“She cannot take me home, Erin,” Brenna murmured, and some of the joy left her eyes for a moment. “Come now, help me saddle her. It has been months since I have ridden, and even longer since I have ridden Willow. I will not ride long, for I am sure the cold will chase me home.”
“At least you admit this is your home now,” Erin said as he hoisted a saddle over Willow’s back.
“Home is where the heart is, and my heart is across that black sea.”
“For your own sake, lass, I hope your heart will be here some day.”
Garrick broke through the forest of dense pine from the east, but stopped his mount at its edge when he saw the rider crossing the open field of tall grass covered with thick patches of snow. He could see the rider clearly, for the dusky sky was a mellow blue, affording him enough light without the sun’s rays.
Garrick sat back and admired the grace of the silver-gray horse as it raced swiftly across the field, but he did not recognize the animal as one of his own or one of his neighbor’s. However, he did recall seeing such a horse in his father’s stable.
The rider was small, surely not his father or Hugh. His mother perhaps? Garrick’s curiosity was piqued until the rider’s fur hat flew to the ground and he saw the jet-black hair beneath it. Then he felt his fury rise.
Brenna had stolen his father’s horse. There was no other plausible answer—she was escaping. His first impulse was to chase her and show her immediately that she had failed. But the shifting of his own mount reminded him that the stallion was weary and in no condition for a spirited race.
Before Garrick could make a decision, Brenna reined her horse in a wide arc and circled back toward the fallen head-dress, but she did not stop to retrieve it. Instead, holding tightly onto the horse’s mane, she swooped down to try and grab the hat as she passed.
Garrick stiffened. She could have broken her fool neck if she had lost her hold on the animal! With fresh anger he watched as she circled to try again. This time she succeeded. Now she pulled in the horse and stopped, tossing the hat high into the air and then catching it, just like a child who has won a coveted prize. Even with the great distance between them he could hear her laughing uninhibitedly as he had heard only once before from Brenna.
Before Garrick could recover from his confused emotions, Brenna surprised him further by galloping off in the direction she had come. Garrick relaxed and his temper cooled. His concern about why she was riding his father’s horse was forgotten. Uppermost in his mind was that she was not trying to run away, as he had first imagined. He would not have to mete out the punishment due a runaway slave. He was pleased about that, at least, for he had no desire to hurt Brenna.
He could no longer see her now, for she had descended the sloping hills that led to his home. The sound of her merry laughter continued to echo in his mind the way it had the day he saw her offer Coran a ride home. It still rankled him that she had enjoyed the company of a slave more than his own.
In many ways, Brenna was still a child. Her tantrums and utter defiance gave proof to that fact, as did the foolishness he had just witnessed in the field. And she still clung stubbornly to the past, to her childhood days when she was given a free rein to live out her desire to be Lord Angus’s son, not the daughter she was. Linnet had told him much about Brenna, things that contradicted most of what Cordella said. He did not know which of the two women to believe. He was inclined to believe Cordella’s description of Brenna, for she reconfirmed his own opinion of women as a whole. But he had seen the proof of the aunt’s words that Brenna had yet to grow up completely.
By the gods, he was bewitched! He could not chase the little vixen from his mind even when he tried. He had hoped this long absence from home would help, but even when he was stalking prey, Brenna and her willfulness were in his thoughts. It was little consolation that Brenna had dispelled his brooding over Morna, for his thoughts now were just as dark. From the blonde bitch to the raven-haired termagant—both were the same, for they could not be trusted.
Garrick urged his horse toward home. He was returning with a variety of furs that would be cured and readied for spring, when he would again sail for the trading markets of the East. He had startled two black bears from their hibernation and had felled one.
This was a perfect excuse to call out his neighbors and have a feast for all to share. Brenna would not like that, but Loki take her. The bearskin would be sold come spring, and perhaps Brenna would too. This was one way to rid his thoughts of the Celtic wench. Or was it?
Brenna stood before the fire in the cooking area with a warm woolen blanket draped over her shoulders, and briskly rubbed her hands together to dispel the freezing numbness. It was doubtful she would ever get used to such icy weather, but the next time she went out into it, she would be better prepared.
Light tapping sounds drew her attention, and she walked slowly away from the hearth to open the back door, wrapping her blanket more tightly about her. She hid behind the door to avoid the sudden rush of cold wind, and quickly closed it as soon as Janie, Maudya and Rayna plodded in.
The old woman clucked her tongue, peeled off her cloak and hung it by the door. “Why do you bar this house, girl? The master will not like it.”
“Have you not heard of the slaughtered dog found on the door stoop?” Brenna retaliated caustically.
“We have all heard of the dead mongrel, but ’tis no reason to bar the door,” Rayna returned, and moved to the hearth to add wood to the fire. “Yea, ’twas the deed of the Borgsen clan, there is no doubt,” she continued. “The feud between them and the Haardrads has not reached the point of bloodshed again. They merely slaughter the livestock.”
“What feud?” Brenna asked.
“There is no time for that story now,” Janie interposed, taking off her own wrap. “Master Garrick has returned and has ordered a feast.”
Brenna’s pulse quickened at learning Garrick was home, but at the same time, the thought of a feast like the last one made her cringe. “Where is he?”
“Gone to gather his neighbors to bring in the bear he felled,” Maudya answered cheerfully, obviously looking forward to a large gathering of men again. “Erin sent us up here to put the pots on to boil and prepare the hall. Coran is bringing kegs of ale from the storehouse.”
“And how long will this feast last?”
“There is no telling. Since ’tis winter with naught better to do, it could last for weeks.”
How would Garrick act after being gone for three weeks? Would he be glad to see her? Brenna mused. She pinched herself for her foolish wonderings and began to sweep the hall with a vengeance. She must remember that she had sworn to hate Garrick. She could concede him nothing, not even a smile of welcome.
So when Garrick entered the hall, Brenna had worked herself into a fine temper. Yet catching sight of him standing at the end of the makeshift wall which separated the cooking area from the drafty hall, she felt her heart beat faster and her anger was momentarily forgotten. He was arm in arm with Perrin, and laughing at some comment the other had made. Then he saw her and their eyes touched like a gentle caress.
She lost herself in those aqua eyes, which still twinkled with laughter, but not for long. Some wicked voice inside her head upbraided her, and regretfully she turned away.
