“Very well, Garrick Haardrad,” she said matter-of-factly.
He looked at her suspiciously, not sure whether she relented because of his threat, or because she was his. If he was not so exhausted, he would not have put up with her haughtiness this far. This slave most assuredly would need taming. He realized he might enjoy the effort. This surprised him. It had been a long time since he had felt an instant attraction to any female. He wondered if it was her beauty or her proud defiance which intrigued him most. He wished now he were not so utterly exhausted. But no matter. He could wait. She would be here when he was ready for her.
“You may resume your sleep, mistress,” he said tiredly. “We can discuss your position in the morning.”
She turned baffled eyes towards the balcony. “’Tis morning now.”
“Nay, ’tis the middle of the night, wench, and I am sorely in need of sleep.”
“I am not blind, Viking,” she replied tartly. “I can see the sunlight clearly.”
He had lost the will to argue. He peeled back the ermine spread and lay beneath it. “We are far in the north. Our summer has no night as you know it, our winter no day.”
Now she recalled her lessons with Wyndham. He had told her that the sun did not set during the summer here, rose for but a few hours during winter, and for a while not at all. At the time she thought he was just spinning wild tales to make her lessons more interesting.
She looked at Garrick on the bed, his eyes already closed. “Where am I to sleep then?”
He did not open his eyes to answer. “I have never shared my bed before, but I suppose I can make an exception this once.”
“Your generosity is not welcome!” she retorted. “I will not sleep with you.”
“Suit yourself, mistress. I’ll wager the floor will not be to your liking, though.”
She held back the curse that was on her lips and started toward the door. His raised voice stopped her long before she reached it.
“You do not have my permission to leave this room, Mistress Brenna!”
She swung back to face him, her eyes dangerously wide. “Your permission? I did not ask it!”
He propped himself up on one elbow. “Nay, but henceforth you will.”
“You insufferable oaf!” she snapped irately. “Has not one word I said entered your muddled head? I will not be told what to do by—”
“Cease your prattling, girl!” he commanded. “Loki must be laughing at the fates that gave you to me. You are sadly mistaken if you think I want to share my bed with you, but I can see no other way this night if I am to get any sleep.”
She let the insult pass. “Have you no other rooms in this house?”
“Yea, but they are taken. My house is full of men, mistress—those who returned with me. I am sure they would not mind you stumbling upon them in the dark, but your screams for release would not aid my sleep.”
“The screams of your men, Viking, not mine,” she replied.
He sighed loudly. “You greatly overestimate yourself, wench. Now give me peace and come to bed.”
Brenna suppressed another retort and approached the bed slowly. Itwasmore appealing than the floor, she admitted to herself. She crawled onto it and lay next to the wall, a good two feet away from the Viking. Indeed, the ermine spread that he lay under, and she on top of, was like a wall between them.
A moment later she heard his deep, even breathing. Sleep evaded Brenna for a long while.
Brenna was rudely awakened when Yarmille burst into the room. “Wake up! Wake up, girl, before he returns and finds you still abed.”
Brenna raised her head and saw that Garrick was no longer beside her. Then she looked at the stern, hard-faced woman standing by the bed and shot her a look of contempt. She wondered what the woman would do if she attacked her. Probably run screaming to her master, and she had yet to judge his merit—to learn whether or not she had need to be wary of him.
“Be quick, girl, and dress yourself,” Yarmille continued, handing Brenna a rough woolen shift. “Garrick no longer wants you in his room. To be sure, he is not pleased at all with you. ’Tis no wonder, with your evil eye.”
Brenna gave her a piercing look, but said nothing. She had decided to continue to pretend ignorance of their language. If they spoke in her presence believing she could not understand them, she might be able to gain useful information. It was difficult to act thus, when already her lips were burning to snap this woman’s head off, but she would try.
Yarmille started for the door and motioned for Brenna to follow. Sounds of revelry drifted up from the lower floor as they passed the stairs, then entered a small room on the other side. When Yarmille lit several whale oil cups for light, Brenna saw that she was in a sewing room, where all manner of things were made.
The chamber was not so different from the sewing room at home, though Brenna had never spent time there. Her curious eyes took in the yarn reels weighted with soapstone, a loom for rug making, wooden boards for weaving ribbons, long-toothed combs and shears. Piles of animal skins were stacked high in one corner, and dyes sat on a shelf. This was a woman’s room, and Brenna felt completely lost.
