“I want her.”
“What?”
“I said I want her,” Hugh replied. “Garrick hates women, and you have Heloise. My wife is timid, as are my slaves. I want a woman with spirit.”
“You have not even seen her yet, Hugh,” Anselm remarked, his lips turning slightly upward. “This little beauty has more spirit than you would want. She is viciously hostile, filled with bitter hatred.”
“Her spirit can be broken,” Hugh said, his eyes lighting in anticipation. “I still want her.”
“Her spirit need not be broken,” Anselm said harshly. “It is my wish to give her to Garrick. She is what he needs to end his own bitterness.” He did not add that she was still a virgin, for then Hugh would surely want her, and as first born he had the right. “There is a flame-haired wench with spirit who would be more to your liking. She is better curved, as you like them, and more pliable.”
“And if I choose the Lady Brenna?”
“’Twould please me if you did not, Hugh,” Anselm warned.
“We shall see,” Hugh replied noncommittally as they left the bathhouse.
The door flew open. Dust swirled, then floated gently in the shaft of sunlight that fell on the dirt floor of the small house. When the prisoners were led out into the yard, all of them shielded their eyes from the glaring sun. They were escorted to the main house, pushed through the open door that allowed the smoke from the fires to escape, and left to stand in the center of the crowded room.
Linnet recognized the men seated at two long tables and on benches against the walls. They were from the ship. Many were gathered at the end of one table, where a board game was being played. A large man she had not seen before was examining a fine gray horse that had been brought into the room with the women. She gasped when she saw that it was Brenna’s horse, Willow. If Brenna saw that, there was no telling what she would do. Luckily, she did not. She was staring with undisguised loathing at Anselm the Eager, and did not even glance at the horses when they were led from the room.
Anselm sat at the head of one table. He was served by young girls dressed in rough, undyed wool—slaves, no doubt. Beside him was a woman not much older than Linnet, regally gowned in yellow silk. Next to her was another woman, young and plump, with the same blond hair that most of the people here had.
The tall man who looked Willow over now came to where the prisoners stood. Pushing Linnet aside, he stopped in front of Brenna. He lifted Brenna’s face to examine it, just as he had done moments earlier to the horse, but she knocked his hand away with her bound wrists, the fury in her eyes defying him to touch her again.
Brenna smelled the maleness of him, the smell of sweat and horses. He so resembled Anselm the Eager that if she had a knife, she would gladly have cut his throat, and to hell with the consequences. Greedily she eyed the dagger in his wide belt, but his deep laugh drew her eyes back to his.
“By Thor, she is a beauty!”
“’Tis as I said, Hugh,” Anselm replied from his place at the table.
Hugh smirked, and moved from left to right to view her from different angles. Her eyes reflected no fear, even though she knew she was helpless with her wrists bound in front of her—unless she had a knife to clutch in both hands. Brenna was so intent on this thought that she did not notice Hugh had moved closer.
Standing near her so that no one who understood his tongue could hear his words, he whispered in her ear, “I will wipe that bloodthirsty look from your eyes, my lady. I will break the spirit my father so admired.”
He could not know that she understood his every word. She felt only contempt for his boast until one arm yanked her to him and his demanding lips crushed hers. His other hand covered her breasts and cruelly squeezed them as he taunted her with his strength. Her arms were useless, trapped between her body and his, but her teeth came down on the probing tongue violating her mouth. He pulled back just in time, and shoved her away from him, so that she fell against the other women.
“Daughter of Hel!” Hugh cursed loudly and came forward to strike her, but was checked by Anselm, who bellowed his name. Hugh lowered his arm and turned on his father accusingly. “She would spill my blood without the sense to know she would die for it!”
“I warned you she is full of hate,” Anselm replied.
“Hatred that she would die for. Bah! She is mad, I think. Give her to my brother Garrick, then, as was your wish. He hates women and will take pleasure in abusing this one. Let him use her body as a release for his hate, and see if they do not kill each other. I will take the fiery-haired wench.”
“Enough of this talk, Hugh,” scolded the woman dressed in yellow silk. “Do you forget your mother and your wife are present?”
“Your pardon, mistress,” replied the unabashed Hugh. “I did forget, indeed. I am finished here. You may do my father’s bidding now, and question the captives.”
“I was not aware I needed my son’s permission to do so,” the woman retaliated, her tone coldly authoritative.
Loud guffaws came from those listening to the exchange, and Hugh bristled. A warning look from his father stilled his caustic retort. Hugh spread his arms wide. “Your pardon again, mistress. I know better than to duel verbally with you.”
Brenna seethed inwardly. She had heard clearly what the bastard Hugh had said about her, just as everyone else who understood him had heard. Give her to Garrick? Let him abuse her with his hatred of women? Well, they would learn soon enough that she would take no abuse. The man she thought she would marry would die if he dared to touch her. God, how she hated them all!
Linnet was watchful, apprehensive. She forced herself not to interfere when the Viking mauled Brenna, hoping that his crude treatment would at least snap Brenna out of her bitter silence. But it did not. She wished to high heavens she could understand what they were saying. If only she had joined Brenna’s lessons with Wyndham. Ah, how little did they guess the future then. How could they communicate with their captors and even discover their true circumstances, unless Brenna was willing to speak for them? Only she knew their language.
Linnet’s anxieties were dispelled a moment later when the Viking dame in flowing yellow silk left the table and came to stand before them. She was a small, graceful woman with chestnut hair and dark brown, almond-shaped eyes.
“I am Heloise Haardrad. My husband is Anselm the Eager, chief of our clan and the man who brought you here.”
