“Well, you will have to change your ways, mistress.”
“You will not concede?”
“Nay, you will work in the house.”
Brenna drew herself up, her shoulders stiff, her chin held at a proud angle. “Then you leave me no alternative but to leave.”
“What?” He looked at her incredulously.
“You heard me, Viking. Since I will not work as you dictate, and you will not allow me my choice, then as you said earlier, I would be useless to you. So I will leave.”
Garrick shook his head slowly, his arms crossed. “Nay, wench, that is impossible. You forget that you are no longer free to come and go as you please. You belong to me now.”
“You insufferable ass!” Brenna stormed, her fury evident in the glassy silver of her eyes. “Do you thinkyoucan stop me if I want to go?”
Garrick’s body stiffened in anger. That he had put up with her obstinacy for this long amazed him.
“If you leave my lands, mistress, every Viking for miles around will be called to hunt you down. You will then be locked in a cell for your troubles—indefinitely.”
She laughed at him. “Once I go, Viking, I will not be found, so your threats do not frighten me.”
“I have tolerated much from you,” Garrick said in a voice as cold as ice. “But no more. ’Tis time you learned fully what being owned entails.”
Brenna looked at the closed door, but refused to flee—not when she could secure the knife in Garrick’s belt and win the upper hand.
“What have you in mind, Viking?”
“A sound thrashing to begin with,” he said and started to approach her.
Garrick expected her to run and so was not prepared when she threw herself at him, then dipped away easily under his arm. Uttering an oath, he turned to grab her, but stopped short when he caught the glint of the knife in her hand.
She laughed at the absurd look on his face. “You were saying?”
“Give me the knife, wench!” he growled menacingly.
“Come and take it, damn you!” she retaliated, her eyes as stormy as her tone.
“You will suffer worse for this!”
“Careful, Viking,” she grinned tauntingly. “Your dog is not here to protect you now.”
A low growl escaped his lips as he came at her. Brenna kept the knife before her, intent on merely warding him off rather than killing him. He was an arrogant beast, but he had yet to do her harm. It was his father’s blood she wanted, not his.
However, it proved a mistake not to attack him, for Garrick leaped at her and grabbed the wrist that held the weapon. The pressure he applied to make her drop the knife was excruciating, but she bit her lip and withstood the pain, then deftly maneuvered the knife in her hand until the point of the blade jabbed his arm and he released her. She stared at the blood for a moment, noting that it was only a small nick. But in that moment Garrick’s fist came down hard on her wrist, and the knife clattered to the floor. Then he backhanded Brenna viciously, the blow almost making her lose her balance.
Blood trickled from her lip. She wiped it slowly with the back of her hand as she glared defiantly at him. She stood proud and unafraid before him.
“Do your worst, Viking.”
He said nothing, but looked at her for a long moment. Some of his anger drained away. She did not prepare to run when he took off his belt and held it in his hand, but her eyes glowed with hatred when they met his.
Then unexpectedly he dropped the thick belt on the floor. She looked on with a puzzled frown that became even more confused when he proceeded to remove his tunic. When he bent to untie the leather garters that held his trousers tight against his legs, she gasped.
“What are you doing?”
A cruel smile touched his lips. “Disrobing.”
Her eyes widened. “You would beat me without your clothes on?” she asked incredulously.
