Fires of Winter (42 page)

I
n the ensuing weeks, Brenna passed her days no differently than she had before, except that she had more energy. She felt a compulsion to fill each waking moment with strenuous activity. She tried not to think of her changing body and the life it was nurturing. She tried even harder not to think of Garrick and the last time she had seen him, with Morna by his side. She wanted only to be exhausted each night when she crawled into her lonely bed.

She waited eagerly for news of Anselm’s health, but none came. The warming sun quickly melted the last snow that had fallen, so the ship that would take her home must be ready to sail. Spring came and went, yet still no one came to tell her to prepare.

Finally she could wait no longer for news to come to her. She was very late in her weekly payments to Anselm, for she had dreaded going to his settlement and perhaps encountering Garrick again. The furs she owed gave her a reason to venture from her seclusion now, but it also meant that she would risk revealing her condition to Garrick’s family. She chose to take that risk, for she had to know why she was being forgotten.

Summer brought to the land a dazzling display of color. Although spring had been beautiful when nature seemed to wake from the long winter night, summer was intoxicating. The sun warmed the skin, and heady floral scents filled the air.

The warmth had been most welcome until this day, when Brenna approached Anselm’s settlement. She had thought herself most cunning by hiding her condition, which was quite obvious now, beneath her heavy cloak. But now she felt as if she had enclosed herself in an oven. She was debating whether to turn around and go home when she found herself in the yard before Anselm’s house, and a young
thrall
had already taken Willow to the stable.

To Brenna’s relief, the large hall was empty except for her aunt. “Brenna!” Linnet came forward and took her hands. “’Tis such a pleasure to see you.”

“And you, Aunt. I had hoped you would come to visit me now that the weather is much improved.”

“Forgive me, child. I meant to come, but there has been so much to do here. The planting of crops, the first thorough cleaning after winter. So much to keep us all busy.”

“And you helped to plant?”

“Yea, everyone helped. Anselm has many fields. Most are still being worked.”

“A Viking farmer,” Brenna said with sarcasm.

“He has many slaves and less fortunate kin that he must provide for. Besides, most Vikings are farmers. Surely you have learned this by now.”

“Yea, or merchants like Garrick,” Brenna replied in a quiet tone.

Linnet changed the subject quickly. “I see you brought your payment to Anselm, and extra ’twould appear. You have been busy too?”

Brenna nodded and set down the large bundle of furs. Sweat was pouring down her, but she did not make to remove her cloak. She could trust no one with the new secret she kept, not even her aunt.

“Did you come only to pay your debt, Brenna, or will you stay and visit a while?”

“I cannot stay, Aunt, I would know only how soon Anselm will sail. Can you tell me?”

Linnet frowned. “I do not know.”

“Is he still ill?”

“Nay, what ailed him was not serious and passed quickly. He is not here.”

“What do you mean, not here?” Brenna asked, her voice rising. “Did he sail without me?”

“His ship is here, Brenna. But he has sailed with Garrick and Hugh to hunt the great bears in the north.”

“How could he do that now?” Brenna gasped. “He has promised to take me home!”

“And he will. ’Twas Hugh’s idea to go north. Garrick was reluctant to delay his trading voyage, but since Anselm wanted this chance to hunt with both his sons as they used to in years past, Garrick agreed.”

“When will they return?”

“Soon. Cordella has reached her time, and Hugh will not want to miss the birth of his first child.”

“Of course not,” Brenna said caustically. “After all, he must play God and decide whether the babe should live or die.”

Linnet gasped. “Merciful Lord, Brenna! What wild notions have you in your head?”

Brenna wrung her hands beneath her cloak. “I am sorry, Aunt. I have been so touchy of late. I just want to go home. I long for the days before I met Garrick, before I learned to love and hate!”

Brenna ran from the hall, tears threatening to fall once again. She also longed for the days when she never cried. It seemed now that was all she ever did.

That night Brenna was roused from sleep by a fierce pounding on her door. She was not quite awake when she crawled out of bed to answer it and so she did not think to cover herself with more than a blanket.

To Brenna’s surprise, Heloise stood in the doorway, her face anxious. “I came as quickly as I could, Brenna. Cordella is calling for you.”

“Is it the baby?”

“Yea. I would not have come here, but I have never in my life helped with a birthing, and I am too old to start now. Yet I wanted to do something. This is my first grandchild!”

“I understand,” Brenna said in bewilderment. She would have thought this strong woman could face any aspect of life with a smile. It was difficult to see her so distraught now.

“Her pains began this morn,” Heloise continued nervously, “yet she told no one until eventide. Now she screams for you. Hurry, Brenna.”

Even as she said the words, Brenna unthinkingly threw off the blanket and grabbed her cloak. It was then that Heloise saw her fully. The five months of swelling could not be mistaken.

“In the name of God, Brenna!” Heloise gasped. “Why did you not tell us you were also with child?”

It was too late to regret her carelessness, but Brenna sighed miserably nonetheless. “We will speak of it later. There is a child to be born now. Mine will not come till winter.”

“Wait, Brenna.” Heloise put up a hand. “This is Cordella’s first child. Mayhaps you should not go to her. ’Tis best not to know what you will also have to endure.”

“I have seen birth before, milady, in the village at home. I know ’tis long and painful. Cordella wants me to be with her. She and I have never been close, but this is the least I can do for her.”

Cordella’s labor lasted through the night—long, tortuous hours which played on everyone’s nerves. Heloise was especially fretful as screams from the servants’ quarters drifted into the hall, cries so low and agonizing that they did not sound human.

Had she screamed so horribly the five times she gave birth? It would explain why Anselm was always so pale when she would see him afterward, as if he had endured more than she. Yet toward the end her suffering had lessened, thanks to a potion made by a loyal slave from the Far East. If only that slave had revealed her magic before she died, then Cordella too would be ignorant of her pain and not fear any future children.

Streams of sunlight followed Brenna into the hall. She looked pitifully haggard, as if she had suffered Cordella’s pain as well. Her shift was soaked with sweat, her beautiful raven hair matted and stringy. Heloise barely recognized her.

“I did not notice that the screams have ceased. Is—is Cordella—the child—”

“All is well, milady,” Brenna said, and collapsed into Anselm’s thronelike chair. Her voice was weak, her eyes dull. “You have a fine grandson and Cordella now sleeps peacefully. My aunt and Uda are tending the child.”

“A grandson! Hugh will be so pleased. And my husband, he will burst with pride!”

“More important,” Brenna added bitterly, “the child is healthy. This baby will not be judged. He will live.”

Heloise fell silent for a long moment, then she asked in a whisper, “You know?”

“Yea, I know. You asked me earlier why I did not tell anyone of the child I carry. This is why. I will not be forced to stay here and bear my baby in this land, where its life depends on its strength.”

“I know ’tis a harsh custom, Brenna. I did not know of it myself until recently. I lost two children at birth before I had my fifth child,” she said in a voice choked with memories.

“Did they die naturally?”

“I was told they did. When I learned of the custom, doubt was raised in my mind. Yet I could never bring myself to question Anselm. My third child that survived was born weak, but Anselm knew how much I wanted that baby, after losing two before it. That child lived for many years before she too died.”

“I know the story, milady. I am sorry.”

“I wanted to die when my daughter died,” Heloise said hollowly. “’Twould have been better if I had not known her. She was not meant to live.”

“You are wrong!” Brenna snapped, overly harsh. “’Twas cruel fate that took her from you. You must have fond memories of her. And she had the right to know life, however briefly. I cannot condone this custom. My baby will not be born here!”

“I know my husband, Brenna. He will not take you home now, at least not until after the child is born.”

“In winter!”

“’Twill have to be the following spring.”

“Nay!” Brenna cried, standing up so quickly that her chair nearly toppled over. “He promised!”

“You must think of the child now. If there was a storm at sea, you could lose it.”

“I
am
thinking of the child!”

“Brenna, you are a strong woman. Your baby will be strong. There is no reason to fear for it.”

“Can you assure me of this? Can you promise me that Garrick will not be allowed near my baby?”

“’Tis the law here that the father must accept the child and name it. You judge Garrick harshly. I have raised him with Christian love.”

“He is a Viking and he—he hates me now. He would not want my child to live.”

“’Tis his child too, Brenna. However, I will tell you this,” Heloise sighed. “Garrick sails east this summer and since his journey has been delayed, he may not return before next spring.”

This was the most assurance she could give Brenna.

A
nselm and Hugh returned from the north, but Garrick sailed on without stopping. Brenna had every reason to believe that he would not come home this winter. She could bear her child with peace of mind.

Heloise had predicted Anselm’s reaction correctly: he refused to take Brenna home. He came to tell her himself, bringing Heloise along to translate. The meeting did not go well, for Brenna was bitter at having to spend another year in this land. However, Anselm was in an exuberant mood after seeing his first grandchild and learning he would soon have another.

He insisted Brenna return to his settlement. She refused stubbornly, taking offense at his offer.

“’Tis for your own good,” Heloise explained. “You can no longer live alone.”

“I can and I will!” Brenna said hotly. “Naught has changed. I will never again be dependent on anyone!”

“You must reconsider, Brenna. You will grow bigger and more clumsy. You cannot go on as you have been.”

“Nay!”

“For once, put aside your pride, girl. You have the child to think of, not just yourself anymore.”

“Ah, she is as stubborn as ever,” Anselm said sourly. “She would not be happy with us anyway. If only my pigheaded son were not so pigheaded, we would not have this problem!”

Heloise cleared her throat awkwardly. “Will you see reason, Brenna?”

“I will stay here, milady, and I will manage. My growing shape does not stop me from finding food. My aim has not changed. I will not be foolish and ride anymore, but the woods are near and game is plentiful. I will gather twigs for my fire instead of cutting wood. I will take care not to harm my baby.”

“’Tis not that we did not think you could manage alone, Brenna,” Heloise said. “We know you are able. But accidents can happen.”

“I will be careful.”

The older woman sighed. “If you will not live with us, will you at least consent to have someone stay with you here? Your aunt said you would take this stand and asked if she could come here to live with you. I agreed. If you will also agree, I will not worry over you.”

Brenna did not answer immediately. To have her aunt with her again would be wonderful. Someone to share her new experiences with, when the baby kicked or a new stretch mark marred her skin, someone she loved who she could talk to.

“Would you give my aunt her freedom?”

“Brenna, you are being unreasonable.”

“Would you?”

Heloise turned to her husband. “Brenna will agree to let Linnet stay here if you will give her her freedom.”

“Nay! Never!”

“What is more important here?” Heloise said, losing her temper for once. “Brenna could die here alone; the child could die!
She
will not see reason, so we must!”

“Thor’s teeth!” Anselm blustered. “Our lives were simple before I brought that girl here!”

“Well?”

“Do what you think best, mistress. Whatever it takes to see this girl cared for despite her foolishness.”

“Linnet will come on the morrow, Brenna—as a freewoman. I will also send a strong woman to help with the more difficult tasks. You cannot expect your aunt to chop wood or lug water at her age.”

Brenna smiled. “Very well, milady. But I will still make payments for this house. I will not live here on charity.”