Authors: Phoebe Conn
Erik’s mouth covered hers, muffling a cry for release from passion’s torment at the very moment he brought their bodies together with one deep, masterful thrust. He had timed their union perfectly, drowning the inevitable pain with wave after wave of rapture. He moved gently at first, but when Berit clung to him, eagerly accepting all he wished to give, he abandoned himself in the ecstasy of her love. The splendor poured through him, then echoed through her in throbbing tremors that gave him clear proof she had shared his joy in full measure.
“I love you,” he whispered as he smoothed her tangled hair away from her face.
“And I love you,” Berit replied, but until that morning, she had not truly realized how much.
Chapter Nine
While Erik was initiating Berit into the delights of making love, Freya was observing her eldest daughter with a mother’s experienced eye. Dana had been far too quiet of late, and she had also begun spending her days indoors. That was so unlike her that Freya was very concerned. Dana’s recent solitary production of the delicate patterns used in tablet weaving also struck her as a further indication that something was amiss. After drawing her second child into her sleeping chamber on the pretext of examining some fine cloth stored in a chest there, Freya closed the door to assure their privacy.
“It’s plain to me that something is troubling you. Erik has been preoccupied as well. If there’s a problem with the farm, I’m no longer ill, and you needn’t shield me from it.”
“Why, no, the farm is running almost as smoothly as it does for you. We’ve had no problems.” Dana had a clear conscience on that score, for the management of the farm was now the least of her worries.
Freya sat down on the foot of her bed and patted the space at her side. “I’m pleased to hear it, but I want you to sit with me awhile so we can talk about you. It’s not like you to spend so many sunny days indoors. Won’t you please tell me what’s wrong?”
Too distraught to describe her predicament coherently, Dana swallowed hard and shook her head. She was alarmed by her mother’s insightful questions, and rather than join her, she began to pace at the end of the massive bed that had been constructed for Haakon’s impressive proportions. Her mother was perceptive, and also wonderfully sympathetic, but Dana could not bring herself to reveal that no matter how hard she tried, she could not force thoughts of Brendan from her mind. She had foolishly thought she could forget his kiss in a day or two, but with every hour the brief moment she had spent in his arms had become more vivid and her feelings of shame that much more intense.
With no hint from her daughter as to the cause of her obvious discomfort, Freya suggested the only logical possibility. “Is it Jarald? Are you still worried about marrying him?”
“Jarald?” Dana murmured the name in so distracted a fashion it appeared as though she had forgotten the man. Then realizing her mother would readily believe it was indeed thoughts of the seafaring trader rather than those of a handsome slave that gave her no peace, she agreed. Once she had begun to talk, her emotions swiftly ran away with her, for she was truly on the edge of despair.
“Why, yes, and I know I should never have tried to hide my anxiety from you, but I just can’t do as you ask, Mother. I can’t give him until spring to change my mind. I’ll never come to love him, and it will be better if I tell him so when next I see him. What if he reacts very badly, though? What if he curses me and despises us all and—”
Freya rose to take her daughter’s hand and drew her back to the bed to sit down. “You’re making yourself ill over something that may never happen, my darling. Jarald has a temper, it’s true, but how can he complain that you have refused him without making himself appear ridiculous to his friends? Men like to brag about their success with pretty women; they are loath to admit their failures.”
Grateful for her mother’s comforting advice, as well as the fact she had been so easily misled, Dana managed a faint smile. “I hope you’re right, but—”
“No,” Freya interrupted. “You must cease to worry about Jarald. It’s always best to face problems squarely rather than allow yourself to be overwhelmed with dread, but in this case you have no choice about having to wait. Perhaps that’s my fault. If you hadn’t spent so much time with me in the spring, you would have been able to get to know Jarald better, and would have come to the decision to refuse him then.”
Dana hugged her mother tightly. “None of this is your fault, Mother. You mustn’t ever think that.”
“Thank you, dear.” Freya enjoyed her daughter’s affectionate squeeze, then, seeking to lift her mood, changed the subject to a more lighthearted one. “I know Moira has been taking Brendan his supper. Does she seem attracted to him, or he to her?”
Dana’s heart missed a beat at the mention of the slave’s name, but she quickly recovered. “I’ve been so worried about Jarald, I really haven’t noticed. I’ll ask Moira what she thinks of him tonight.”
Freya pursed her lips thoughtfully. “No, you must ask Brendan first if he finds her attractive. Moira is so shy, it would be cruel of us to encourage her to care for him if he has no interest in her. From what Grena said, he would not accept her women’s attentions, but perhaps he has changed his mind now that he’s here.”
Knowing that her mother was right as usual, Dana nodded, even though the thought of speaking to Brendan chilled her clear through. Her mother might think problems should be faced squarely, but the attractive Celt presented a dilemma so unique she didn’t think any proven approach would work.
Freya smoothed a long red curl away from her lovely daughter’s cheek and gave her a sweet kiss. “It’s a beautiful morning. Why don’t you go for a ride? That will give you the opportunity to speak to Brendan. Taking an interest in a romance other than your own will do you good. Now go on, I insist you go out and enjoy the beauty of the day.”
With Freya still offering advice about romance, Dana found herself being pushed out into the yard. Thora had gone riding with Soren, so she couldn’t rely on her sister for the company that might keep Brendan civil. With a slow, measured step she approached the stable, but she doubted she could speak to the handsome slave when her heart was lodged so firmly in her throat.
After Thora had left with Soren that morning, Brendan had followed Erik’s instructions and had turned Dawn’s Kiss out in the pasture. When he looked up to find Dana standing at the stable door, he was annoyed that her mare was not in her stall. “Did you want to ride?” he called out as he approached her, his eyebrows knit in a forbidding frown. She was dressed in the pale pink and rose garments she had been wearing the first time he had seen her, and again her beauty took his breath away. Silently cursing his weakness for her, he stepped out into the light. “Well, do you want me to saddle your mare or not?”
Dana had feared she would be too ashamed to speak, but it wasn’t humiliation that filled her cheeks with a bright blush. It was another emotion entirely. Her first thought was how handsome Brendan was. Even when he wore a scowl, his appearance was appealing. She had to clasp her hands behind her back to overcome the impulse to reach out and touch him. Despite the fact they had spent the longest week of her life apart, when she looked up at him, Dana felt the same sweet longing for more than one kiss that had caused her to flee his embrace.
“Would you please?” she finally managed to ask.
Brendan eyed the redhead with a skeptical glance before responding. He had expected one of her coolly voiced orders, not a politely worded request. “I’ll have to fetch your mare,” he explained. “Are you going alone?”
“No, I want you to come with me,” Dana heard herself say, but she was more shocked than Brendan was by her boldness. She had berated herself repeatedly for encouraging the attentions of a thrall, but now that she had seen him again, she knew a slave was the very least of the things he was. Brendan was a remarkable young man in all respects, and it saddened her that she knew nothing whatsoever about him.
While nothing would please him more than to spend some time alone with the violet-eyed beauty before him, Brendan was so taken aback by her unexpected invitation he feared his imagination had supplied it. “You want me to accompany you?” he asked in an incredulous gasp.
“Yes, it will give us a chance to talk,” Dana replied with growing confidence. “I’ll tell Erik you were with me. You needn’t worry he’ll punish you if you don’t have time to finish all your work.”
“How kind of you,” Brendan responded, but his tone was still one of dismay rather than sarcasm. Even after he had saddled her horse and the bay gelding he had ridden on the day of the picnic, part of him doubted Dana truly wanted his company. An equally insistent part feared that she might want more than he cared to give a mistress who would ignore him for a week at a time.
Dana led the way as they followed the path toward the woods. She didn’t want to go a great distance, only far enough to assure herself their conversation would not be overheard. Once they had reached the trees, she dismounted, let her mare graze, and waited for Brendan to follow her example. Too restless to choose a place to sit, she wandered about in a lazy circle as she encouraged him to talk.
“My mother asked you to tell us about yourself and your people, but you refused. I hope you’ll feel more like talking now.”
“You were there that day?”
“Yes. You might not have seen me, but I was there.” Dana focused her attention on the tall grass beneath her feet, since she found it too difficult to think clearly when she looked at him.
Brendan leaned back against a beech tree, thinking back to that morning and recalling his disappointment when Dana hadn’t been there. But now he knew she had been. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. She had wanted to see him, but hadn’t wanted him to know. He had not thought her so coy, and it amused him to discover that she was.
When Brendan didn’t speak, Dana risked a glance his way, but she didn’t understand his sly smirk. It would have infuriated her at one time, but her desire to get to know him was sincere and she would not allow their conversation to deteriorate into an argument if she could possibly prevent it.
“I can appreciate your reluctance to speak,” she continued in the same calm, sympathetic tone. “You had just met my mother, and there were too many curious servants nearby. Now we’re alone, and I won’t repeat what you say, not even to Erik and my mother if you’d rather I didn’t.”
Brendan had been surprised when Dana had not led him farther away from her home, since the edge of the woods struck him as a poor place for a tryst. He half expected Soren and Thora to come galloping by, or a field hand or two to come looking for a bit of shade in which to rest. The spot she had chosen was private enough for a talk, but little else. Could that possibly be all she wanted? That was so unflattering an idea, he instantly rejected it.
“Why are you suddenly so curious about me?”
“Does my interest seem sudden?”
“I have not seen you in a week, so it seems unlikely you are all that interested in me.”
Dana found that an impossible accusation to deny, since it had been her unseemly interest in him that had kept her away. “My routine varies from day to day, and I don’t always have the time to ride. If you’ve become bored, you should have told Erik you need more work to do. You needn’t wait to speak with me.”
“No thrall ever asks for more work,” Brendan responded with a derisive snort.
Dana had paced so many circles she was growing dizzy and had to stand still for a moment. She bent down to pluck a small yellow flower from the grass so she would have something to contemplate other than Brendan’s perpetual frown while they talked. When they had last parted, he had been smiling. How could she coax that marvelous expression from him again without surrendering to the desire she dared not acknowledge? she wondered silently.
“I had hoped we would be able to talk, Brendan, not argue. I don’t even know how old you are, or from what part of Erin you come. Won’t you please tell me something about yourself? At least enough so that I can begin to understand you?”
Brendan waited for Dana to look at him, but she seemed fascinated by the blossom she held. He could think of only one reason for her to ask him to reveal such personal information: the desire to bind him to her with an emotional tie that would make him all the easier to exploit. In that moment he despised her as deeply as he had ever hated anyone.
“I am an expensive piece of property. You said so yourself. There’s nothing more you need to know about me,” he replied gruffly. He moved away from the tree, their conversation over as far as he was concerned.
Dana did look up then. Brendan had taken a step toward her, but the gulf between them had never seemed so wide. Instantly she thought of the servants at Grena’s, and knew how devastated they must have been to find Brendan so cold. Tears filled her eyes at the realization she was behaving as badly as a servant with a crush on a slave, and she quickly blinked the telltale moisture away. It was plain Brendan had no interest in her, and she knew all too well she ought not to be so fascinated by him.
Rather than sacrifice any more of her pride, she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to behave like the competent young woman her mother had raised her to be. “Moira, the girl who takes you your supper, is a Celt. She’s my mother’s personal maid, and we would like to find her a husband. We thought perhaps since you are—” But Dana found it impossible to continue as she watched Brendan cross the distance between them in two long strides.