Authors: Phoebe Conn
“I should have struck him again,” Jarald mumbled to himself. He had been certain his first blow had shattered the thrall’s skull. Still, he doubted the slave would survive more than a day or two after suffering so severe a beating, and while his burns were slight, there was always the possibility they might fester. The burly Dane swiftly convinced himself that Brendan was dying.
As Grena’s farm came into view, Jarald began to plan how best to further infuriate the woman in an effort to prevent her from ever visiting her sister’s home again. Of course, even if she came along with him and denied any knowledge of the fire, he doubted anyone but Freya would believe her. He would prefer she stayed away, however, just to keep everyone feeling anxious. As he approached the house, he feared his greatest problem might be in keeping his expression nonchalant as he spun what he assumed would be clever lies.
Not once questioning his motives, Grena was delighted to welcome Jarald into her home. He had been a frequent visitor when her husband was alive, and she had missed seeing him. She gave him the most affectionate greeting she could provide, then replenished his ale frequently as they talked.
Good manners required that Jarald not state his business until he had inquired about Grena’s family, and having forgotten just how talkative the woman was, he found himself waiting a long while. She did not mention her daughter, and so as not to embarrass her, he pretended not to know Berit’s whereabouts.
“It was thoughtful of you to come tell me about Jørn’s voyage to Erin,” Grena complimented with a girlish blush. She and Jarald were about the same age, and while she had not considered him among her original prospects for remarriage, the fact that Dana showed no real enthusiasm when she spoke of him made her wonder if he might not have to seek a wife elsewhere. She had always thought him an exciting man, even if her niece did not.
Jarald was no stranger to an appreciative glance, and because Grena was an attractive woman, he began to wonder if his visit might not prove more amusing than he had originally thought. “What I have to say does concern Jørn, but you’re the one I’ve come to see.” He paused a moment, and when Grena’s blush deepened, he reached out to take her hand.
“Haakon has asked me to look after his family until he returns, so I’ll be staying at his farm. Freya told me you and she have had a dreadful misunderstanding, and she asked me to escort you to her home so that you two might settle your differences.”
Disappointed the man had come at Freya’s behest rather than to pay a social call, Grena withdrew her hand from his. “I’ll not allow my dispute with her to intrude on our friendship, but I can’t think of anything she could possibly have to say that I would wish to hear.”
Jarald nodded sympathetically. “I understand, and I assure you I’ve no wish to become involved in your quarrel. There is the matter of Jørn’s thrall, however.”
Grena responded with a particularly bitter oath, not caring whether or not her language shocked her guest. “Brendan has shown himself to be completely untrustworthy, and the instant Jørn returns I’ll insist he be whipped soundly and then sold.”
“I’m afraid that may prove impossible. He was badly injured last night in an attempt to set fire to the house Erik is building. Because he belongs to Jørn, quite naturally there is the suspicion that you were behind his actions.”
“What?” Grena shrieked as she leapt to her feet. “Is that why Freya wants to see me? So she can make such wild accusations?”
Jarald rose to face her, his tone as well as his expression intentionally soothing. “Do not upset yourself, Grena. When people are angry, they frequently say things they don’t mean.”
“He only attempted to set fire to the house—he didn’t actually do it?”
“No, I believe a few trees were lost, but the house wasn’t damaged.”
Grena took a step away, and when she turned back to face Jarald, her expression was as vicious as her tone. “I wish I had thought of burning down Erik’s house, but I didn’t.”
“Perhaps there will be other opportunities,” Jarald offered slyly.
“You would approve of such violent tactics?” Grena could already see that he did.
“I admire a woman who knows how to get what she wants.” He stepped close then, and continued to smile. He thought her husband had been dead about two years. That was far too long for so appealing a woman to be without the company of a man. “You said your boys had gone fishing. Will they be gone all morning?”
Grena’s eyes widened in dismay, for she could scarcely believe her guest was asking what he appeared to be asking. “Are you no longer courting Dana?” she took the precaution to ask.
Jarald raised his hand to caress her cheek tenderly. “Dana is a child. What I want is a woman, one who knows how to please a man.”
For a long moment Grena continued to stare up at Jarald. His eyes were a remarkably clear green, and she had always admired his rugged good looks. If what he wanted was her, she saw no reason to refuse him. There were servants moving about, but none who dared question her behavior or gossip about it to anyone who mattered.
Turning away, she glanced back over her shoulder to issue a seductive invitation. “We’ll not be disturbed in my chamber.” She left the hall, and made no attempt to hide her delighted smile when he followed.
Grena had never been with any man other than her late husband, and he had always treated her with a respect she had naively assumed all men showed their women. It took no more than a few moments of Jarald’s abusive company to convince her that mistaken belief had been a grave error, but by then her composure was so completely shattered she could not even cry out for help.
Jarald did not stop to kiss the curvaceous woman before he hurriedly stripped her nude, and even then he showed no interest in bestowing any gestures of affection. Rather than endearments, his comments were all obscene. He used words so filthy that Grena was sure they would have insulted a whore, and yet they fell easily from his lips, clearly from frequent use. He preferred a savage slap to a gentle caress, and rather than fondling her generous breasts he bruised her pale skin with a brutal clutch before leaving the deep crescent imprint of his teeth embedded in her tender flesh.
Jarald took great pride in the fact that he had not only the hearty appetites of a bull, but a beast’s stamina as well. His eyes shone with a lustful gleam as he dominated Grena’s voluptuous body with a passion for violence rather than shared rapture. Considering her tearful sobs compliments to his sexual prowess, he used her body totally without regard for her feelings. He satisfied himself time and again before finally growing bored with his sport and rising from the anguished woman’s rumpled bed.
Once spared the burden of his weight, Grena drew in a deep breath to clear a painful wave of dizziness from her head. She was grateful Jarald had forced her face down on the bed, for it meant she didn’t have to watch him dress. She didn’t want to ever see the man again, and she would never admit that she had invited his advances. She was certain that not even Loki, the master of evil, could have given her more pain. Indeed, Jarald had caused her agony in ways she had not even known it was possible for a man to perform on a woman. Filled with shame at her own stupidity as well as loathing for him, she lay still as he made ready to depart.
“I’m beginning to think your husband wasn’t half the man we all thought he was,” Jarald remarked snidely as he drew on his boots. “You’ve borne four children, and yet you’re as shy as a virgin. I like my women to have passion, Grena.” He paused for a moment, and when she failed to respond, he whacked her across the buttocks, leaving yet another angry red welt.
“A woman is nothing without passion. That’s why I intend to wed Dana. She can set a man’s blood to boil with no more than a glance. It’s difficult now to believe you are from the same family.”
Jarald continued his steady flow of insults until he crossed to the door. “I’ll tell Freya you’ve no wish to see her. As I said, I’ll be staying with her until Haakon returns home. If I get the chance to come here again, I will. Or,” he lowered his voice to a seductive hush, “you could always come to visit me.” He hesitated a moment, and then, certain he was the last person Grena would ever want to see, he strode out, confident she would not go anywhere near her sister’s farm if there was the slightest possibility he might still be there.
Until Brendan could care for himself, Dana convinced Freya he should not be moved. That was a small victory, but at least she could glance his way occasionally even if she had been forbidden to care for him. Yet in the time it took him to regain his strength, he became something of a household pet. He was not only handsome, but also graciously thanked anyone who performed the smallest service for him, and Dana feared they would soon have the same problem Grena had experienced. Even Moira had swiftly overcome her shyness around him, and he was so well tended Dana had not the smallest excuse to speak with him. While that was a great disappointment to her, Brendan seemed not to notice, and he continued to thrive under the generous attention their female servants provided.
When he felt well enough to elaborate on his initial description of the night he had been injured, Brendan kept his story identical to the one Dana had fabricated. While he would have recognized any of Grena’s men, he had seen no one, but he was convinced she had been behind the fire. They all hoped Erik might turn up some piece of evidence, but after several days’ search of the woods, he could offer no proof for their suspicions.
Jarald had been surprised when Brendan didn’t fulfill his prediction and die. He seriously considered smothering him in his sleep, but for the first few nights Freya had servants remain with the thrall, and their solicitous concern for the injured man prevented him from carrying out that plan. Then, when after several days’ observation, he saw nothing untoward between the slave and Dana, he decided he must have been mistaken about them. He forgot the man and concentrated his efforts on winning her consent for their marriage. Always confident, he was certain his extended stay in her home was helping him make some real progress in that direction.
Brendan attempted unsuccessfully to hide his anger as Dana and Berit again left the house with Jarald. From what he had overheard, the three planned to ride out to see Erik and have a picnic. That, as usual, Dana had not bothered to inquire as to his health or to tell him good-bye left him feeling bitterly insulted. He knew she didn’t care for Jarald. Each time the man enveloped her in one of his incessant hugs, she cringed so violently he could see it from clear across the hall, so he wished she would cease to worry about Erik and send him on his way.
Inactivity of any kind had always been difficult for Brendan, but to lie almost too weak to move while another man courted the woman he loved with an apparently inexhaustible enthusiasm was unbearable for him. Nearly a week had passed and the once excruciating headaches were no more than a dull throb, but he still felt far from well. He had lost weight despite the fine meals he had been served, and when he got up to go out to the privy he still needed someone to walk by his side to make certain he didn’t fall. It was a pathetic situation, and yet he saw no way out of it save patience, which was unfortunately a virtue he had always lacked.
Moira followed Brendan’s hate-filled stare, then leaned over to whisper, “I don’t like Jarald either. He’s not nearly good enough for Dana.”
Brendan waited for the maid to turn back toward him, but when she did, her gaze was so innocent he knew she had no idea why he disliked the husky Dane so virulently. “Won’t she choose her own husband?” he asked with little interest in the girl’s response.
“Of course, but she can’t say yes if the man she wants doesn’t ask her.” Moira flicked the crumbs from her apron. “Do you want anything more to eat?”
Surprised by her insightful observation, Brendan just shook his head. He thanked her as she took his tray, then closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Somewhere on the dim edge of his memory he recalled formulating a desperate scheme to make Dana his wife. Had the villain who had tried to roast him alive succeeded, those would have been among the last of his conscious thoughts. And Dana was not even mildly upset that he had nearly died. She had not given him more than a casual glance the whole time he had been in her home!
What a fool I have been, he thought angrily. He still might build a ship and come back for her, but it wouldn’t be to make her his wife. It would be to make her his slave. He relished that possibility, for the thought of having her do his bidding for a change was immensely satisfying. He would not make her scrub floors or do any hard labor. He would just keep her chained to his bed until she finally admitted she loved him. Knowing Dana, that might take a very long while, but he was determined to enjoy owning her, even if she had never truly had the privilege of owning him.
Chapter Nineteen
Dana awoke the instant Brendan clamped his hand over her mouth. He had expected her to struggle a moment before leaving her sleeping chamber with him, but he was shocked when she covered his hand with hers and kissed his palm. He simply did not understand how she could respond with so loving a gesture after ignoring him for so many days.
Before releasing his hold on her, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Come with me quietly. We mustn’t wake Thora.” He rose, walked soundlessly to the door, then held it open for her.