look the noble lord. ’Tis a fitting title, but not used in your land, eh?”

He shook his head. “We are a feudal kingdom. Each clan has a chief. He is lord, even King, of his settlement.”

“Like your father?”

“Yea,” he replied, his eyes questioning. “Why do you ask?”

She answered with another question. “Do you not think it is time I became curious about your people—and you?”

He grinned. “I suppose ’tis reasonable.”

“Is your family large?”

Garrick shrugged. “I have uncles, aunts and many cousins.”

“I know you have two brothers, but are there no others? No sisters?”

A black cloud seemed to descend on Garrick. “I had a sister,” he said in a voice edged with bitterness. “She was my mother’s youngest child. She died many years past.”

Brenna could feel his anger and pain like a sword piercing her heart, and it surprised her that she could be so touched by his emotions. “I am sorry, Garrick.”

“You need not be,” he said tightly. “You did not know her.”

She touched his hand gently. “Nay, but I know the pain of losing one you love.”

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. Then he gazed at her softly as the anger slipped away. “Yea, I suppose you do.”

Brenna had an overwhelming desire to lean against him, to feel his arms encircle her warmly. Even as she thought of it, the raw wounds of her father’s death seemed to heal somewhat. She no longer felt so alone, so lost.

Though Garrick was now the center of her life, she was not yet ready to bare herself before him. Brenna withdrew her hand from his. They had never before talked this way, and she was pleased with the new beginning. Yet she felt awkward and nervous as a short silence fell between them. She resumed her questioning, but on a new subject.

“Garrick, you never speak of the time you were captured by my people, nor do you appear to hate them for what they did to you. Why is this?”

He looked surprised by her question. “Who told you of that?”

“Your mother spoke of it when I was first brought here, to explain why Anselm attacked us.”

She did not need to add that it was Anselm who had gone into greater detail on the matter. “Do you prefer not to speak of it?” she continued, seeing that his mood at least did not darken with the reminder.

“I prefer to forget that time. But since you are profoundly curious this day, I will tell you. When a Viking raids, he is aware that he risks a warrior’s death, or capture and slaughter, which are not so valiant. These were the risks I took, and when captured I expected to die without honor.”

“This is so important?” Brenna interrupted. “To die a warrior’s death?”

“’Tis the only way to reach Valhalla.”

“A Viking’s heaven?”

He shrugged. “A good comparison. But only warriors may enter Valhalla.”

She remembered her lessons with Wyndham and would not ask Garrick more of what she already knew. “So you expected to die without honor?”

He nodded and continued. “’Tis the truth that I was cruelly treated, and there are a few I would kill if I found them. But ’tis also the truth that I would not be alive today were it not for one of your people, an old guard who took pity on me and helped me to escape.”

“And that is why you do not hate us all?” When he nodded again, she added, “Yet your father does not feel that way. Does he not know ’twas a Celt who aided your escape?”

“He knows. But my father is a man of quick judgment. He decided to blame all of you for what I endured. Once his course was set, he would not deter from it—until he met you. He regrets attacking your village and bringing you here. You do know that, Brenna?”

“Yea, I know. Your mother has said as much.”

“Do you still hate him?”

Brenna was torn, for she did not really know. “If it had happened to you, Garrick, if a Celt had come here deceitfully and killed most of your clan, taking you prisoner, would you not hate him?”

“With certainty,” he admitted, surprising her. “Nor would I rest until he was dead.”

“Then do you blame me for how I feel?”

“Nay. I only asked if you still feel that way. A woman is usually more forgiving than a man, nor does she think like a man. But then, you are the exception to that rule, are you not?” he teased.

She smiled, anxious to be done with the subject she had unwillingly led herself into. “Not as much as before.”

“Oh? How have you changed, mistress? Did you not insist on carrying a weapon before you would come here? And will you not use that weapon against me when I claim you later?”

“Nay, not against you, Garrick,” she answered softly.

He leaned closer and tilted her chin up to search her eyes.

“Will you give your word, Brenna?”

“I give it.”

He leaned back and laughed. “Then indeed you have changed.”

She grinned slyly. “Not as you would think, Garrick. I may not use a weapon, but you still will not claim me easily.”

He sobered, then complained good humoredly, “’Tis not fair, wench, to give me such a brief moment of victory.”

Her eyes twinkled with merriment. “Who was it, Viking, who told you women played fairly?”

He grunted and purposely turned his attention away from her to Hugh, who was bragging to a few others that he would win the horse race planned for the next day. Brenna did not care to listen. She felt extremely good. It was the first time she had ever spoken to Garrick without anger coming between them.

That she had fallen in love with this Viking was not so surprising, now that she thought on it. He had everything that she admired in a man: courage, strength, a strong will. He could be gentle at times, she knew. And that he was so undeniably pleasing to look upon did not hinder his cause.

She was certainly aware that he wanted her. In small ways he had shown that he cared. Others had noticed this too, so it must be so. The only difficulty, then, was to tell him that she also cared.

Oh, Garrick, somehow I will make you trust me, Brenna thought, filled with determination. She smiled again and moved aside as servants laid huge platters of roasted boar and beef on the table, along with bread and honey.

She stood and filled a tankard with foaming mead. As she did so, her eyes met those of Anselm, who was at the head of the table. Brenna quickly turned away, missing the warm smile he gave her. She saw Perrin next, and returned his rather reserved greeting. Then her eyes were drawn to the woman beside him, a stunning creature in dark green silk, with a haughty bearing and vivid blue eyes. She would be truly lovely were it not for the cold venom in those eyes. Brenna was held by the silent message that passed between them.

She was shocked at first that she aroused such strong emotions in one she did not know. But then she realized she did know this woman, or knew of her. Morna—it could be no other.

So this was the ambitious woman who had hurt a younger, more vulnerable Garrick, who had made him distrust all women. Indirectly, Morna was responsible for many of Brenna’s difficulties. This was a woman without scruples, and with unbelievable audacity.

It was obvious Morna wanted Garrick for herself again. Why else would she look at Brenna with such contempt and loathing? She had gained her wealth and was aware now that Garrick had wealth of his own, so she wanted him. Did Morna truly think the past would not matter?

She gave Morna a tight, calculating smile. The blonde beauty would not have Garrick, not as long as Brenna still lived and breathed.