“But you have agreed now,” Janie stated. “Master Garrick said this morn that you would help us henceforth.”
“Yea, I will.”
“You do not sound pleased,” Janie replied. “There is really not that much to do, Brenna.”
“’Tis not the work I am against, Janie, but that Garrick would have me serve him as a slave when I was prepared to serve him as a wife. This is what galls me, that I must bend to him without the benefit of marriage.”
“Pretend he is not the one you would have married,” Janie suggested.
Brenna grinned. “I doubt that would help very much.” She ladled herself a bowlful of oatmeal from a small pot over the fire and returned to the table. “You said there is not much to do. Why then were you so tired all the time when I first came here?”
Janie made a grim face. “That was when Yarmille was here all the time, as she is whenever Garrick is away. She owns no slaves herself, and so takes delight in her authority over us. She is also a woman who cannot abide idle hands. She would have us clean a room that is already spotless, just to keep us busy at all times. ’Tis fortunate she only comes once or twice a week when Garrick is home.”
“Does Garrick know what a hard taskmaster she is?” Brenna asked.
“Nay, but ’twould bode ill to tell him. In a sense, Yarmille is family. Her bastard son is Garrick’s half-brother.”
“I see.”
“She is also the only one around who has no family or farm to tend, so Master Garrick needs her. Others have a wife to leave in charge of their household when they are away—Garrick has Yarmille.”
“So he would think twice before he would reprimand her for her severity.”
“Yea, I would imagine so.”
“But that is terrible!” Brenna said in outrage. “He really should be advised of the situation.”
“’Tis not so bad, Brenna. He is home more than he is away. Except for last winter, of course. That should not happen again, however. Besides, he does not demand much of us when he is here, only that he be served according to his needs, and that when he has guests, they be treated with respect.”
“And their every wish granted,” Brenna added in obvious disgust.
Janie smiled. “Ah, these Vikings do like their pleasure.”
“Lusty bastards is what they are!” Brenna spat, her gray eyes sparkling with contempt. “A servant I will be, but not in that respect. He can starve me if he will, but I will not be his whore!”
“Is that what he did?”
“Nay, but he threatened to,” Brenna admitted. “He plays the game most foully.”
“Mayhaps you need not worry,” Janie offered. “When guests come, you can hide as you did before. They come to our quarters looking for us, but you could stay in the sewing room again.”
“I will not be going back to the quarters,” Brenna replied. She still did not understand why. “Garrick has bid me stay in Yarmille’s room.”
Janie grinned. “Mayhaps you really have no cause to worry. It seems Garrick would keep you for himself.”
“Nay, if that were so, I would have had a hard time this last week in his chamber, but I did not. He has no interest in me that way.”
“He has not taken you yet?” Janie asked in surprise.
Brenna’s face reddened considerably. “Yea, but only twice,” she snapped in embarrassment. “And he will surely regret it if he tries again!”
“No doubt ’twill be awhile before he does,” Janie remarked. “The man tries hard to do without women, he distrusts them so. And if you recall the reason for it, mayhaps that is why he has been in such a dark mood of late. Morna has returned.”
“Returned?”
“Yea, a few days past. Perrin told me of it. It seems her rich husband perished of consumption. She has returned to her family a wealthy widow. It can mean only trouble.”
“Why so?”
Janie frowned. “Perrin thinks she has it in mind to turn her attentions to Garrick again.”
Brenna’s back stiffened. “And he would take her back?”
“She was his first love and not easily forgotten. Yet in truth she hurt him badly,” Janie said, then shrugged. “’Tis my opinion he would be a fool to want her again after what she did to him. But who can say what is in a man’s heart?”
“Only the man, and most times he will not,” Brenna murmured with a slightly bitter edge to her tone. She would give anything to know Garrick’s thoughts.
Janie and Brenna spent the rest of the morning and afternoon doing the wash. Brenna did the scrubbing while Janie kept water boiling from the huge vat of rain water beside the house, and then hung the clothing to dry. Brenna rubbed Garrick’s clothes over the scrubbing board with a vengeance, tearing seams that she only had to repair afterward. As there were not many hours of actual daylight, the clothes did not dry with the help of the sun, but had to be thoroughly wrung out and hung in the cold wind. It was near eventide when the clothes were brought in, and it was then that Brenna saw the northern lights for the first time. She was frightened at first by the strange formless glow until Janie explained that the greenish yellow light appeared frequently in the sky. She also warned Brenna that the light took different shades, and was sometimes white. The more beautiful lights were blue, red or even violet. Brenna was enthralled, and looked forward to seeing more. This land of many mysteries, so different from her own, was another world entirely.
It was late when Garrick finally came in for his meal. Brenna’s eyes were drawn quickly to his blood-stained trousers, the crimson red standing out on the tanned deerskin, and then she peered questioningly into his face.
“I did not know you had enemies in your own land,” she said speculatively, her voice husky.
“’Tis the truth, but I met none this day,” he replied, his lips turning up in a slow grin as he came closer. “I must disappoint you, wench, and tell you that the blood is not mine, but that of the doe Avery is now skinning.”
“Avery?”
“He is another of my slaves.”
Garrick’s patent reminder of her status was not lost on Brenna. Color flushed her cheeks hotly and her silver gray eyes flashed at him.
“’Twould appear you bungled the kill,” she remarked derisively, her gaze returning to the blood stains. “Are you not aware that an arrow through the head makes a cleaner wound and a finer pelt?”
He laughed. “First you wager you know horses better than I. Now you would instruct me on the merits of hunting. When will you cease to amaze me, Brenna?”
She was rankled for a moment. She did not like it when he used her given name. He had only done so before in a tender moment.
“Your meal awaits you,” she said woodenly, anxious to be away from him as soon as possible. “Where will you have it?”
“Does this mean you will serve me?” he asked, his eyes looking over her body much too boldly for her liking. “Where are the others?”
“Mayhaps you do not know ’tis late, Viking,” she retorted irritably. “The others have retired for the night.”
“And you waited patiently for me?” He was behind her now, removing his heavy fur cloak. “This change in you is truly remarkable, Brenna. I find it odd that you did not seek your bed and leave others to see to my needs. Could it be you yearn for my company?”
“Ohh!” she gasped and sprang to her feet to face him. “You conceited jackal! I would sooner spend my time with a braying ass than with you!”
She started to stalk from the room but his sharp command stopped her after only a step. “I did not give you leave to retire, mistress!”
She turned furious, smoky eyes on him, but gritted her teeth and waited for him to continue. She bristled at the mocking smile that curled his lips. He was enjoying this!
“You will serve my meal,” he said in a level tone. “First you will prepare water for my bath.”
“A bath? Now?” she asked incredulously.
At his nod she groaned. Her hands were stiff an
d sore from the washing, for they were unaccustomed to the chore, the scalding water and abrasive soap. Now she would have to lug buckets of water up to his chambers! She balked at the thought.
“Why do you hesitate?” Garrick questioned, seeing the fleeting emotions cross her face. “A bath is a simple matter.”
“Then you do it!” she hissed. “I will not carry water up to your chamber.”
“I did not ask you to,” he replied. “I will have the bath here. Will that suit you?”
Indeed it would, she almost sighed. Instead she answered stiffly, “As you wish.”
She picked up two large buckets and went outside to the huge vat of fresh rain water at the side of the house. The cold wind lifted her skirts and sent a chill up her back. She filled the buckets, then almost dropped them when the handles bit into her sore fingers as she hauled them back into the house.
Garrick had moved the barrellike tub that had been beneath the stairs over in front of the fire. He stood back and watched her silently as she emptied the cold water into the tub. Her unconscious grimace left Brenna’s face when the buckets were light again. She reluctantly walked out of the warm cooking area of the hall to fill them again.
On her return this time Garrick met her at the door. “Prepare my meal!” he barked impatiently and took the buckets from her. “At your pace I would wait all night for my bath!”
Brenna hurried across the room to the hearth, grateful for his impatience, though she would not admit it was a kindness. It took many more buckets of water to fill the tub halfway. The amount of water Garrick brought was more than was needed for a bath, but Brenna said nothing.
She kept her back to him and filled a wooden platter with the stew Janie had prepared earlier. A loaf of flat bread and a tankard of ale were placed on a tray beside the stew, for Brenna did not know yet where he would eat. Right here, most likely, since the fires in the main part of the hall were low, thus making it an unwelcoming room. Nor had she thought to kindle a fire in his chamber—or in her own, for that matter.
With the cauldrons set to boil over the fire, Garrick came to the table and sat down on the long bench before his food. This time Brenna stood behind him, staring at the wide expanse of shoulders, the light gold hair that curled up off his neck, the huge, powerful bare arms that bulged with corded muscles. Brenna shook her head to avert her gaze, which had become almost hypnotized. The very sight of this man stirred something in her that she could not explain, and it frightened her.
“Have you eaten?” Garrick asked over his shoulder.
“Yea, long ago,” she murmured.
Brenna bit her lip as he continued eating. His meal was fixed and his bath prepared, but she was loath to leave the warmth of the room, yet even more reluctant to stay here and ponder the strange effect Garrick’s presence was having on her this night.
She came around the table so she could face him. “May I go now—Garrick? I will kindle a fire in your chamber before I retire.”
Garrick stared at her for a long moment before answering. His eyes left her face to rest on the soft mounds of her breasts that moved gently with her breathing beneath the rough material of her shift. His eyes then moved to the swell of her hips, accentuated by the crude belt she had tied about her waist. The shift was coarse and unbecoming, but there really was not much that could take away from her slim beauty.
“Well?” she prompted stiffly, flushed from his bold scrutiny.
His eyes locked with hers again and he smiled humorously. “You may light the fire in my room, mistress, but then return here.”
“Why?”
His smile widened at the confusion on her face. “You are not to question my orders, but to carry them out without delay, Brenna.”
She repressed the angry retort which came to mind, and instead stalked from the room. She would find out why soon enough, she supposed. She struck up a fire in Garrick’s chamber and in her own, then slowly made her way back to the cooking area below, hugging her bare arms as she came down the drafty stairs.
She had purposely taken her time, and when she entered the hall, Garrick was finished eating and had already added the boiling water to the tub. He was standing with his back to the fire, removing his tunic. She had brought him a robe to don after his bath; it was slung over her shoulder.
When Garrick saw her, he grinned and threw his tunic at her. “Soak this before ’tis ruined. You will have the rest in a moment,” he said, and bent to unlace the criss-crossed leather garters which molded his trousers to his legs.
She shot him a murderous glance that he did not see, then dropped the tunic into the one bucket he had left water in. When he started to remove his trousers, she quickly turned her back on him, her face blushing hotly. She had assumed he would want privacy for his bath. How dare he bare himself before her when she was fully clothed? Had he no shame?
“Here,” he said behind her, but she would not turn. Then, “What ails you, woman?”
When she still would not turn, he laughed and tossed the trousers by her feet. She heard the water splash as he got in the tub, and only then did she pick up his trousers and put them in the bucket. When she finally turned cautiously to look at him, her eyes were drawn to his bronzed torso, the thick, sinewy muscles beneath the blond mat of curls on his chest, the powerful arms that could surely squeeze life from a bear if need be.
“Would you join me, Brenna?”
Her eyes flew to his head and she saw that he had been watching her stare at him. Her face turned three shades of red and she gasped, “Nay! I bathed this morn!”
Indeed, she had even used the same tub, after Coran, the slave who helped the women with heavy chores, had filled it for her. But Garrick was only teasing her—he must be.
“If you will not join me, will you scrub my back, then?”
She saw the humor in his eyes and it infuriated her. “Nay, I will not!”
“And if I order it?”
“’Twill be my nails your back will feel, not the sponge!” she warned him, then continued to take her stand. “You have me serving you in normal ways. Do not press me for more, Viking. If you overtax what you have gained, you will lose it all!”
“Now she threatens me again,” Garrick said in mock exasperation. “So you have not changed overmuch, as you would have me believe?”
“I agreed to serve in your house, but not in this intimate capacity,” she returned in a calm tone, though her eyes were broodingly dark. “May I go now?”
He sighed. “Yea, go. Coran will empty the tub in the morn.”
Brenna left the room quickly and ran up the stairs. She entered her own small chamber and slammed the door soundly. She immediately regretted doing so, for Garrick would hear the noise and no doubt laugh that he had upset her so. Why did he insist on continuing with these small battles of will? Would he persist until finally she would do anything he asked of her? Nay, that day would never come!
Brenna pulled off her shift and laid it neatly over the single chair in the room. There was a small coffer at the foot of the narrow bed but it was empty, and she had nothing of her own to put in it. The nightdress and one shift that had been given her came from the storage house and were slaves’ clothing. She had also been given a bone-handled comb and a pair of soft-skinned shoes that were too big for her delicate feet. A fine lot of possessions, she thought with some humor, remembering how she had scorned the lovely gowns she once owned.
She donned the nightdress that was laid across her bed, and immediately regretted that she had washed it earlier, for it was even more starchy than before. Then she sat on the bed, unbraided her long silken hair, and combed it till the firelight was reflected in its gleaming softness. Finally she climbed beneath the embroidered coverlet and tried to sleep.
But sleep eluded Brenna and she knew why. She could not relax, not until she knew Garrick was abed. She tried to let the crackling fire lull her, but it was no use. Her body was tense, stiff as a board. She waited and waited, for what seemed like
hours, to hear the door down the corridor open and close. Why was it so imperative that she know Garrick had retired before she could find sleep herself?
When her own door opened, Brenna found her answer. How did she know he would come? Was it the bold look he had given her earlier that unconsciously warned her?
He stood there by the door, wearing only the short silk robe she had brought him. Tied at the waist, the garment extended in a deep V to the belt, baring the curls on his chest. The firelight danced over his bare legs, the strong thighs and muscular calves. Long, powerful legs that would soon lay between her own.
Brenna shook her head, stunned at her own thinking. She would not let it happen. Garrick had the strength, but she could outfox him.
“What do you want, Garrick?” Brenna asked in a throaty whisper.
“You,” was all he said.
She propped herself up on one elbow, her hair cascading over her shoulders. “I suppose this is one of those times you mentioned before, when your body craves a woman?”
He grunted at her, not pleased with her question. “You remember well.”
“Why should I not? After all, ’tis not the man Garrick who wants me, only his body,” she said lightly. “Will you have me here, or do you prefer your own bed?”
A frown crossed his brow as he puzzled over her compliance. Brenna felt nowhere near the calm she displayed, though his hesitating helped her.
“I see you cannot decide, Garrick. Well, this bed is much too small to fit your frame, so I will come with you.”
She slipped out of her bed gracefully and walked to the door, a sensuous smile playing on her lips. She stopped next to Garrick and placed a hand gently on his chest.
“Have you changed your mind, Garrick? Tell me now, before I go any further.”
His bafflement at her acquiescence turned to a dark scowl. “Nay, I have not changed my mind.”
“Well, come then,” she breathed and left the room before him.
Her heart was pounding in her chest almost like a throbbing pain. He would be furious with her for tricking him, but she would not bear the brunt of that anger unless he caught her, and she was determined he would not. When she reached the stairs, she dashed down them with frantic speed and raced for the back door. Outside in the black of night, she would find somewhere to hide until Garrick’s anger and his desire had cooled.