Authors: Phoebe Conn
Dana was so happy to see Brendan was finally well enough to walk about unassisted that she didn’t stop to analyze his mood. All she knew was that she wanted most desperately to be with him and quickly followed him out into the hall. When he reached the hearth, he turned to face her, and she immediately slipped her arms around his waist and lay her head on his shoulder.
“It has been absolute agony having you so close and not being able to go near you,” she whispered. He was fully dressed, and the softness of his kirtle was nearly as inviting as his bare flesh would have been.
Brendan had awakened Dana for one purpose only: to tell her what he thought of the abysmal way she had treated him since the fire. To find her clinging to him as though they had never been apart was only further proof of her duplicity. She enjoyed the abundant pleasure he gave, but how could she have had so little interest in his welfare and expect him to believe she cared for him? Knowing she must think him a stupid fool, he did not waste his breath in delivering the tongue-lashing he felt she deserved. Instead, he chose another manner in which to take his revenge. He lowered his lips to hers, and with savage abandon proceeded to ravage her mouth as though he intended to claim her very soul before he let her go.
Dana mistakenly interpreted Brendan’s demanding kiss as evidence he had missed her as greatly as she had missed him. She could not bear to think how close he had come to burning to death. Had Erik not searched for him with such frantic haste, she was certain his burns would have been far more extensive, much more severe, and undoubtedly fatal. Shoving that ghastly thought aside, she lost herself in the beauty of the moment. She felt only joy in Brendan’s arms, and the thrill of again being with him warmed her clear through.
While Dana’s mind filled with soft-hued images of love, Brendan’s anger burned on. He had had every intention of claiming the lovely body she had flaunted just out of his reach, but he had never expected her to welcome him so enthusiastically. He had envisioned instead the haughty aloofness she continually showed Jarald. He was not punishing her at all, his tortured conscience kept repeating, but his body responded all too readily to the soft, smooth swells her thin nightgown barely concealed while his senses betrayed him by glorying in the intoxicating fragrance of her free-flowing curls.
He was dimly aware that he had made a serious tactical error, for it was impossible to hold Dana in his arms and not long to possess her. The craving to feel the seductive heat of her bare skin pressed close to his own kept building until he could resist it no longer. Withdrawing from her embrace, he hurriedly pulled her to the wide bench that served as his bed. He peeled away her single garment, followed by his own clothing, and in the next instant he lay with her firmly clasped in his arms. It was lunacy to take her like this, with her family and Jarald asleep nearby, but rather than inspiring caution, such thoughts merely heightened his desire.
Equally obsessed, Dana could no longer think at all. She could only feel the cresting wave of desire that as always threatened to drown them in ecstasy. It swirled around her with a haunting warmth that lapped at her flesh like tongues of flame. Nothing mattered to her but claiming Brendan as her own. She had suffered far too terribly without him to consider the danger of their actions or the lunacy of sharing his bed when it lay under her own roof.
She would know Brendan only this one summer. Like a shooting star he would cross the sky of her life all too briefly, not only searing her flesh, but remaining in her memory with a brightness she knew would never be surpassed. How could fate have been so cruel as to have allowed her only a taste of love without the hope of a lifetime of devotion? Didn’t she deserve more? Didn’t they both?
Brendan had only a light bandage on his left arm now, and he felt not the slightest twinge of pain as he held Dana close. He covered her face with adoring kisses, then lingered at her mouth once again, delaying the moment he would possess her completely for as long as he possibly could. He was not teasing her, but attempting to prolong their stay in the paradise they had always created together for as long as he dared, until his need for her made further delay impossible. Nearing that point, he was badly startled and recoiled with her when they heard the sound of a door being pulled closed.
Hurriedly Brendan drew the quilt at his side up over Dana to shield her from sight, but he found it nearly impossible to lie still as though he was sleeping when his body was so closely aligned with hers. He was much too aware of the smoothness of her skin and the supple grace of her limbs to successfully feign slumber. He held his breath as he waited for the intruder to walk by. The faint echo of footsteps continued until finally he risked opening an eye and caught a glimpse of Erik stealthily sneaking out of the house. Because Erik could not reveal what he had seen, if anything, Brendan relaxed, but he dared not laugh as he wished he could, even when he and Dana were again alone.
“It was Erik leaving Berit’s room,” he whispered as he pulled the quilt away, at last giving Dana the opportunity to breathe more freely. “Won’t they be allowed to marry soon?”
Not only too warm, but dizzy as well, Dana didn’t want to talk about her half brother and cousin. Instead, she lifted her arms to encircle Brendan’s neck and bestowed a kiss so full of loving passion he lost all interest in the answer to his question. She was far too enchanting a woman to punish for any reason, and he wanted her too badly to punish himself by denying that fact. He had not forgotten how much her indifference had hurt him, but that sorrow did not begin to compare with the joy he found in her surrender.
Brendan did not attempt to dominate Dana even now, for she did not lie still and compliant beneath him. She met his deep thrusts not merely with a graceful acceptance, but with a wildness of spirit that demanded even more of him. His fingers woven in her tangled curls, he kept her mouth pressed to his, drinking deeply of her sweet taste as he increased the motion of his hips to speed them down rapture’s path at an even more reckless pace. Using more restraint than he had thought he possessed, he held back until he felt her climax begin to throb deep within her before he abandoned himself to the soul-shattering fulfillment of his own release. It shuddered through his still mending body, but he felt only wave after wave of the most glorious pleasure and not a single spasm of pain.
Dana continued to cling to Brendan long after the blinding thrill of their union had diffused to a pleasant and lingering warmth. When he at last began to draw away, she complained immediately, “No, please, stay with me.”
“It’s nearly dawn,” Brendan warned, but he kissed her one last time before leaving her to pull on his breeches. “I should have awakened you earlier. I wanted us to have time to talk,” he mumbled apologetically.
“You wanted to talk?” Dana found that remark highly amusing. “I have often asked you to talk, without success, but you made no such request of me when we left my sleeping chamber.” Rather than rise to don her gown, she remained languidly curled atop his quilts. “We’ve a few moments still. What did you want to say?”
Brendan yanked on his kirtle, then combed his curls off his forehead with a hasty swipe of his hand. He didn’t want to fight with her now, not when everything had been so perfect between them, but the longer he considered her question, the angrier he got. “I know you don’t love Jarald, so don’t accuse me of being jealous, but in all the time I’ve been here, didn’t you have a single moment that you could have spent with me?”
Unable to return his hostile gaze, Dana looked away, and seeing the spacious hall was growing light, she was instantly aware dawn was much closer than she had thought. While she was disappointed that Brendan would ask such a question, she was as anxious as he to avoid another argument. She rolled off the bench, plucked her gown from where he had dropped it, and hurriedly slipped it on.
“It’s a matter of trust, I suppose,” she began hesitantly. “I thought you knew me well enough to believe my feelings for you could not possibly have changed, but my mother forbade me to tend you. I obeyed her because I knew if I sat with you, everyone would soon see how close we’ve become. It didn’t occur to me that you would misunderstand.” She was tempted to add he had had plenty of feminine company, so she had not known he missed hers, but with a valiant effort she held her tongue.
When she turned to face him, Brendan saw his question had hurt her far more deeply than any shouted accusations of neglect ever would. “Trust?” he asked hoarsely. “Is it always going to come down to that?”
Dana nodded. “Without trust, how can there be—” she paused, not wanting to mention love when he still questioned each of her actions, “—friendship, or anything more?”
Brendan did not want to discuss anything more, for as he saw it, admitting that he loved her involved far too many concessions on his part. As long as he was a slave, the only freedom he had was in his emotions. How could he give away the last of his independence by admitting he loved her?
Instead, he spoke only about trust. “It will be impossible for either of us to trust the other until I am free and we are equals. I am well enough to go back to work for Erik, and I wanted to tell you good-bye. I won’t demand that you meet me again at midnight, and if you care anything for me, you will not order me to meet you either. I think each of us would be wise to avoid the other for a while.”
“You meant to say good-bye?” Dana asked in befuddled wonder. “But only after, rather than before, you made love to me again?”
Brendan stared at her, his resolve wavering dangerously as he saw the sparkle of threatened tears brighten her gaze. She had such lovely eyes, and he hated to see her cry. He knew there had to be some way for him to salvage his own pride without destroying hers, but before he could think of it they were interrupted by a loud pounding at the door.
“Who can that be?” he asked, fearing an attack of some sort.
“I have no idea,” Dana replied, too hurt to consider likely possibilities. At that early an hour, their servants were all in their own quarters, and the knocking was so loud and persistent she knew it would soon awaken everyone in the house. If she was the first to the door it would cause no comment. Welcoming any distraction when she feared Brendan was about to say something she didn’t want to hear, she hurried to admit the early morning visitor.
Not about to let Dana open the door to what he imagined might be a grave peril, Brendan overtook her and shoved her aside. He swung open the door himself, then staggered backward as a man wrapped in a hooded cloak stumbled across the threshold and lurched into his arms.
Dana recognized the flowing gray garment immediately as her father’s, but since the wearer lacked his stature, she reached out to yank back the hood. “Jørn!” she cried out in delighted surprise. Then, taking in his flushed complexion and glassy stare, she grew frightened. “What’s happened? Where are my father and Svien?”
Brendan was equally shocked to see Jørn, and he quickly lowered his grasp to the man’s waist to help him over to a bench near the hearth. He could not bear to call the young man master, but he was as curious as Dana as to the cause of his disheveled state. Once he had eased him down onto a bench, he brought wood to build up the fire. Jarald joined them then, swiftly followed by Berit and Freya. The latter two rushed forward, intending to hug Jørn, but, frightened by his alarming condition, the women drew back.
Dana was grateful everyone’s attention was focused on her cousin rather than on her and Brendan, for the Celt’s scent clung to her every pore, but she had yet to receive answers to her questions and demanded them at once. Taking a seat at Jørn’s side, she tried to coax a response from him, but he seemed in a daze, and rather than speak, he covered his face with his hands and wept.
Seeing Brendan was dressed, Freya hurriedly gave him an order. “Go down to the dock and find someone from Jørn’s crew who can tell us what’s happened. Perhaps there was a storm last night, or—”
With a loud sniff, Jørn wiped his eyes on his sleeve and began to sob out an anguished tale. “What men I have left are coming. We have to collect silver to pay a ransom. We must hurry. Trom will kill them if we’re late.”
“Who must you ransom, Jørn?” When he again dissolved in tears, Dana reached out to touch him, and just as she had suspected, she found his skin radiating an unnatural heat. “You have a high fever. Let’s get you into bed and you can explain everything to us after you’ve rested awhile.”
“No, there’s no time,” Jørn insisted between racking sobs. He struggled to rise, but lacking the strength to succeed, he fell back to the bench in a clumsy sprawl. He tried to make the necessity for haste clear, but his pleas were incoherent ramblings.
Seeing another opportunity to ingratiate himself to Freya and her family, Jarald stepped forward, plucked the semiconscious Jørn from the bench, and lifted him into his arms. “We can put him in my bed if you like.”
“No,” Freya said. “Take him into Soren’s bedchamber. He’s not here to use it and you’ll need yours.”
Dana rose and motioned for her mother to step back. “I don’t want you anywhere near Jørn. There’s always the danger that those who tend him might fall ill, and we mustn’t risk your health for any reason.” She led Jørn to Soren’s chamber, and with the husky man’s help, got her cousin into bed.
Berit followed them to Jørn’s bedside and leaned down to caress his cheek lightly. “He’s never been so sick as this, never. We must send for my mother’s servant Olga. Her herbal remedies helped Aunt Freya last winter, and surely they would help my brother now.”