“What will it gain you?” Heloise asked.
“’Twill keep me from being mauled by those bungling asses!” she snapped, looking around her once before she stuck the knife in her belt.
“Yea, I suppose it will. But Garrick won’t allow you to keep it.”
Brenna’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and her hand rested on the hilt of the knife. “He will regret trying to take it away,” she said acidly, then nodded towards Anselm. “Speak for me and tell your husband that I challenge him. He may choose the weapon, for I am adept at all.”
Heloise sighed and shook her head. “Nay, Brenna. I will not tell him that.”
“Why?” Brenna frowned. “’Twill be my words you speak, not yours.”
“A Viking will not fight a woman. There is no honor in it,” Heloise replied softly.
“But I must see him dead!” Brenna cried, frustration in her voice. “’Tis not my way to lay in hiding for my enemy, so I must fight him fairly. He must face me!”
“He will not fight you, girl. Rest assured, he knows how you feel towards him.”
“’Tis not enough! Can you not understand that I am torn apart and your husband is responsible. My people are dead because of him—men that I grew up with, that I broke bread with and cared for. My sister’s husband—dead! Even one of your own who was there—” she caught herself before she revealed too much. “Who was a friend. He was also cut down. And my servant, an old woman whom I loved dearly.” Brenna’s voice rose, and she became distraught with the memory. “She fell with an axe in her back! Why her? She posed no threat. If a Viking will not fight a woman, why is she dead?”
“The men grow a little wild when they raid,” Heloise answered sadly. “Many die who should not, and ’tis unfortunate that this happens. There are many regrets afterward. Anselm also has regrets.”
Brenna looked at her with disbelieving eyes. “How can he when he keeps my aunt and stepsister as servants?”
“And yourself?”
“Nay, I will not serve.”
“You will in time, Brenna.”
“I will die first!”
Brenna’s outburst had caused the hall to grow quiet again. Her words were not understood, but the men around her knew rage when they saw it. Hugh Haardrad moved in close, fearing for his mother’s safety.
“Does she threaten you, mother?” Hugh asked.
“Nay, her anger is for your father.”
“I do not trust a slave with a knife, especially this one,” Hugh replied gruffly. “Keep her attention and I will take her from behind.”
“Nay, Hugh, leave her be,” Heloise ordered. “She is prepared to fight right now. Indeed, she wants to.”
Hugh laughed. “So? What chance has she?”
Brenna shot him a murderous glance. This was the man who had dared to touch her intimately when she was bound and helpless.
“Swine!” she hissed, and spat at his feet.
Hugh’s look grew venomous, and he instinctively raised a hand to strike her. “Why you—”
“Hugh, stop it!” Heloise demanded.
At the same time Brenna drew the knife from her belt and faced him with outstretched arms. She grinned, daring him to come at her.
“The bitch!” Hugh growled. “’Tis fortunate I did not choose the hellcat, or she would be dead now! And likely he feels the same, from the looks of him,” he added, nodding toward the rear of the hall.
Brenna turned to see Garrick standing in the doorway she had come through earlier. His face was set in a dark scowl, and his eyes told of his cold rage. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?
Janie stood behind Garrick, her expression anxious. It was obvious she had brought him. Oh, Janie, Janie. You thought to help me, but I fear you have only brought me more trouble, Brenna moaned to herself.
