“I can care for horses better than you, Viking. I wager I can handle them better too!” she snapped, grabbing a rag to rub down the stallion’s sweaty coat. “Were I atop him this morn, he would not have kicked the mare!”
“You grasp every opportunity to act the male,” he sneered at her. “But I have seen the other side of you, wench.”
“Be gone with you!” Brenna shouted furiously, her face reddening. “I do not need you to watch over me!”
Garrick laughed heartily. “Now you would order me from my own stable. Does your audacity have no bounds?”
She looked at him and could not help but grin. Shehadoverstepped her limits this time, she knew.
“You are right,” she said, her anger gone. “Stay if you like, though I do not know why you would wish to.”
He refrained from pointing out that he did not need her permission. Instead he watched her quietly, noting that she did indeed know what she was about. When she brought oats to the stallion, Garrick spoke again.
“How fared you last night?”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering at his concern. “Well enough.”
“You did not miss the softness of my bed?” he asked her, his eyes gleaming mischievously.
She grinned at his question. “I find my new bed much more to my liking, since I need not share it.”
He moved closer to her, taking advantage of her lightened mood, and tilted her chin up. “What makes you think you will not share it?”
Before she could answer, his arms enclosed her and he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was a shock to her senses. It was her first kiss, for she could not count the one given by Hugh. Garrick’s mouth was gentle against hers, and moved softly. Then his tongue parted her lips and sweetly explored her mouth, giving yet another jolt to her senses.
Brenna found to her amazement that this tender closeness was immensely pleasing. Her blood seemed to be speeding through her veins and making her light-headed. She also found she wanted to be even closer to this man and wrapped her arms about his neck, pressing her body firmly against his hard one. She felt him jerk in surprise, and then his arms seemed to crush her while his kiss became more demanding, as if he would devour her whole.
Had her simple movement spurred him to this ardent attack? She liked it and didn’t want him to stop. She felt the fires of passion burning in her. He was the enemy, but that didn’t seem to matter to her traitorous body. The feel of him was like a drug, blinding her to all else.
This was not right, she told herself, even as she delighted in the reeling of her senses. She must stop him; she must. Finally she gathered the strength to pull her lips away and gain the time she needed to recover her wits, which she did quickly. When he would not release her, she laughed softly in his ear.
“Would you take me here, tumble me in the hay with Erin about?”
His arms left her so quickly she fell back a step. He stared at her for a long moment, a dark scowl on his face. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away, and she had to suppress her laughter so that he would not hear it and become even further enraged. She had won another round, though this one had been much more difficult.
Afortnight had passed since Brenna began to work at the stable. She and Erin had become close since then, for he treated her like a daughter, and she enjoyed working with him.
Brenna finished currying the white mare and patted her flanks. When her work at the stables was done, Erin sometimes let her take one of the horses out for an hour or so. She chose the brown stallion this time. Waving to Erin, she mounted the horse and left the yard. She urged the animal into a canter, and when they passed through the flat meadow, pressed him into a hard gallop. For the first time that day she felt free. With her dark hair secured in back and the reins held loosely in one hand, she flew past the row of trees to her left toward the land that lay between the cliffs and the fjord. She forgot her captive status and her struggles in this strange and alien land. An exhilaration that she had not felt in months took hold of her. The sky was blue, and in the distance she could see the waters of the fjord glistening in the sun as she and the steed beneath her raced effortlessly across the hard ground. A smile was on her lips, and she felt her whole body alive with new-found freedom and joy. She lost all sense of time. It seemed that she had been riding for hours, for days, yet she felt not at all tired and the horse seemed as eager and fresh as he did when they first left the stables. The smile left her face an hour or so later when, in the distance, she saw two riders fast approaching her. They were still too far away to identify. Who could they be? she wondered. Not Garrick, for he had returned from his morning ride shortly before she left and she attended to his winded stallion. Hugh perhaps? And Anselm? Her face hardened at the thought that she would confront her sworn enemy. But as they came closer, she saw with surprise that they were unknown to her. They were upon her now, and as they saw the woman with the dark hair they looked at each other, smiled and reined in their horses. They were tall and blond. Brenna did not like the looks of them. One had darting eyes which she did not trust, and the other, a long jagged scar running across one cheek which gave him an evil look.
“You are no Viking with that hair,” said the one with the scar. “A captured slave, perhaps?”
A look of rage passed over Brenna’s face. She reached for the knife she kept hidden in her boot and held it low, waiting for the right moment to attack. They saw the glint of the knife’s blade and nodded to each other, then rode quickly on either side of her, one grabbing her horse’s bridle, the other attempting to wrest the knife from her hand. She lashed out with the knife, but the one she lunged for threw up his hand, which was slashed by the blade. He swore as blood flowed from the wound.
An ugly, angry scowl appeared on his companion’s face. As Brenna turned, he dragged her from her horse. She hit the ground and lay stunned for a moment, while he grabbed the knife from her and pinned her arms behind her head. The other wrapped a piece of cloth around his hand and now, a cruel look contorting his face, he brutally tied her arms tightly together above her head.
“So you would provoke me, wench,” said the wounded one with a snarl as he lowered himself on top of her and, securing her legs with his, began to move against her. Brenna felt his manhood against her and kicked furiously, but his weight pinned her and she could not move him. He pulled fiercely at the top of her shirt and ripped it down to the waist, exposing her white, perfectly shaped breasts. She kicked and she bit, but this only increased his pleasure, and he fumbled at his pants to free his swollen member. As he made to enter her, he heard the sound of pounding hooves nearby and looked up in alarm.
Please, dear God, let it be a friend, not a foe, prayed Brenna silently. She took advantage of his hesitation and tried to buck him off, but his great weight still would not be moved. A second later, to her surprise, his bulk was off of her and she heard him say to his companion with fear in his voice, “Let us be gone.” He grabbed his pants, pulling them up as he ran to his mount. The two of them gave the spur to their horses and galloped off.
Brenna turned her head and saw Garrick rein in his steed a few feet from her. She lay without moving, red-faced with humiliation, her fear of a minute ago forgotten. Oh, that he should have to rescue her as though she were one of those weak, helpless women she despised. And trussed up like a turkey, too. She closed her eyes in shame for a moment. When she opened them she was surprised to see Garrick bending over her with a look of concern in his aqua eyes.
“You are not harmed, Brenna?” he asked softly as he reached down to touch her face.
“Leave me alone!” she cried, blushing with fury.
He pulled back as though he had been slapped, and a hard look settled over his features. “Get up,” he said and pulled her to her feet. He gave her the torn shirt to cover herself, then pushed her toward her mount. “That’s the last time you ride alone,” he said tightly. “Who gave you permission to leave the yard at all?” She did not answer him.
He looked into the distance. “I did not get a close look at your attackers, and though I will send men after them when we return, they are likely itinerant traders or brigands. Chances are they will have left the fjord by then and will not be found. You could have been killed,” he added angrily, turning back to her. “Now get on your horse,” and he pushed her toward the stallion. “I’m beginning to think I would be well advised to sell you at the next slave market in Hedeby.”
