Authors: Phoebe Conn
“Is that why you brought me out here?” the outraged slave shouted in her face. When Dana’s eyes widened in alarm and she seemed unable to speak, Brendan grabbed her arms and shook her. “Is that all you want from me? You want a husband for your mother’s maid?”
His fingers dug into the tender flesh of her upper arms, and this time her tears spilled over her lashes, but Dana was too torn by her own emotions to react with anything except shock at this forceful show of his. It was the unexpected tenderness in their last kiss that had melted her natural reserve, and she had failed so completely in her attempt to rekindle that same mood in Brendan that she felt more lost than she had during the week she had avoided him.
“Moira is very dear to us,” she mumbled hoarsely through trembling lips. “I did not mean to insult you.”
Brendan’s eyes narrowed to menacing slits as his glance swept her face with a look of scathing disgust. “Insult me!” he snarled. “You’ve done far worse than that. As a thrall, my children would be born thralls as well. I’ll not be used like Sky Dancer, as a stud to service your maid. I’ll not give life to children who would have no future!”
“You can earn your freedom,” Dana managed to whisper.
“That’s not for you to decide. You don’t own me. Have you forgotten that?” When she didn’t reply, Brendan continued his fiery rebuke. “Is this why you and Erik have been so kind to me? Just so you could make me part of your breeding stock?”
“No,” Dana denied emphatically, horrified he would make such an outlandish assumption, but she could see he didn’t believe her. Unable to bear another instant of the hatred that seeped from his every pore, she shut her eyes tightly and turned her face away. She knew she ought to scream at him to unhand her, and slap his face soundly too, but she was too hurt by his angry accusations to respond in kind.
Brendan held the weeping beauty at arm’s length, his expression still filled with loathing. But he was as disgusted with himself as he was with her because he still wanted her. Why hadn’t she brought him out to the woods to make love? Why hadn’t she wanted him for herself rather than a favorite maid? His rage was nearly blinding, and he was tempted to take what he knew she would never willingly give. A slave did not rape his mistress and live, however, and his life was far more precious to him than it would ever be to her. He released her then with a rude shove, knowing the desire to humiliate her as she had him by suggesting he marry another woman was far too dangerous to pursue.
“You’re a heartless pagan bitch, and if you ever ask me to do anything more than care for your horses, I’ll spit in your face!” he shouted in a final fit of temper. He hurried to his horse, and once in the saddle, he pushed the gelding to a near flying gallop and rode back to the farm without once looking back to see if Dana were following.
Once alone, Dana sank to her knees, unable to understand how she had aroused such virulent hatred in a young man she had wanted so desperately to get to know. The bitterness of their encounter had left her so thoroughly sickened she began to retch. Tears poured down her face as she tried to regain her self-control, but it was a long time in coming. She had not dreamed Brendan’s reaction to a possible marriage with Moira would be so negative or she would never have brought up the subject. “Never,” she whispered dejectedly. “Never.”
Knowing she could not go home in such a sorry state, Dana curled up at the base of the beech tree Brendan had used for a backrest and hoped she would feel well enough to sit a horse before nightfall. Again overcome with feelings of shame and guilt, she tried to think of some way to relate what had happened to her mother without revealing a single word of the truth.
Gradually the morning gave way to early afternoon, and after considerable reflection, Dana came to the regrettable conclusion that she should be grateful for having inspired Brendan’s hatred, no matter how unintentional the result. She had always found him attractive, but the tension his arrogant conceit created between them was more than she could sanely endure. What did it matter that in an unguarded moment he had kissed her sweetly? She was still the daughter of a proud and wealthy Dane who expected her to marry a man who could provide the same pleasant life she had always known.
“At least Jarald would never abuse me,” she murmured softly to herself as she rubbed her bruised arms. Perhaps that was what her mother had meant about the man having qualities she did not fully appreciate. Jarald was loud and boisterous, but he wasn’t cruel. If she gave it more effort, maybe she could even convince him to channel his enthusiastic affection into a more tender form of expression. As her usual confident manner slowly returned, she tried to reconsider Jarald, but time and again the voice of her heart wondered why the only passion she aroused in Brendan was hatred.
Brendan did not calm down sufficiently to consider the most probable result of his actions until long after he had turned the bay gelding out into the pasture. Most masters would whip a slave for raising his voice, and he had not only yelled at Dana but manhandled her too. He could already feel the sting of a whip ripping the scarred flesh off his back, and the longer Dana took to return home, the more certain he became she was planning even more fiendish tortures.
Erik had warned him she would cut him, but would she go so far as to render him less than a man? He broke out in a cold sweat as he realized a woman with Dana’s temper might do just that. Would it be cowardly to run, or wise? Sick clear through that he had so little control over his fate, he went out to the farthest pasture and sat down to await Dana’s return. At least he would see her coming and would have a head start if she had a knife in her hand rather than a whip.
Before Berit left for home, she washed hurriedly in a nearby stream and took care to dress as neatly as she had that morning. Amid lingering farewell kisses, Erik had rebraided her hair and helped her to pick a basketful of berries. Despite their combined efforts to restore her appearance to normal, she had been gone far longer than usual, and was afraid her mother would be suspicious no matter what excuse she gave. Her first glance at Grena’s worried expression did not reassure her either. After attempting to smile innocently, although she felt far from innocent now that she and Erik had become lovers, she popped a succulent berry into her mouth.
Grena watched her daughter cross the yard, and went forward to meet her. “You’ve picked more berries than we can possibly eat tonight. Were you so lost in daydreams you didn’t realize what you were doing?”
“Is this too many?” Berit asked in surprise. “We all love berries and cream, so I was afraid this basket wouldn’t hold nearly enough.”
“That’s more than enough.” Grena studied her daughter’s face and was alarmed to find her cheeks flushed. “You’ve gotten too much sun,” she scolded crossly. “A woman’s skin should be fair, not tanned as deeply as a field hand’s.”
Rather than reply, Berit ate another scrumptious berry. She now understood her mother’s reluctance to discuss making love, for the pleasure was nearly indescribably sweet, but she thought Grena should have at least told her it was something she would enjoy.
Grena saw a subtle change in her daughter’s expression. It was not merely the color in her cheeks that brought that realization either. Berit might lack her cousin Dana’s remarkable beauty, but she had a lush prettiness Grena knew most men would find irresistibly appealing. The problem would be to save that valuable asset for a suitably wealthy man. Slipping her arm around her daughter’s waist, she led her toward the house, where she intended to have a lengthy discussion about possible husbands. Berit was still quite young, but attention would soon be coming her way, and Grena wanted to make certain her daughter knew exactly which men to encourage and which to ignore.
Berit found her mother’s comments not even faintly interesting since she had already chosen a husband for herself. She sat without interrupting, though, appearing to be seriously considering each name suggested, but all the while she was counting the hours until she would see Erik again.
Erik arrived home in such high spirits he didn’t think it odd Brendan was sitting idle in the pasture where the two-year-olds grazed. Certain the Celt was observing them for a purpose, he walked out to talk with him.
Brendan saw Erik coming and hurriedly got to his feet. There was still no sign of Dana, so he knew the man hadn’t come to punish him, but he was apprehensive all the same. As Erik drew near, he saw by his ready grin that he was in too fine a mood to berate the farm’s lone thrall. On another day he would have called out and asked what good news he had, but now he held his tongue.
“Has Dana been gone long?” Erik asked when he reached Brendan’s side.
Hoping to discuss horses, Brendan had trouble finding his voice. “Longer than usual, but she hasn’t been riding for a while.” In truth, Brendan didn’t understand where the redhead was when he had expected her to waste no time in coming after him.
Erik frowned impatiently. “I need to talk with her as soon as she returns. Watch for her and send her over to my house.” He turned then to look at the three fillies and two colts grazing nearby. “What do you think of this lot? Do they look promising to you? Thora has nearly outgrown Rascal, and I thought perhaps one of the fillies might make her a good mount.”
Brendan had worked with the two-year-olds before that day, and so he was able to offer an intelligent comment despite his muddled thinking. “They are all very gentle, which is surprising for foals allowed so much freedom.”
“Haakon makes pets of them all. They are handled from the day they are born so they aren’t man shy.”
Brendan tried to concentrate as Erik described his father’s techniques for training horses, which surprisingly didn’t sound all that different from his own. His mind kept wandering, however, and his glance continually swept the path that led to the woods to watch for Dana’s return. He even toyed with the idea of relating his side of their argument in hopes of winning Erik’s sympathy, but he already knew Erik would take his half sister’s side against a slave any day and didn’t waste his breath in such a futile effort.
Despite his ebullient mood, Erik couldn’t help but note Brendan’s distress. It was so unlike the Celt to fidget nervously that he finally had to comment on it. “What’s wrong, Brendan?” There was a faint bruise on the slave’s chin as a result of their fight the previous night, but he didn’t think the man was harboring any hard feelings over it.
Brendan turned to face Erik, as dismayed as he had been by Dana’s request that he confide in her. They were not friends, regardless of the fact they shared a small house, and he couldn’t find the words to describe his latest confrontation with Dana. “I saw a slave beaten to death once,” he blurted out instead. “I don’t believe the man actually meant to do it. He was just so angry he couldn’t stop whipping him until it was too late.”
Erik stared at Brendan’s pained expression, then nodded sympathetically for it was plain the Celt was greatly disturbed by the memory. “Was this the same man who whipped you?” When Brendan replied with a distracted nod, he continued, “He was not a Dane, I hope.”
“No, a Norseman,” Brendan heard himself say.
Erik spit in the dirt. “Well, what can you expect then?” He followed his unhappy companion’s glance, and was delighted to see his half sister approaching. “There’s Dana at last.” He turned away, his perplexing conversation with Brendan forgotten as he hurried across the verdant pasture to meet her.
While he knew he would be expected to take care of Dawn’s Kiss, Brendan remained where he stood. With his heart in his throat he watched Dana ride into the yard, where Erik ran to meet her. He swung her down from her saddle, and the two stood with their heads together, conversing with an excitement Brendan could readily discern. While he couldn’t tell what they were discussing at that distance, he knew Dana had to be describing the disrespectful way he had treated her, and tiny rivulets of sweat began to trickle down his back.
He was no coward, but he knew she was going to hurt him badly. As hot-tempered as she was, she might even leave him crippled. She had threatened to whip him herself, and being beaten by a woman was a humiliation he had never before had to suffer. He knew he could have taken it had Grena used a whip on him, but not Dana.
Overcome with dread, he looked up at the cloudless sky and repeated the same prayer he had said every night for the last three years, “Please, God, give me the strength to survive long enough to get back home.”
When he looked back at the couple in whose hands his fate lay, he was shocked to find them gone. Dawn’s Kiss stood at the end of the stable where Dana always left her, but her flame-haired mistress was nowhere in sight. She had gone for the whip—he just knew it—while Erik was probably fetching a rope to bind his hands to a tree.
Brendan took a deep breath and held it. He had lived through one nightmare after another, but nothing to compare with this. “Let Erik do it,” he prayed aloud. “Just let Erik be the one to do it. He won’t kill me, and Dana surely will.”
Chapter Ten
When Erik ran out to greet Dana, she was relieved to find him so eager to talk that he failed to note that her mood upon returning home had been a very somber one. He insisted she come to his house, where they would not be interrupted, and grateful for a distraction to help her forget her latest clash with Brendan, she went prepared to give him her full attention.