Fires of Winter (36 page)

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 pottery, 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.

She also had her dagger. For some reason, they had not taken it from her. Either they did not imagine she would use it on them, or they thought the hilt of the weapon that glittered on her hip was merely an ornament. Whatever the reason, she was grateful.

Arno moved about the room preparing food. After he set a large pot of soup to boil over the fire, he gathered blankets for Brenna’s bed. These he placed on a rug by the fire and motioning with his hand, indicated she would sleep there. Then he went outside to see to the horses.

Brenna walked slowly to her temporary bed. She felt sick to her stomach with apprehension. On the morrow she would either kill a man or suffer the consequences for trying. She did not look forward to the outcome, whatever it was to be.

The aroma of the soup was tempting. She had not eaten all day. But she was afraid to do so now for fear she could not keep the food down.

Brenna lay down on the fur rug. The rope about her wrists was annoying. She considered cutting it, but quickly decided against taking the chance. It would not do to lose her dagger just for her own comfort. Instead she unsheathed the weapon and placed it under the rug within easy reach. Before Arno returned, she was asleep.

A
s it turned out, the Viking called Cedric did not return the next day, or the day following that. In fact, Brenna was left alone with Arno for more than a week. Her endurance was tested to the limit those first few days. Every little noise she heard was Cedric returning, even the moaning of the wind.

To help her through those first days, she did not even have the hope that Garrick would find her, for it snowed the first night and for three days more. Now Garrick would not know that she had left no tracks to follow. He would never guess that she had been taken away by ship. He would curse the snow for covering her trail, but it would do her no good, for he would search north of the fjord and never come close to her.

Damn the snow! Damn Cedric and Arno! Damn the woman they spoke of who told them of her! Who was that woman? Did Cordella make good her threat? But Cordella could not speak to these men, nor would she know how to find them. The ugly scene with Morna came to mind.
She
was the only one who would attempt such foul play. But then there were those who felt they had scores to settle; Bayard, Gorm, even Hugh—and especially the Viking she had shamed in battle by wounding him. Any one of those men could have sent a woman to do their foul work in contacting Cedric and Arno.

The second day Arno took pity on her and removed the rope from her wrists. That night, after Brenna was sure he slept, she attempted to sneak away quietly. But he had cunningly left a trap for her just outside the door, a cart full of wood that she stumbled over in the dark. Before she could even get up, he was there, dragging her back into the house. She cursed him in her own tongue, and fought him with all her strength. In the end he subdued her, and after that he kept her tied at night, this time to the iron bar over the round fireplace in the center of the room, so that she could not reach her dagger if she needed it. At least he let her go during the day.

After a week passed, Arno also became impatient. He fretted and grumbled to himself, and this caused Brenna to relax somewhat. Perhaps something had happened to Cedric and he would not return at all. Arno had already shown that he did not want to bring Brenna here, any more than she wanted to be here. Mayhaps he would let her go.

After nine days passed, with still no sign of Cedric, Brenna finally broke down and spoke to Arno. She had nothing to lose now, for since there was no one there for him to speak to, she had no chance of overhearing something useful.

He was preparing bread for their morning meal and quite edgy when Brenna approached him.

“Your friend seems to have forgotten we are here,” she began, gaining his startled attention. “How long will you keep me here?”

“You speak my language well.”

“As well as you,” she replied.

“I was told you were here but a short while. You must have had a good teacher to have grasped a new tongue so quickly. Was it your master?”

“He taught me many things,” she remarked evenly and came closer. “One of which is you cannot keep what you take from another in this land, not without paying dearly for it.”

Her warning struck home and Arno jumped up from the table nervously, as if Garrick was already there to collect her. “Young Haardrad will never know you were brought here!”

“He will in time,” Brenna reasoned hopefully. “He knows the land well and will search every inch of it. And when he does not find me there, he will at last look this way.”

“Nay, he will give up before then.”

“You think so, Viking? What you did not take into account is that I love Garrick Haardrad, and he loves me.” She said the half-truth with conviction. “’Tis love that binds us, and love that will conquer all obstacles.”

Arno sat down and stared hard at her, making her uneasy. “Mayhaps, wench. But ’tis out of my hands. I am only keeping you here for another.”

“You helped to bring me here!” she accused him with a pointed finger. “You stop me from leaving. You are just as responsible as your friend.”

“Cease your prattling, woman!” he stormed. “I liked you better before you found your tongue.”

“You know I speak the truth. Garrick will not forgive this slight unless you release me now.”

“’Tis not my decision to make. Save your arguments for Cedric. You are his now.”

“I will die before I am his!” Brenna spat, thoroughly repulsed, then she lowered her voice. “Cedric is not here now. You can let me go before he returns.”

“He is my friend, wench, the only one I have,” he replied. “I may not agree with what he does, but he has my loyalty nonetheless.”

“Your
friend
will bring about your death!” Brenna warned, grasping at anything to make him see reason.

“There is little truth in what you say, for Garrick Haardrad will not look for you here. And if he ever does, ’twill be too late, for by then Cedric will have had enough of you and you will be sold away from here. Know this, wench. My loyalty is to Cedric and his family. I farm on their land. I am vassal to Cedric’s father, Latham Borgsen. What you ask would get my throat cut sooner than your master would.”

“Then take me to your liege. By your own words, I know he will not approve what you have done.”

“Enough!”

Brenna steeled herself for one last try. “Please.”

She humbled herself uselessly, for Arno stalked from the room, leaving her exhausted from trying and devastated at failing. When Arno returned, Brenna was silent once again. He did not attempt to change that. Then Cedric finally came, a little past midday.

From the moment he walked into the room, Brenna felt as if she was the long-awaited meal caught by the starving beast. Cedric’s eyes did not leave her. His lustful intentions were so obvious that Arno was reluctant to demand an explanation of his absence, and looked away in embarrassment.

Cedric removed his cloak and Brenna’s eyes were drawn to his bare arms bulging with muscle, and covered with scars. There was strength there, and Brenna knew the power of a man bent on having her, especially a man with strength. What chance did she have? But then, she had never wanted to kill Garrick, not even in the beginning. This man, yea, this man she could kill with no regrets.

“Has my pretty prize given you trouble?” Cedric asked Arno, though his eyes were still on Brenna.

“Not until this day.”

“Oh?”

“She speaks our tongue, Cedric, and very well.”

“Is this so, wench?”

Brenna did not answer, but moved closer to her temporary bed, where her one hope lay hidden. She must be in control of the dreaded situation when it finally came.

“She also knows us by name,” Arno continued. “If Haardrad ever finds her, she will tell him all. I told you we should never have taken her.”

“You sound worried, when there is no need. He will never find her.”

“Will you sell her soon?”

“Nay, I think not. If Haardrad does look for her here, we will kill him. ’Tis that simple.”

“Have you lost your senses, Cedric?”

“Enough! I have been delayed long enough by my father sending me on fool errands to collect a prized horse he bought from his cousin. The whole time I thought of naught else but her and I will wait no longer to have her.” Suddenly he laughed. “Will you stay and watch, Arno? Or is it not time you paid your respects to my father?”

Arno glared at Cedric, then looked at Brenna and saw her silent plea for help, but he quickly turned away. In exasperation, he stormed from the room, slamming the door soundly in his wake.

The closing of that door was so final, yet Brenna had expected no less. Arno was a man torn between his loyalties and what he felt in his heart. Unfortunately for Brenna, his loyalties came first. That was the way with all Vikings.

Now the test began. Brenna would either leave here with blood on her hands, or be violated by this young bastard and forever lose the hope of Garrick’s love. Garrick was no different than other men, unwilling to share what they claimed as their own. He had proved that where she was concerned. He would never forgive her, even though she was blameless. How unfair was the judgment of men.

Still, it had not happened yet, though the moment was definitely at hand. Cedric moved in closer, slowly, like a snake about to strike.

“Come now, my pretty,” he said cajolingly. “You speak my tongue. You know what I want.”

She said not a word, but her eyes spoke for her. Dark, smoky gray eyes relayed her disgust and loathing, her profound contempt. Yet he was not daunted, not even surprised.

“Will you fight me, then?” he raised a brow, his lips curling repulsively. “I do not mind, wench. I am sure you put up an admirable struggle when you were a maid first taken, but you have naught to defend now. If you prefer to pretend the virgin still, ’tis fine with me.”

Brenna could not contain her disgust any longer. “Loathsome pig!” she hissed. “If you touch me you will not live long to regret it!”

He laughed at her warning. “I will regret naught, but relish the touching. Do you truly believe your master will come bounding through that door to prevent me from having you? Nay, wench, there will be none here to stop me.”

Brenna wisely held her tongue. Let him think she was helpless. Let him fall into her trap unawares. It would be her only chance.