Authors: Phoebe Conn
He had always had a special fondness for the pretty blonde. She had been a delightfully happy little girl who had made no secret of her affection for him despite her mother’s attitude. He had been amazed when Berit had not grown up gradually as Dana had. During one of her visits to Haakon’s farm she had been a playful child, and on the next her budding figure had made it plain that she was rapidly becoming a woman.
Even as that thought brought a smile to his lips, Erik was disgusted with himself for allowing his mind to wander so far afield from his duties. It did not pay to be inattentive around the falcons, for that could result in a serious injury.
Nevertheless, he made certain that when Grena was ready to depart, he was there to help her mount her horse.
Unlike her painfully thin sister, Grena was a full-bodied woman who appreciated a boost to reach her saddle, but she gave Erik only a brief word of thanks before turning her mare toward the gate. That move discouraged any response he might have cared to make, but her daughter did not follow her example. Berit was as lithe as Dana, although not as tall, and while she could have mounted her mare as easily as her brothers leapt upon their ponies, she waited for Erik to reach her side.
“Have you been so busy all morning with your birds that you didn’t have even one minute to spend with us?” she inquired with a saucy smile which she hoped would make him think she was only teasing, when her words clearly revealed how disappointed she had been not to have had his company.
A rakish grin spread across Erik’s finely chiseled features as he recognized Berit’s flirtatious greeting for what it was. “Expertly trained falcons are every bit as demanding as a beautiful woman, Berit. Did you really expect me to have the time to sit in the shade and chat with you?”
His point made in a charming fashion, Erik bent over and laced his fingers together to provide the lively young woman with a convenient step. Berit laid her hand on his shoulder as she placed her tiny foot in his hands. In an instant she was seated on her mare’s back, but her eyes had never left his face.
“No,” she replied sweetly, still attempting to keep the mood light, “but if you truly wished my company, you could come calling at my home.”
Erik patted her thigh, then remembering that she was no longer a child he could pet with such open affection, he jerked his hand away as though he had been burned by the inviting warmth of the smooth flesh beneath her flowing garments.
“Don’t tease me,” he cautioned, his voice deepening as he forced himself to be stern. “You know your mother would set the dogs on me if I ever came anywhere near you or your farm.”
His unexpected taunt brought a bright blush to Berit’s cheeks because she knew it was undeniably true, and that pained her. She cared not at all what the circumstances of his birth had been, but since she could think of no way to encourage him to visit her without revealing more than she dared, she offered no such invitation. Deeply embarrassed by his rebuke, her lips formed a bewitching pout. She murmured no more than a hasty farewell, then tapped her heels against her mare’s flanks and quickly followed her mother through the gate with the twins following close behind.
Erik had only briefly glimpsed Berit’s expression, but he had witnessed a disturbing array of emotions: frustration, anger, and the same sense of hopeless rage he often felt, although he was uncertain of exactly what had upset her.
Dana had seen, if not overheard, the parting conversation between Berit and Erik, but his resulting frown was too deep for her to think he would wish to discuss it. He was such a good-natured young man, she hoped Berit had not said something thoughtless and insulted or hurt him.
“Erik,” she called as she approached him. When she had his attention, she explained the errand that would take them to Grena’s the next morning.
“What?” Erik’s dark brows came together in a harsh line as his frown deepened into a hostile scowl. “Haakon refuses to own thralls. How could you and your mother have forgotten that?”
“Please don’t misunderstand. We’ve not bought the man,” Dana hastened to explain, but when Erik still failed to respond favorably, she revealed the true reason Grena had asked them to take the man temporarily.
In spite of the darkness of his mood, Erik began to chuckle. He was a handsome man, and a smile made him all the more so. “I find that a difficult tale to believe, but now I am too curious not to go with you.”
“Good, because I don’t dare risk going alone since the danger is so great I might also be tempted to seduce him,” Dana responded with a sparkling laugh. She reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, for she loved Erik as dearly as she did her other two brothers. “Let’s pretend we have no idea why he’s being sent here. I imagine the poor fellow will be grateful for a chance to rest if Grena’s women have pestered him so relentlessly.”
“I’ll not say a word,” Erik promised with a sly grin. As he returned to his chores, he laughed time and again over the prospect of meeting a man so many women were eager to possess. But then he began to wonder if Berit had found the Celt slave attractive too.
Late that afternoon, Dana joined her mother when Freya awoke from her nap. She sat down on the edge of her bed, and taking advantage of the privacy afforded by the cozy sleeping chamber, she was eager to discuss their favorite maid. “Moira is twenty. Don’t you think we ought to be giving some serious thought to finding her a husband?”
Freya covered a wide yawn with a pale hand before nodding in agreement. She found it difficult to shake her desire for more sleep. “Yes, I most certainly do. She is such a dear little person, I don’t understand how I could have been so remiss.”
Dana was delighted to find her mother’s interest in Moira’s future was as keen as her own. It would provide a welcome diversion, for she knew her mother spent far too much time dwelling on the aftereffects of her long illness. Freya had recently celebrated her thirty-seventh birthday, but Dana still thought her mother beautiful. Her golden-red hair was as glossy and curly as her own, and her flawless complexion was unlined. Only her eyes looked different. They had once sparkled with the fiery brilliance of sapphires, but now her gaze held only a compelling sadness that frequently moved Dana to tears.
She knew her mother had tricked her father into thinking her more fully recovered than she truly was so that he would leave for the summer. They were a devoted couple, and Dana could not bear to think how deep her father’s pain would be should he return home to find the wife he adored more frail than when he had left her. The winters in Denmark were not harsh, but should Freya fall ill again, Dana knew she would not survive to see another spring.
Forcing such sad thoughts aside, she pressed on with their discussion. “Let’s not say anything to Moira until we’ve all had the opportunity to get to know Brendan well. The fact that they share a common heritage won’t mean anything if they don’t like each other.”
Making no effort to hide her smile, Freya offered a perceptive observation. “That’s true. She might dislike him every bit as much as you dislike Jarald.”
Dana pulled back slightly. “It’s not that I dislike him,” she denied unconvincingly. “It is just that, well, I find him a difficult man to like. He talks about nothing but himself, which I know most men do, but with him it always seems more of a fault than with others.”
Freya reached out to pat her daughter’s hand. “Jarald has many fine qualities which perhaps you are still too young to see, so I don’t want you to dismiss him too hastily. You know you needn’t marry a man you don’t love. Your father and I would never ask that of you. We Danish women are fortunate in that we may divorce a poor husband quite easily, but that is no reason to enter into a marriage with haste. If nothing about Jarald pleases you by the coming spring, then I’ll ask your father to tell him to pay his calls elsewhere. I know Grena would be very pleased to have him court Berit. Do you think she likes him?”
“Berit’s only sixteen, Mother, and Jarald must be thirty at least, perhaps closer to thirty-five. He ought to court Grena rather than her daughter.”
Freya found that suggestion, while sensible, quite amusing. “Jarald is not the type of man to marry a widow and take on the responsibility for another man’s children. He is far too proud for that.”
Dana nodded, hoping her mother would let the matter drop. Since she had been troubled ever since she had found her half brother in a dark mood that afternoon, she asked about him. “What’s going to happen to Erik, Mother? Where will he be able to find a wife?”
Immediately taking that question to heart, Freya sighed unhappily. “We love Erik, so I’m certain other women will too. None of your friends would have him, of course, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t successfully court a girl of modest means. A girl from a small farm would think him a wonderful husband, I’m sure.”
“He is so busy here. When does he have time to travel the countryside calling on farmers in hopes they have marriageable daughters?”
“Yes, finding such a young woman will be the problem, but Erik is young yet and I doubt he has given any thought to taking a wife. Let’s worry about Brendan and Moira first, and see if we can’t make a match there.” Freya paused as her ten-year-old daughter, Thora, peered in the door. “Come join us, baby.”
A precocious child, Freya’s youngest was a delightful imp who thoughtfully did not tax her mother with her own boundless energy. “I heard Moira say you’re taking a thrall from Grena. Won’t father be furious at us for that?”
“Now, how did Moira hear about Brendan?” Freya asked Dana in dismay.
“I’ve no idea,” Dana assured her. “I’ve said nothing about the man to anyone but Erik, and surely he would not gossip with the servants.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Thora exclaimed as she crawled over the end of her mother’s bed. “Erik talks with Moira all the time. I think they’re lovers.”
“Thora! Shame on you,” Freya scolded, but her laughter kept her from sounding cross.
Dana gave her little sister a hug. Each had inherited her mother’s golden-red hair and her father’s deep violet eyes, but their personalities were distinctly their own. “I wish you had joined us earlier, Thora. I think perhaps we have been worrying over matters that have already been decided.”
“What matters?” Thora asked as she eluded her sister’s grasp to reach her mother’s lap.
Freya greeted her daughter with a welcoming embrace, but quickly released her. “I’ll explain later, but it’s Erik I need to speak with now. Will you please go and get him for me?”
Thora responded with a prompt refusal. “Not if you’re going to be angry with him.”
“No, baby, I’m not angry with him, merely curious. Now run find him for me so we’ll have time to talk before supper.”
When Thora returned a few minutes later leading Erik by the hand, Dana quickly rose from her mother’s bed. “I’m sure you two would appreciate some privacy,” she explained as she winked at her half brother and escorted her little sister from the room.
Having no idea why he had been summoned, Erik hoped Freya had not become so weak she needed to be carried out to the main hall where they took their meals. “What do you need?” he asked anxiously.
“You are like a son to me, Erik,” Freya began, but then, delighted by her topic she smiled eagerly.
“Freya?” While Erik was happy to find that the woman who had been the only mother he had ever known wasn’t as ill as he had feared, he didn’t understand why she was so amused. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, of course not,” Freya assured him before taking a deep breath in an effort to begin again in a more serious manner. “I just wanted to ask you a question. You know Moira is very dear to me. Since her parents are dead, I feel it is my responsibility to find a husband for her. You are quite young to marry, but if you hope someday to make her your wife, please say so now.”
Erik was so shocked by the suggestion he didn’t know how to reply. Moira was small and dark, probably as petite as his mother had been. He thought her a sweet girl and they were friends, but she was very shy and he could not even imagine taking her for his wife. He wanted someone with the spirit of the Danish women he knew. While he thought his red-haired half sisters as beautiful as their mother, he longed for a pretty blonde like Berit. Even though he knew she was beyond his reach, he would not deny that he hoped to wed someone exactly like her.
“No!” he replied angrily, barely able to force the word over the painful surge of emotion that filled his throat. His well-defined features were contorted in a mask of hopeless confusion at the absurdity of her question. “I know Moira would have me, but can’t I hope to do better?”
As deeply shocked by his response as he had been by her question, Freya tossed her blankets aside and rose to embrace him. “Forgive me, Erik, I never meant to make you think I thought less of you than I do of my own sons. I have money of my own. Whenever you are ready to take a bride, I’ll see you have her price.”
As the compassionate woman drew him into her arms, Erik buried his face in the softness of her curls, but he was far too proud a man to weep at the generosity of her offer. He had never had reason to consider the fact that he would be expected to give both his bride and her family sizable gifts which would be theirs to keep should their marriage fail, while he would have to return her dowry. It wasn’t only money he lacked, however, but a heritage he could ask a woman to share and pass on to their children. Freya had forced him to confront that issue as he never had before, and he didn’t like what he had found. Placing his hands around her tiny waist, he stepped back. He made a heroic attempt to smile, but failed.