“They would kill me anyway, Aunt. My father trained me for this. I will die fighting with honor, rather than weeping in self-pity as Della is wont to do!”
“They would not kill you, Brenna, if you do not resist them,” Linnet persisted. “They take women—”
“Never!” Brenna cut her short. “I would rather die than be a Viking captive!”
With that, Brenna stalked from the room, leaving Linnet and Cordella to their prayers. But before all the servants were roused and armed, the barrier was broken and a blood-curdling war cry sounded from the yard. A moment later, a dozen men lusting for blood burst through the demolished door and stormed into the hall.
Brenna stood by the foot of the stairs, legs astride, sword drawn. An axe missed her by inches. Halfway between her and the enemy, Dunstan was the first to fall. The Vikings divided their party. Three went to the back of the hall and three into the receiving room, closing the door soundly after them. Wyndham came from the rear and took on two of his kinsmen. He fought valiantly, but he was old and tired quickly. He felled one, however, before the other’s sword entered his body and ended his life.
Five men came at Brenna. Four passed her and mounted the stairs, only to lose themselves in the maze on the second floor. She met the remaining man without fear. His broadsword was heavier than hers, and each blow she countered was backed by enormous strength. Her arm and back ached with the effort, but the screams coming from behind the closed door of the receiving room added to her determination. With strength she had not realized she possessed, she knocked the man’s sword aside and pierced him smoothly with her own. She kicked him away, but another, older man quickly took his place. Her stamina failing, Brenna continued to fight until, with a powerful downward stroke, the man’s sword split hers in two.
Brenna stared stupidly at the broken weapon in her hand. She did not see the death blow coming her way, or hear Fergus’s anguished cry. “Cease! ’Tis the Lady Brenna!”
Then Fergus was between her and the glittering sword, pushing her back. The mighty double-edged blade severed his arm, which dropped to the floor with a sickening thud. Fergus, his life slowly slipping away, fell at Brenna’s feet.
Anselm the Eager looked at the girl curiously. To think he had fought her and almost killed her. A fine honor that would have been to take home. He would never have lived it down. So this was the girl they would wed to his son. A stunning maid, to be sure, now that he saw her for what she was. And such spirit and courage as he had never seen in a woman before. She had even succeeded in wounding one of his men. That one would go home in shame. Bested by a woman—ha!
It was too bad she was the enemy. This black-haired beauty would have made a fine daughter-in-law. She would have bred sons with strength and courage to match no other. In truth, it was a pity.
The servants, late in arriving, fell all around Brenna. Blood flowed everywhere. The screams from the receiving room had ceased. Two of the Vikings came out of there, laughing and clapping each other on the back before they joined the others to ransack the manor. Linnet and Cordella, were they dead too? wondered Brenna.
From the top of the stairs came another garbled cry, and Brenna turned mutely to see its source. Alane was there, a short dagger in her hand. It slipped from her fingers as Brenna watched, horrified. Then her old servant, face gray and eyes bulging, tumbled down the stairs to land in a pool of her own blood. An axe was grotesquely embedded in her back, which gushed crimson.
It was the final horror, the last act of madness which pushed Brenna beyond her endurance. Something snapped in her mind and blackness engulfed her, yet did not blot out everything, for she could still hear voices, and she was still standing erect. Someone else was screaming and screaming. It sounded so close, she knew that if she reached out she could touch whoever was making that agonizing noise. But she could not move her arms. No matter how much she willed them to move, they would not budge.
“Anselm, can you not stop the wench from screaming? Her madness is beginning to spook the men. They would sooner give her to Hel than listen to that.”
“There is only one way I know of,” Anselm the Eager replied tiredly.
Brenna did not feel the blow, but at last the blackness was complete. She no longer heard the terrible screaming of one demented.
The march to the coast was slow. It took two hours more to return than it had to come. The horses, cattle, pigs and carts loaded with plunder slowed their progress. Still, they reached the ship before nightfall.
The Viking longship was a horror to the prisoners, all of whom were women. It was a sleek sixty-foot-long vessel, at least fifteen wide in the middle. On the prow was an intricately carved, hideous monster from Hell. This ship would take them from their land and sever all ties with the world they knew.
The proud Viking ship was beached in a little cove, hidden by tall trees. Two men had been left behind to guard it. They had been instructed to put it out to sea in case of trouble. But there had been no trouble, and the two men greeted the returning warriors with whoops and bellows.
Usually the Vikings spent the night on land, but because of the number of enemy who had escaped into the woods during the attack (possibly to run for help), and because of the wide trail the Vikings had left behind in transporting the livestock, Anselm the Eager hoisted the square purple sail that night.
A handful of men made the sacrifice to Thor to insure a safe journey while the others loaded the cargo. The women were put in the stern, where a crude tent was erected for them. Other than that, they were left alone. The men had satisfied their blood lust and their carnal lust, and would not need to do so again until the ship reached land once more.
All of the women had been raped, some many times, save for Brenna, who remained unconscious from the blow Anselm dealt her until after the ship sailed. There were seven prisoners in all; Linnet and Cordella, along with Enid and three other young girls from the village. Most of the men had been killed, except for those who managed to flee into the woods or those left gravely wounded who were not expected to last the night.
Brenna knew this, and it was an additional torture to her. She had failed to protect her people and she had failed to protect herself. Her defeat at the hands of the Viking chieftain, a man past his youthful prime, was the shameful blow she could not bear. Her hate for this one man surpassed all reason.Hehad rendered her helpless;hehad struck her down. He had shown one and all that she was just a woman after all. He would pay for that, and for everything else.
The ship glided over the waves like a sleek monster, leaving Wales behind. The women were fed twice a day on dry codfish, ham or pickled meats, flat bread and butter. It was cold, dry food, which many could not keep down. Cordella frequently dashed to the side of the ship to empty her stomach. The men found this amusing, and their laughter added to the women’s shame.
Brenna ate only to sustain her strength for the goal she had set for herself: to kill Anselm the Eager. She would not speak to her companions or listen to their fearful wailings. Linnet tried to comfort her, but she could not tolerate any kindness and would not even speak to her. Her shame was too great, her bitterness too new. Wisely, Linnet gave up for the time being.
Anselm the Eager came occasionally to look at Brenna. He was a huge man with the girth of a bear. His hair was tawny-colored, as was the beard that covered his face, and he had piercing blue eyes. He was a man to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies—but not into Brenna’s. When he looked at her curiously—almost admiringly, it seemed—she would meet his look with a venomous one, such open hostility and hatred in her eyes that he would walk away disgruntled.
Anselm almost regretted what he had done, but he would never admit it aloud. He had given his word of honor to the enemy. Yet there was no dishonor in breaking his word to his enemy—to a friend, yea, but not to the enemy.
He who had arranged the marriage had promised much wealth would accompany the bride, and, unsuspecting, had told where it was to be found. There would be no bride for Anselm’s son, but the gold was there for the taking. The chieftain was returning home a wealthier man, and his men had their share and were happy.
When Anselm looked at the young beauty, he was amused by her show of defiance. Her pride was equal to his own, but he wondered how long it would last. The thought of such a spirit being broken left a sour taste in his mouth.
He remembered watching her fight the man she had wounded. He had thought her a slim young man, and was amazed at the skill with which she fought against such brute strength. It was a pleasure to watch such courage, which was prized among his people. He had been reluctant to kill her even when he thought her a male, but he could not lose any more of his men to her. And then to discover she was the young girl offered to his son in marriage, and such a magnificent female at that…
