She glared at him murderously. “So far you have only gained my anger, but if you force me now, Garrick, you will have my hatred as well. ’Tis not a pretty thing, my hate. You will never find peace with it.”
His answer was to plunge deep within her, bringing tears to her eyes again at his brutal onslaught. He took her without mercy, quickly, while she whispered her loathing in his ear. When he finished, he let her legs down one at a time and then moved to her side. The moment he released her, she scrambled off the bed as if it burned her and ran from the room, slamming first his door and then her own down the corridor.
Garrick pounded his fist into the bed. “Loki take her!” he growled.
What he intended as a pleasing encounter had turned into a hollow victory indeed.
The first snowfall was long in coming, and did not occur until late fall. With it came a storm that lasted a full week, froze lakes and ponds and left snowbanks four and five feet in height. The land was blanketed in dismal white, and few were wont to brave the icy wind and falling snow. Garrick was one of the few. He had been gone a fortnight before the snowstorm began, and even with it finished, he had yet to return.
On the very day the winds settled, Anselm came to Garrick’s home, bringing with him an extra mount, a fine-bred silver-coated mare. His wife had told him (as related to her by Linnet) that this particular animal had belonged to the Lady Brenna. For three long months now he had brooded over the raven-haired girl. His own son’s displeasure with her did not make him feel any better. He regretted giving her to Garrick, for though he had not come to see her personally over the months, he feared she had not fared well with Garrick’s dark moods.
Anselm had given the girl to Garrick with the hope that her spirit and beauty would turn his mind from the bitch who had changed a cheerful young man into a cold cynic. When Garrick sought out the girl’s sister, and then a month later spoke at length with the aunt, Anselm assumed his desire to learn more of the girl was a promising beginning, and soon he would have back his son of old. But after that, Garrick’s foul disposition did not improve, it actually worsened. Why, Anselm could not guess. Now Garrick took to the hills for weeks at a time, and Anselm saw little of him.
Garrick’s absences grew more lengthy, and this last trek north had already extended to three weeks. Though Anselm had begun to worry slightly over Garrick’s welfare, he would wait a few more days yet before he began a search, as Heloise had nagged him to do ever since the snowstorm started.
“Ho, old man, where are you?”
Erin came from the back of the stable, wrapped from head to foot in a cloak of multicolored furs. “I hear you,” he grumbled in his crusty voice.
Anselm eyed him with displeasure. “I see Garrick still wastes his furs on you servants.”
“Aye, we’re warmer clothed than the poor souls you own,” Erin replied, grinning.
Anselm would not have taken that remark from anyone else, but he was genuinely fond of old Erin. He had served Anselm’s father, and now his son, and for many years they had enjoyed heckling one another good-naturedly when they met.
Anselm grunted, repressing his humor. “I brought a new filly for your stable. Have you room?”
“Have I room, indeed,” Erin mumbled, taking the reins of both horses. “Of course there’s room.”
“She is not for Garrick, mind you.”
“Oh?”
“Nay, she’s a gift for the Celtic wench,” Anselm said gruffly. “And you be sure and tell my son that when he returns.”
“By the saints!” Erin cackled. “Since when do you bestow such fine gifts on a slave?”
“Never mind that, old codger. Where is the girl? In the quarters below?”
“Nay, she lives in the house.”
Anselm was surprised by this news, then he chuckled. “Mayhaps I was not such a fool after all.”
“Do you ask my opinion?” Erin returned, his old eyes alight with laughter.
“Get about your work!” Anselm barked, and made his way to the house.
Brenna was in the cooking area, where she spent most of her waking hours, since it was the warmest and most pleasant place in the house. On the table were the remains of her breakfast. Beside it was the rabbit she had started cutting up for her dinner, but had left on the chopping board.
With Garrick off on a hunting trek, Yarmille had come to stay. She drove Brenna mad with her insistent demands. But a week past, the older woman had returned home, and when the snow came, Yarmille did not come back. Without her authoritative presence, Janie and Maudya stayed in their quarters, and Brenna was not wont to venture from the house to seek them out. Not even Erin came to keep her company, for he had brought her enough provisions from the storehouse to last a fortnight, and preferred to keep to his warm stable.
Brenna had reached the point where she would almost welcome Yarmille’s return. Even though they did not communicate, Yarmille’s constant chattering to herself was amusing, at times enlightening.
On one occasion, Brenna discovered that Yarmille harbored a deep, abiding hate for Heloise, and that hatred reached out to include both of Heloise’s sons. This Brenna found confusing, since Yarmille worked for Garrick. She wondered if Garrick was aware of Yarmille’s true feelings.
Brenna dropped another log on the fire, then leaned back in her chair and stared at the flickering flames. She hated to admit it, but she actually missed Garrick. When he was around, she lived in a constant state of apprehension, not knowing when he would demand something of her, or if she would comply or not. When he was there, she never noticed how the hours dragged by. She was alert at all times, alive as she had never been before. And at night, merciful Lord, she was a bundle of nerves at night waiting and dreading for Garrick to come for her again. But he never did, not after the night he had raped her.
She was bitterly hurt by his treatment of her. Perhaps she could have forgiven him if he had been tender like before. The one night he had been gentle and she had softened to him, it had been wonderful. She could not forget the beauty of it, or the pleasure, like no other, that he had given her. Afterward he had held her possessively, as if he might really care for her, and she had reveled in the closeness they shared.
