“Unhand me, you bloody heathen!” she stormed.
But he only laughed at her outrage and futile struggle; besides, he did not understand her words. She had to bite her lip to keep from snapping his head off in his own tongue. To do so would not aid her plans, so she hissed at him in her own language, although it gave her little satisfaction, as he carried her back inside. He had her hooked under one arm like a piece of baggage as he passed through the closed-off cooking area to join his two friends by the hall next to the stairs. She noticed that Janie was no longer in the cooking area, but Janie could not help her anyway.
“Well, Gorm, a fine prize you have captured. I swear you have the luck of the gods this day.”
“She would be Garrick’s new slave. I wonder why he has kept her hidden until now,” another said.
The man holding Brenna guffawed. “You can look at her and ask that?”
“Nay, Garrick does not care for women anymore, not since Morna played him falsely.”
“Aye, but this one is different.”
“I agree, Gorm. Still, Garrick would not make use of the wench as I would. Nor is he possessive of his property. So why did he keep her hidden?”
“I think she hid herself. I would say by the way she fought me that she did not want to be found.”
“Anselm says this one fights like a man.”
“With a weapon, yea, but she has none—ouch!” Gorm cried and dropped Brenna to the floor, his hand going to his thigh where she bit him.
“She may fight like a man with a sword in hand, but she fights like a woman without one!” Another man roared with laughter.
Brenna was on her feet in an instant, but she stood in the midst of the three men, with only the hall at her back. The big one who had held her scowled his displeasure and reached for her again. Brenna had already suffered from his strength and was not about to be caught once more. Feigning a show of fear, she dodged Gorm’s outstretched hand and collided with one of the other men. In so doing, she lifted a knife from the man’s belt, then slipped from his light hold and stepped back, making sure they could see the metal gleaming in her hand.
“Thor’s teeth! You have been duped by a crafty wench, Bayard.”
The man whose knife she held shot his friend a murderous look. “She needs to be taught a lesson!”
“Then do so. For myself, I have no desire to return to my wife with a wound I could not explain easily.”
“Gorm?”
“Aye, I’m with you, Bayard. She’ll make the liveliest tumble I have had yet.”
“Then I will take the arm with the knife, while you grab hold of her.”
Brenna divided her concentration between the two of them. Fools, she thought contemptuously. Their free talk in front of her was a better weapon than her knife. She was ready for them when they came at her. She held the knife before her, and when Bayard jumped for her arm, she lowered it quickly and slashed at his middle, making a narrow rip in his tunic that was instantly soaked crimson.
“For your effort, pig!” she spat at Bayard even as she pointed the knife at Gorm to ward him off.
The animosity on their faces made her wary now, and she backed away from them slowly. However, she stopped short when she came up against the hard frame of yet another Viking. She realized her mistake too late. She was in the hall, and a group of men surrounded her. She turned in a flash before the one behind her could lay his hands on her, and quickly stepped into the open.
The hall was wrapped in a cloak of silence. Brenna’s eyes darted all about her and met stunned faces. No one moved accept Gorm and Bayard, whose intent was still clearly malicious. If they all rushed her at once, she knew she was lost. Still, a few would die in the process and at least she would have revenge of a sort.
At least Brenna was in control of her actions. She had not panicked as would most who were so grossly outnumbered. When one sodden drunk sidled up to her, patted her buttocks familiarly and uttered a scurrilous jest, she whirled on him but stayed the knife. Instead she raised her skirt and gave him a kick that sent him sprawling backward. Once again she faced her two antagonists, who had taken advantage of the diversion to move in closer.
Everyone in the room suddenly roared with laughter at the drunk’s thorough humiliation. Some of the tension was gone as comments about Brenna were bandied about. Many there knew her, and they were amazed to see her ready to fight again. All curiously watched her and the two men pursuing her, and noted the blood that stained Bayard’s tunic.
“I applaud the entertainment, Bayard,” Anselm’s deep voice roared from across the room. “But do you think it wise to arm a slave?”
At the obvious jibe, Bayard’s face turned bright red. Rather than challenge a man as powerful as Anselm for his taunting remark, he went along with the mockery. “Nay, but ’twas the least I could do to liven up the feast. Too many were wont to sleep rather than drink.”
More clamorous guffaws followed, and Brenna watched warily as her two adversaries gave up the pursuit and blended in with the crowd. She turned toward the voice she recognized all too easily, her eyes smoky gray, ignited by the fires of hatred. She saw Anselm instantly, seated at a corner of one of the two long tables. Their eyes met, and it took all of Brenna’s will to keep from screaming in rage and attacking him like a wild animal does its prey.
“Put down the knife, Brenna.”
She tensed when she heard the voice. “Nay, I keep it!”
