“So why did you give her to me?” Garrick asked finally. He refilled his tankard from the large cauldron of mead on the table.
“The girl surely hates me, for she must blame me for her plight. I have seen her wield a weapon, and I do not want her around me so that I must always be wary of her. Nor does your mother, at her age, need to put up with the kind of tempers that girl will throw. Hugh wanted her but had second thoughts when she showed her claws. He knew I wanted to give her to you and so chose her stepsister instead. You, I believe, can tame the girl if you will but try.”
Garrick scowled. “If she is all you say she is, why should I give the effort? She will be more trouble than she is worth, and is better sold.”
Now Anselm frowned. “You are not pleased with her, then? Any other man would be.”
“You know how I feel about women,” Garrick replied acidly. “This one is no different. As a piece of property, aye, she is valuable. But for my pleasure?” He shook his head slowly, denying the attraction he felt for her. “Nay, I have no need of her.”
Brenna had just returned to the small sewing room when the door opened and a young woman entered with a tray of food. Dull, disheveled orange-colored hair hung about her shoulders, and the blue eyes that met Brenna’s were tired.
“Janie?”
“So you will speak to me now?” the woman said with some surprise. “I was near to doubting you ever would.”
“I’m sorry,” Brenna said guiltily. “I did not mean to make you the brunt of my anger. I know I only added to your burdens.”
Janie shrugged wearily. “’Twas not right that Yarmille should have you bound. You had reason to resent it. It seems I am still to tend you, even though you have been released.”
Brenna felt additional guilt, for the small woman looked utterly exhausted. “I would tend to myself, but I was told to stay here.”
“I know.” Janie attempted to smile. “A girl as pretty as you would cause a commotion down there. You must be famished by now. Yarmille forgot about you, and so did I, until a few minutes past. Here,” she added, handing Brenna the tray of food. “This should hold you until I can bring your meal tonight.”
“Can you stay and talk awhile? I wish to thank you for all you have done for me.”
“You need not thank me. I was ordered to care for you, but I would have done so anyway. We are of the same kin, you and I.”
“Stay then, for a while.”
“Nay, I cannot, Brenna—may I call you Brenna?” At her nod, Janie continued. “There is too much to do down there. Already half my morn has been wasted in the guest room,” she said with a grimace. “These men do not care what time of day it is when they want their pleasure.”
Brenna watched her leave. Were Linnet, Cordella and the others also suffering this kind of treatment? Would it be forced on her too?
“Nay! Never!” she said aloud before she sat down on the floor with a tray of food, suddenly conscious of her hunger. “Let them try!”
She attacked the meal with gusto, and silently thanked Janie for remembering her, since no one else had. The plate held two plump pheasant legs, a half loaf of flat bread spread with rich butter and a small bowl of creamed onions. The fare was delicious, spoiled only by the drink given to her to wash it down, a tankard of milk. Milk, bah! Did Janie think her a child? She craved ale—at the very least, wine—but never milk.
Before Brenna finished the meal, the door opened again and she looked up to see Garrick Haardrad, leaning casually against the frame. He was handsomely attired in a form-fitting tunic and trousers made of soft blue linen trimmed with sable. A wide gold belt with a large buckle studded with blue gems went around his waist and crossed his flat stomach. Resting on his broad chest was a huge silver medallion.
Brenna’s eyes moved unconsciously to his bare arms. She saw much strength in the corded muscles under bronzed skin. She imagined those powerful arms gathering her to him, and her pulse raced wickedly at the thought. But this was quickly overshadowed by thoughts of the outcome Cordella had so often taunted her with.
She finally met his eyes, and her face flamed at the amusement she saw there. He had watched her appraise him; she sensed he had also read her thoughts.
“What do you want, Viking?” she asked sharply, to hide her embarrassment.
“To see if your disposition has improved.”
“It has not, nor will it!” she replied vehemently, recalling all the vile things she had heard about this man. “So you needn’t ask again.”
Despite her sharpness, Garrick smiled, revealing white, even teeth, and two deep dimples in his cheeks. “I am glad to see you heeded Yarmille’s orders and made use of your time. Is that your work?” He nodded toward the loom.
She followed his eyes and would have laughed if she did not believe him to be serious. “Nay, I would not touch that thing.”
He was no longer smiling. “Why?”
“’Tis woman’s work,” she shrugged and continued her meal.
“Will you tell me now you are not a woman?”
