Fires of Winter (18 page)

Brenna soaked in a small tub. Her head rested on the rim, and her thick black hair floated all about her in the warm water. Her thoughts were gentle, her mood relaxed.

She was alone in the small house; a fire blazed in the hearth nearby. Janie and Maudya were still up at the big house, no doubt serving Garrick his evening meal.

Brenna did not hear the door when it quietly opened, but she sensed the intrusion when cold air touched her face and made her shiver. She looked up to see a very tall Viking standing just inside the doorway, and surprised emerald eyes looking down at her.

“Go back the way you came, Viking, and close the door before I catch a chill.”

He closed the door, but from the inside, then moved closer to her. Brenna looked down to make sure her hair covered her body from view before she looked back at the intruder suspiciously. She had not seen this man before, but his height and build reminded her of Garrick, and her eyes admired him slowly. His face was pleasingly handsome, and she noted humor and even kindness there. The smile on his lips reached all the way to his eyes and crinkled their outer edges.

He obviously had not understood her order. This language barrier was indeed a nuisance. She could make herself clear, but still she would not. Instead she motioned with her hands for him to go, but he just shook his head, his smile broadening.

“Be gone, damn you!” she shouted in frustration.

“There is no need for you to get upset, mistress.”

Her eyes widened. “You speak my tongue.”

“Yea, Garrick taught me when we were young,” he replied, amused at her confusion.

“Who are you?” she finally asked.

“Perrin.”

Her expression became knowing. “If you have come for Janie, she is not here.”

“I can see that,” he replied and moved even closer. “So you are Garrick’s new slave.” He stated this as a fact, not seeing the hot fury that leaped into her eyes when he spoke. “I have heard much of you.”

“And I of you,” Brenna retorted angrily. “I do not respect a man who does not claim his son, or take the mother of that son to be his own.”

Perrin looked astonished; then he frowned. “So Janie has a loose tongue.”

“Do not blame Janie,” Brenna replied coldly. “She spoke of you only with love and pride, and does not hold your cowardice against you. You do not mind that other men bed the mother of your son?”

A look of deep hurt crossed his face. “I mind. But there is naught I can do about it yet. She belongs to Garrick.”

“And you fear to ask him for her,” Brenna said with obvious contempt.

“What I fear, wench, is his refusal, for then I could not ask again.”

“If I were you, I would take what I wanted. You Vikings seem ever willing to do that.”

Perrin suddenly laughed, surprising her. “So you are as arrogant and outspoken as they say. I see Garrick has not tamed you yet.”

Brenna smiled at this despite her earlier anger. “If you look closely, you will see that Garrick is the one who has been tamed. He was no match for me.”

“I wonder if Garrick agrees with that,” he replied, and finally moved next to the tub.

Brenna stared up at him impishly. “You like what you see, Viking?” she teased, amazed at herself for doing so.

“Most assuredly,” he answered.

“Well, if you have in mind to see more, you can forget it now. I will choose my own lovers, not they me. And you, to be sure, will not be one of them.”

He laughed heartily, his green eyes twinkling. “Those are brave words for a wench who finds herself at my mercy.” He ran a finger through the water, grinning down at her.

“Careful, Viking.” Her voice grew cold. “Janie would never forgive me if I had to harm you.”

“Ha!” he chuckled. “And you would no doubt tell her, wouldn’t you?”

“I would.”

He stepped back. “Well, you have naught to fear from me, wench. I will not touch you.”

She smiled at him. “I did not fear you, Perrin. I fear no man.”

He crooked a brow at her. “Not even Garrick?”

“Especially not Garrick.”

“You would be wise to, mistress,” he replied seriously. “Do not take him as lightly as you seem to.”

With that he turned and departed, leaving her wondering over his unexpected warning.

Garrick sat alone at the long table, finishing a hearty stew and brooding on his solitude. Dog lay at his feet, his tail thumping noisily on the cold floor, waiting patiently for a scrap of meat. Most times Garrick enjoyed the peaceful quiet, but at other times like now, he almost wished he had remained at his parents’ home instead of moving to this cold, empty house. He missed the warmth of his family, of good talk and companionship. He did not even have Yarmille to keep him company at meals, for she only stayed at his house when he was away. When he was here, she lived at her home with her son. And now that he had fewer slaves for her to supervise, she only came twice a week to give them instructions.

Garrick absently speared a chunk of venison and gave it to the shepherd. Soon the servants would finish their duties in the house and return to their quarters for the night. Then he would be completely alone in this big house, with only Dog to follow him to bed.

Three years ago he had thought it would be different. How wrong he was. He had hopes of a new family that would add pleasure to his life. Sons that he could watch grow, a loving wife to warm his bed. A bigger fool never lived than was sitting at this table! Now he would never have a woman to share his life. He would never trust one enough to give his love to her. He would not ever leave himself open to that hurt again.

Dog perked up his head when Janie’s shrill giggles came from the cooking area. A moment later Perrin came into the hall, a satisfied smile on his lips. He hailed Garrick and joined him at the table.

“I swear you spend more time with that wench when you come to visit than you do with me,” Garrick said good-naturedly, glad to be interrupted in his brooding.

“I admit I find her company more pleasing than yours. Your disposition is usually too sour, when hers is oh, so sweet.” Perrin laughed.

“Humph! I should have known she was the only reason you came,” Garrick replied, pretending to be affronted. “Off with you, then. I free her from her duties to await your pleasure.”

“You wound me, Garrick,” Perrin said, bringing his hands to his heart to emphasize his point. “’Tis a sorry day when a man seeks a woman’s company over that of a trusted friend.”

“Aye,” Garrick returned, no longer teasing. Then he smiled. “So what has kept you away so long? I missed you at the feast and have not seen you since we returned home.”

“I have been harvesting what few fields I have. Unlike you, I have not so many slaves that I need not bother with the crops myself.”

“You should have asked for help, Perrin. My fields were harvested a month ago. The slaves had naught better to do, nor had I.”

“Mayhaps next year I will—but for a price.”

“Bah! You wish to put a price on friendship? Now ’tis you who wounds me!”

“I will hold you to it then, Garrick, if you return from the East in time.”

Surprise crossed Garrick’s features. “You will not sail with me in the spring?”

“I have not decided yet,” Perrin answered soberly. “My mother did not fare well during the winter with me away.”

“We did well our first time at trading,” Garrick replied.

“Mayhaps we did tarry too long with the Slavs so that we had to stay. But that should not happen again.”

“That, only Odin can say for sure,” Perrin admitted. “We will see.”

Janie came in with tankards of ale and both men fell silent. Garrick saw the look that passed between Perrin and the girl, and almost envied the relationship they shared. He wished he could take a wench so lightly, without committing himself.

When Janie left, Perrin grinned and leaned closer to Garrick. “I happened upon your new slave on the way here.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. I stopped by the women’s quarters first to see if Janie was there, but instead I found that black-haired beauty at her bath.”

Garrick’s eyes darkened. “And?”

“I wonder why you put her from you when your bed is big enough for two.”

“Humph!” Garrick grunted. “You must not have had words with her or you wouldn’t have asked that. She is a rose indeed, but her thorns are too sharp for my liking.”

“Oh, I had words with her—quite a few,” Perrin smiled.

“She boldly teased me, in fact, only to turn around and threaten me if I should touch her.”

“Did you?” Garrick scowled.

“Nay, but I’ll wager the next man will who comes across her. You do not mind sharing that one?”

“Why should I? Mayhaps
that
will put her in her place,” Garrick said sourly.

Perrin laughed. “You have yet to keep the promise you made at the feast? The wench is not tamed, eh?”

“You do not have to remind me of that drunken promise,” Garrick grimaced. He recalled it clearly, for he was not
that
drunk at the time, merely angered by his brother’s constant teasing that he could never handle such a termagant as Brenna. Placing his hands on the yule boar dedicated to the god Frey and drinking from the sacred cup, he had promised before all that he would tame her.

Little did he know then what a difficult chore he set for himself. The course he decided on had failed. She was not humbled by the outcome, but quite pleased, and since that was not the objective, it rankled him sorely. Yet to mar her with the lash would be useless, he knew; besides, his heart would not be in it. Although she would not bend to his will, at least she served him, even if it was not as he had first ordered.

“So she will not work for you?” Perrin asked.

“Nay, she works in the stable.”

“You allow that?” Perrin looked surprised.

“’Tis the only thing she would agree to,” Garrick admitted grudgingly, his scowl deepening.

Perrin’s laughter rang through the hall. “So the wench was right! ’Tis you who has been tamed, not her.”

“She said that?”

Perrin’s laughter died and he frowned at the black rage that gripped his friend. “Come now, Garrick. I would not cause the wench harm because of my words.”

“She will not be harmed, but by Thor, she will not be so pleased with herself on the morrow!”

A dark cloud seemed to have enveloped Garrick. Perrin watched him and sighed inwardly. He sorely regretted his rash words, and hoped the girl would not fare too badly because of them.

G
arrick made his way to the slave quarters, a brooding anger eating at him every step of the way. Stealthily he opened the door to the women’s house and went inside. A soft reddish glow from the dying fire aided him in finding his quarry, and he moved to her.

Brenna was fast asleep on a mat by the hearth, curled under an old woolen blanket. Her silken hair was loose and flowed behind her, looking as if bedecked with rubies from the firelight. Long black lashes shaded her cheeks, and her parted lips were moist like dewy pink rose petals.

The sight of her so sweet and innocent in sleep stirred Garrick’s blood. That she was a she-devil when awake was forgotten. He bent and gently removed the blanket. When the chill air from the open door touched her bare feet, her face puckered in a frown and she pulled her legs up closer to her chest to seek the lost warmth. Her small form was hidden beneath a rough, voluminous nightdress no doubt given her by the plump Maudya, asleep across the room.

Garrick well remembered the silken limbs that were now wrapped up so snugly, the soft arms and long, tapered thighs, the firm twin mounds of her breasts and taut flatness of her belly. He thought too of the delicate curve of her waist and the gentle, rounded buttocks that begged to be patted, the velvety smoothness of her back and the satin hollows of her neck that he had kissed.

Garrick quickly shook the imaginings from his mind before they got the better of him, and he acted like a rutting stallion with no care for privacy. With a deft movement he clamped his hand over Brenna’s mouth to still her cry of alarm, for it would wake the others. Her eyes opened instantly, but before she could see who was abducting her, he picked her up and crushed her against the rock hardness of his chest, then carried her squirming form out into the night.

When he reached the stable, he put her down. She faced him angrily, her hair flowing over her shoulders to her waist like a raven’s cloak. Then she recognized him and her temper cooled completely.

“Oh, ’tis you,” she said in a tone that implied he did not merit her concern.

“And who else would it be?”

“One of your friends,” she retorted. “That one called Bayard I wager would like to pay me back in turn for what I did to him. Your brother too would like to lay me low.”

“And you fear them?”

“Nay, but I am not fool enough to take them lightly,” she answered.

“’Tis only
me
you take lightly, eh?” he growled.

She looked at him in surprise. “Why should I fear you, Viking? You have shown me your worst, but in truth, ’twas not so bad.”

He stepped closer to her, his anger mounting again. “Do I carry you the rest of the way, mistress, or will you walk?”