Scant rays from the corridor lit the room. Garrick made his way to the large door opposite, which opened onto a small stone balcony. A majestic view met his eyes. The fjord lay far below in shadowy splendor. To the west was the deep blue of the ocean; the dark purple and gray of the mountains spread to the east. But most stunning of all was the orange fireball of the sun which hung low on the horizon.
Garrick stood there for many minutes before he again felt the exhaustion of his body. Leaving the balcony door open, which flooded the room with light, he crossed the chamber to close the door before turning to his bed. There, on the white ermine spread made by his mother from skins he brought her, lay the small form of a girl curled into a ball, looking ever so tiny in the center of the large bed.
Garrick stopped in his tracks. Her long black hair fanned out on the white ermine and hid her face. Her figure was obscure, wrapped in a woolen nightdress many sizes too large, so that he could not begin to guess the age of this sleeping creature.
Yet he was not curious, only angry that his bed was not available to him when he so greatly desired its comfort. He turned and stalked from his room. He went straight to Yarmille’s chambers, entered without knocking and shook the woman roughly from her sleep.
“Mistress, wake up!”
Yarmille opened cloudy eyes to stare at the tall figure looming over her small bed. His face was in the shadows, but she knew him instantly. “Garrick! You have returned!”
“Obviously,” he answered dryly, the anger unmistakable in his tone. “And to find you have sorely overstepped your authority!”
“I—what are you talking about?” she asked indignantly, pulling the embroidered coverlet up about her neck. “You accuse me falsely.”
Garrick’s brows narrowed. “By what right do you allow a guest in my chamber when the room allotted for such lay empty?”
“A guest?” It was a moment before she made the connection, and then she laughed softly. “Nay, she is not a guest.”
Garrick was close to losing all patience. “Explain, Yarmille, and keep it brief. Who is the female?”
“She is yours. Your mother bid me take her in hand, so I did not put her with the other women. And I knew that when you returned, the guest room would be put to use. I did not think you would mind over much if she shared your chamber.”
Garrick stiffened in frustration. “First, I do mind!” he said harshly, not caring who heard him now. “Secondly, what do you mean, she is mine?”
Yarmille was not used to seeing Garrick this angered. She should have remembered his recent dislike of women, and put the girl someplace else.
“Your father raided in the British Isles this summer and returned with seven captives. This girl was one of them and your father has given her to you. She was the daughter of a lord, and thought she would be your bride.”
“My bride!” he exploded.
“’Tis only what she and her people thought, Garrick,” Yarmille added quickly. “Anselm played them falsely, to make the raid go easier. ’Tis a long story that I am sure Anselm will be pleased to retell.”
“What is wrong with the girl that Hugh should not take her?” Garrick asked, knowing that his brother always took the choice females for himself now that Anselm no longer kept the young and pretty ones.
“The girl is a hellish vixen. You must be in your father’s disfavor for him to saddle you with such a gift. She is a fighter, I have been told, and thirsts for blood.”
No doubt she would also be hard on the eye, and this was why Hugh did not want her. Whywouldhis father give him such a girl?
Garrick sighed, too tired to ponder further. “She is sleeping, so you may leave her be for now. But on the morrow you will move her elsewhere, I care not where.”
“She will attempt to run away, Garrick. I cannot leave her in the women’s quarters while they tend their duties. ’Tis too easy for her to sneak off from there.”
“By Thor, woman! I said I do not care what you do with her, but she cannot stay in my chamber!”
With that, Garrick stalked back to his room.
The cool breeze ruffled the hair on Brenna’s cheek and caused her to wake. She blinked sleepily at the sunlight filling the room and moaned. Morning already? It seemed as if only a few hours had passed since she had been untied and warned not to leave the room. She assumed a guard had been posted outside her door, but it did not matter. She was not ready to leave yet. Her body was still sore from the long confinement, and she knew she was in no condition to brave the unknown. She must get her strength back, and then see what avenues of escape were open to her. It would be foolish to leave without knowing something of the land.
She got up and closed both doors, sealing the room in darkness again, then crawled back into the bed. She had almost drifted back to sleep when she heard a voice raised in anger. A few moments passed, then the door opened and a very tall young man walked into the room.
Brenna was instantly alert, every nerve in her body attuned to danger. She did not move, but watched the Viking warily through half-closed eyes, prepared to dash for his sword if the need presented itself.
The stranger did not look in her direction or move toward the bed, but went to the chair against the wall and started to remove his clothing in a rough, angry manner. First the sword, then a short knife, then the sleeveless tunic was thrown on the chair seat. Next a leg was raised and the foot placed on the chair to unlace the leather garters and remove the soft skin boot.
Brenna scanned the man’s features with eyes that seemed almost possessive. A man this pleasing to look upon she had never seen before. Long, wavy hair of a golden color curled about exceptionally wide shoulders. The nose was long and straight, the chin firm and smooth. The strong bare arms were corded with thick muscles, as were the broad chest and back, muscles that rippled and danced with each movement. Blond curls covered the chest, ending at the tight, flat abdomen. Narrow hips led to strong, tapered thighs. The whole body spoke of strength and power. It was superb, marred only by a few minor scars on the lower torso. Such a body was a dangerous weapon in itself. Brenna felt a strange and unknown sensation course through her.
The man started to unfasten his trousers, and Brenna stiffened. One part of her wanted to see the rest of this beautiful physique, but the practical side of Brenna knew no good could come from this. Fortunately, the man glanced at the bed and changed his mind.
