Authors: Phoebe Conn
Brendan did not interrupt the volatile beauty, even though he had been referring to being deserted after they had made love rather than to the way she had belittled his talents with Grena. He leaned back against the wall, hoping the pain would stop if he just stood quietly for a while. His ear wasn’t bleeding, so he knew his injury wasn’t as severe as he had first feared. “You go on ahead. I don’t think I can ride yet.”
When she had struck him, Dana had wanted only to distract him for a moment, not to cause him lingering pain. “Oh, Brendan—”
Her pity was the last thing he wanted, and the proud Celt looked away. “Just go. You’ve humiliated me enough for one day, and I’d rather not take any more.”
Her earlier fears of his strength forgotten, Dana’s eyes filled with tears as she moved to his side and clasped his arm. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you should never have been so rough with me. You’ve been so wonderfully loving, and that’s what I expect from you.”
“Loving?” Brendan repeated skeptically. “Why, Dana, you said yourself that there is no love between us.”
Dana flinched slightly, as though he had struck her. She could not tear her gaze from his, nor did she wish to when she saw her own pain reflected so clearly in his eyes. Brendan had turned a peaceful summer into a maelstrom of forbidden desires, and she dared not even imagine what further dangers might lie ahead for them.
All she knew now was that he was hurting, and she was responsible for his pain. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek sweetly. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she confessed hesitantly, “when what I really meant was that I wish we could love each other, but I know that’s impossible.”
She turned away with a touching shyness, but Brendan reached out to catch her wrist and drew her back into his arms. Words of love came no easier to his lips than to hers, but he allowed the depth of his emotions to fill his kiss with a devotion he dared not speak aloud. With a gentle caress he molded the lithe contours of her body to his, shamelessly pressing her so close she could not fail to notice it was not anger that had aroused him now.
Dana pulled away slightly so that she could look up at him. “I have never wanted to humiliate you, and you mustn’t ever try to humiliate me again.”
Brendan would have agreed to any request now, but because hers was so sensible, he murmured his consent between deep kisses. The spot he had chosen had been ideal for a hasty confrontation, but now that he longed to spend the entire afternoon making love, he realized Dana was too fine a lady to lie in the dirt. He looked up then, wondering if there might not be a secluded spot nearby where they could enjoy their passion for each other.
Sensing his unspoken question, Dana stepped out of his embrace. “No, Brendan, we’ve got to go home. Erik and Soren must already think we weren’t able to leave Grena’s, and they are sure to gather all the men they can to go back for us.”
Realizing the truth of her words, Brendan moaned regretfully and drew her close for one last kiss. “Promise you’ll meet me tonight.”
Dana rested her head on his shoulder as she attempted to think of a compelling reason to refuse. Another midnight tryst would be dangerous, but she knew mentioning the danger would only make it all the more appealing to Brendan. Finally she had to admit to herself that she also longed to extend the delicious closeness they had just begun to explore.
“All right, I’ll try my best, but if I’m late or if I’m unable to leave the house, you must promise you’ll understand and not accuse me of disappointing you on purpose.”
Brendan cupped her face gently between his palms as he questioned her request. “Are you asking me to trust you?”
“Would that be so impossible?”
Not knowing how to reply, Brendan considered her question for a long moment. Other than his mother, he could not name another woman he had known well enough to trust. Surely to trust so beautiful a young woman as Dana couldn’t possibly be wise. She was also a Dane, which was most definitely not a point in her favor. A clever man, he turned her question back on her.
“When you do not trust me, how can you expect me to trust you?”
Dana knew exactly what he meant, for when he had been so quick to assure Grena he would assist her, she had believed him as readily as her aunt had. Blushing with embarrassment, she backed away. “You were very convincing. How was I to know you meant only to fool Grena?”
His ear no longer troubling him, Brendan took Dana’s hand and led her to her mare. “That’s what trust is, Dana. You should have known I’d not betray you, no matter what I said.”
“Just as you should have known I don’t really consider you a worthless slave,” Dana countered smoothly. “It seems we are both to blame here, not just me.”
His mood now a lighthearted one, Brendan chuckled as he helped her up into her saddle. They rode home in a companionable silence, but their frequent smiles revealed each was delighted to be with the other.
When they entered the yard, it was Brendan who noticed the black stallion tethered by the stable first, but Dana’s shocked glance when he pointed out the horse immediately conveyed the impression that the owner of the massive beast was not someone she wished to see.
“Do you want me to come inside with you?” he offered considerately, thinking she must be afraid to face the visitor.
Too astonished to speak coherently, Dana just shook her head. Leaving Brendan with the horses, she started toward her home, but before she had reached the door, a fair-haired man came outside to meet her. Well over six feet in height, with a burly build and lumbering gait, he easily enveloped the startled redhead in a boisterous hug, lifted her clear off her feet, and swung her around twice before putting her down.
Brendan was as shocked by the enthusiastic greeting as he was by the fact Dana didn’t respond by boxing the man’s ears for taking such bold liberties with her. For an instant the puzzled Celt wondered if this could be Haakon, for the man looked old enough to be her parent, but his full mustache framed a wide grin that was anything but fatherly. Grudgingly, Brendan had to admit he was a handsome fellow whose deeply tanned skin provided a healthy accent to his sun-bleached hair. Dressed in fine woolens elaborately trimmed with braid, he clearly had wealth in addition to a commanding physical presence.
Praying what he was witnessing was a reunion with a close relative Dana had never liked, Brendan motioned to the stable boy who had appeared to care for their horses. “Do you know that man?” he asked quickly.
“His name is Jarald Frederiksen,” the lad replied with a satisfied smirk. “He likes to think of himself as Dana’s betrothed.”
Jarald Frederiksen. Brendan let the name echo in his mind as he watched Dana nearly disappear from sight as Jarald hugged her again. He was a great bear of a man, and the wily Celt hoped he was also as dim-witted and slow as bears were thought to be. He had taken an instant dislike to Jarald despite his pleasing appearance, but he couldn’t forget Thora had said Dana would soon marry him. Why had he never had the presence of mind to ask her about Jarald? he wondered, for now he was brimming over with curiosity.
Having more gossip to confide, the boy continued without stopping to contemplate how Brendan would take his news. “I overheard him tell Freya that Haakon asked him to stay here until he, Svien, and Jørn return from Erin.”
Startled from his thoughts by the horrifying announcement, Brendan reached out to grab the youth by the front of his kirtle and lifted him clear off the ground. “You’re lying! No one ever said Haakon had gone to Erin.”
Terrified, the boy dangled helplessly in Brendan’s grasp. “He’s never gone that far before, and no one knew that he had this time until Jarald told us.”
Thoroughly disgusted, Brendan set the stable boy down and released him. For three long years hatred had kept him alive, but after only a month on a farm where the people were kind rather than abusive, he had become so complacent he had forgotten what kind of men the Danes were. If Haakon had gone to Erin, then surely he had gone for what plunder he could steal. The man might not keep slaves, but he undoubtedly wasn’t averse to trading them.
Brendan felt sick to his stomach, for he knew he never should have allowed Dana’s radiant beauty to blind him to what bloodthirsty murderers her people truly were.
Dana did not have long to wonder why Jarald had chosen to visit on that of all days, for as they entered her home he hurriedly explained that her father had decided to travel to Erin before coming home and had thoughtfully sent him to be certain they lacked for nothing before his return. He was clearly delighted by the request, as it gave him a reason to take up residence in her home, but she was as deeply shocked as Brendan. Why had Haakon picked that summer to visit Erin? she agonized silently. Brendan would never forgive her for this, she was certain of it.
Dreading the moment when the Celt would learn of her father’s whereabouts, she watched in a daze of despair as Jarald congratulated Erik on his brave rescue of the woman he loved.
Cuffing Erik on the shoulder, Jarald paid him a sincere compliment. “You are your father’s son after all.” He smiled at Berit then, his glance an admiring one as he noted she had grown up to be an exceptionally pretty young woman. “If there’s to be a fight, count me in,” he offered with a booming laugh. “Or will all your kin side with Freya rather than Grena?”
Nearly knocked off his feet by Jarald’s playful blow, Erik had to regain his balance before he replied, “I’ve no wish to start the whole family feuding.”
“It is far too late to consider that now,” Freya pointed out. Jarald had already been there when Erik and Soren had rushed in the door with Berit, so there had been no way to keep him from learning the truth. That the man would welcome a fight with such obvious relish didn’t please her, but she feared they might not be able to avoid one.
“Time is on our side,” she mused thoughtfully. “Grena’s late husband’s kin are all away trading, as are our brothers. As for Haakon’s family—” She fell silent, for none had ever given Erik any more attention than Haakon had.
“Well, I’m here,” Jarald volunteered with a ready grin. “I gave Haakon my word that I would look after you all until his return, and I mean to keep that promise.”
Erik had taken a great deal of pride in Berit’s rescue, but a man of Jarald’s size and skill with weapons would be such a valuable asset in combating whatever retaliation Grena might send that he didn’t dare refuse his help, although he hoped he would not need it. “I appreciate your offer, Jarald, but I want this matter settled peacefully, not at the point of a sword.”
“You may have no choice,” Jarald warned. “And if that’s the case, then you must be the one holding the sword and dictating the terms.”
Until that day Erik had never needed a sword, but he nodded, seeing the wisdom in Jarald’s words. Berit was seated beside Freya, sipping the broth the thoughtful woman had insisted she consume before attempting to eat something more hearty. The blonde he adored looked terribly young to him, but she was so lovely he could well imagine her being at the center of a feud that could easily last several generations. It would take him several hours to list all the relatives and decide whether or not they would take Grena’s side, but he had never been more uncomfortably aware that he was an outsider in Haakon’s home. He was not kin to Freya either, and suddenly he felt very alone.
“It is generous of you to want to help me, Jarald,” he repeated. “I have no kin to stand with me.”
“And just what am I?” Dana asked defensively. “Am I no longer your sister?”
Soren stepped forward then. “Svien and I are your kin too,” he announced proudly. “Brendan will fight with us, and he is easily worth two men.”
“Who is Brendan?” Jarald inquired.
Freya drew her hand across her brow as she realized Brendan might present a complication she had not foreseen. “I suppose you took Brendan with you today?”
“Yes,” Erik admitted. “He was there.” He turned toward Dana, wondering why she had taken so long to return home. “Did you have trouble getting away?”
“Some, but we managed.”
“Who is Brendan?” Jarald repeated in so loud a tone his deep voice reverberated off the carved paneling that adorned the dwelling’s walls.
Dana waited for Erik to answer, but he seemed unable or unwilling to describe the Celt, so she had to do it herself. “He is one of Jørn’s thralls, but he lives here with us and took our side against Grena,” she explained rapidly, striving to keep her feelings for the handsome slave from showing in either her voice or expression.
Jarald frowned for a moment, then came up with what he considered a brilliant ploy. “Where is the man? I want to meet him.”
Dana shrugged. “In the stable, perhaps, or Erik’s house.”
Seeking to impress Jarald, whom he greatly admired, Soren rushed to the door. “I’ll find him.”
Fearing Jarald and Brendan would despise each other at first sight, Dana moved away from the burly Dane and took a place at Berit’s side. She was grateful now that she and Brendan had not made love, for she would never have been able to maintain her composure had his intoxicating scent covered her body like a second skin. She regarded their guest with an apprehensive glance, but clearly Jarald had no idea in which direction her thoughts had strayed, and, his usual supremely confident self, he smiled widely.