Brenna bit her lip as he continued eating. His meal was fixed and his bath prepared, but she was loath to leave the warmth of the room, yet even more reluctant to stay here and ponder the strange effect Garrick’s presence was having on her this night.
She came around the table so she could face him. “May I go now—Garrick? I will kindle a fire in your chamber before I retire.”
Garrick stared at her for a long moment before answering. His eyes left her face to rest on the soft mounds of her breasts that moved gently with her breathing beneath the rough material of her shift. His eyes then moved to the swell of her hips, accentuated by the crude belt she had tied about her waist. The shift was coarse and unbecoming, but there really was not much that could take away from her slim beauty.
“Well?” she prompted stiffly, flushed from his bold scrutiny.
His eyes locked with hers again and he smiled humorously. “You may light the fire in my room, mistress, but then return here.”
“Why?”
His smile widened at the confusion on her face. “You are not to question my orders, but to carry them out without delay, Brenna.”
She repressed the angry retort which came to mind, and instead stalked from the room. She would find out why soon enough, she supposed. She struck up a fire in Garrick’s chamber and in her own, then slowly made her way back to the cooking area below, hugging her bare arms as she came down the drafty stairs.
She had purposely taken her time, and when she entered the hall, Garrick was finished eating and had already added the boiling water to the tub. He was standing with his back to the fire, removing his tunic. She had brought him a robe to don after his bath; it was slung over her shoulder.
When Garrick saw her, he grinned and threw his tunic at her. “Soak this before ’tis ruined. You will have the rest in a moment,” he said, and bent to unlace the criss-crossed leather garters which molded his trousers to his legs.
She shot him a murderous glance that he did not see, then dropped the tunic into the one bucket he had left water in. When he started to remove his trousers, she quickly turned her back on him, her face blushing hotly. She had assumed he would want privacy for his bath. How dare he bare himself before her when she was fully clothed? Had he no shame?
“Here,” he said behind her, but she would not turn. Then, “What ails you, woman?”
When she still would not turn, he laughed and tossed the trousers by her feet. She heard the water splash as he got in the tub, and only then did she pick up his trousers and put them in the bucket. When she finally turned cautiously to look at him, her eyes were drawn to his bronzed torso, the thick, sinewy muscles beneath the blond mat of curls on his chest, the powerful arms that could surely squeeze life from a bear if need be.
“Would you join me, Brenna?”
Her eyes flew to his head and she saw that he had been watching her stare at him. Her face turned three shades of red and she gasped, “Nay! I bathed this morn!”
Indeed, she had even used the same tub, after Coran, the slave who helped the women with heavy chores, had filled it for her. But Garrick was only teasing her—he must be.
“If you will not join me, will you scrub my back, then?”
She saw the humor in his eyes and it infuriated her. “Nay, I will not!”
“And if I order it?”
“’Twill be my nails your back will feel, not the sponge!” she warned him, then continued to take her stand. “You have me serving you in normal ways. Do not press me for more, Viking. If you overtax what you have gained, you will lose it all!”
“Now she threatens me again,” Garrick said in mock exasperation. “So you have not changed overmuch, as you would have me believe?”
“I agreed to serve in your house, but not in this intimate capacity,” she returned in a calm tone, though her eyes were broodingly dark. “May I go now?”
He sighed. “Yea, go. Coran will empty the tub in the morn.”
Brenna left the room quickly and ran up the stairs. She entered her own small chamber and slammed the door soundly. She immediately regretted doing so, for Garrick would hear the noise and no doubt laugh that he had upset her so. Why did he insist on continuing with these small battles of will? Would he persist until finally she would do anything he asked of her? Nay, that day would never come!
Brenna pulled off her shift and laid it neatly over the single chair in the room. There was a small coffer at the foot of the narrow bed but it was empty, and she had nothing of her own to put in it. The nightdress and one shift that had been given her came from the storage house and were slaves’ clothing. She had also been given a bone-handled comb and a pair of soft-skinned shoes that were too big for her delicate feet. A fine lot of possessions, she thought with some humor, remembering how she had scorned the lovely gowns she once owned.
She donned the nightdress that was laid across her bed, and immediately regretted that she had washed it earlier, for it was even more starchy than before. Then she sat on the bed, unbraided her long silken hair, and combed it till the firelight was reflected in its gleaming softness. Finally she climbed beneath the embroidered coverlet and tried to sleep.
But sleep eluded Brenna and she knew why. She could not relax, not until she knew Garrick was abed. She tried to let the crackling fire lull her, but it was no use. Her body was tense, stiff as a board. She waited and waited, for what seemed like hours, to hear the door down the corridor open and close. Why was it so imperative that she know Garrick had retired before she could find sleep herself?
When her own door opened, Brenna found her answer. How did she know he would come? Was it the bold look he had given her earlier that unconsciously warned her?
He stood there by the door, wearing only the short silk robe she had brought him. Tied at the waist, the garment extended in a deep V to the belt, baring the curls on his chest. The firelight danced over his bare legs, the strong thighs and muscular calves. Long, powerful legs that would soon lay between her own.
Brenna shook her head, stunned at her own thinking. She would not let it happen. Garrick had the strength, but she could outfox him.
