“You have not given an answer, Garrick,” Hugh said in a cold voice.
“Why do you want the girl?” Garrick asked seriously. “She is not as agreeable as you believe. Her tongue is as sharp as the blade of your sword, but of course, you would not understand her. She is obstinate, defiant, stubborn to a fault and decidedly hot-tempered. Her only attribute is that she is comely.”
“The reasons you have just given are why I want her. I admire her spirit.”
“You would cripple her, Hugh, for you would not have patience with her stubbornness,” Garrick said sharply, then softened his tone and added, “Still, it matters not, for I have no desire to sell her yet.”
“Then I will take my pleasure with the vixen now,” Hugh said and rose from the table, one huge arm still around Brenna’s slim waist.
Garrick came to his feet also, his countenance darkly threatening. “Nay, brother, I will not sell her or share her either.”
Hugh hesitated for a moment. Then he chuckled nervously and, releasing Brenna, sat down again. Brenna stood frozen, feeling the tension in the room like a weight around her neck.
Anselm had been quiet while his sons argued, but now he cleared his throat and addressed Hugh sternly. “Be content with the fiery-haired wench you have at home and forget about this one. She belongs to Garrick by my word, and if he ever decides to sell her, ’twill be to me, for I can offer him more for her than you would care to part with.”
Both sons looked at their father incredulously.
“You have already said you could not trust her in your household for fear she would try to kill you,” Garrick reminded his father. “Why would you want to buy her back?”
“I gave her to you with the hope you would want to keep her, but if you do not, then I would see her free rather than have the wench belong to someone else.”
“You would pay me the fortune I would demand, just to set her free?” Garrick asked.
“Yea, I would.”
“’Tis unheard of, father!” Hugh protested.
“Nonetheless, I would do it.”
Brenna stared at Anselm in astonishment. Again she must be thankful to him. Damn him! How could she kill him now, knowing this?
“Go see to the food, mistress!” Garrick ordered in an unreasonably sharp tone.
Brenna turned to see him scowling at her and reasoned that he was not too pleased with his father’s words.
“You need not shout, Viking. There is naught wrong with my hearing,” she admonished him haughtily and turned to leave. She stopped by Perrin first and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “’Twould appear you must wait forever to find him in a good mood. Poor Janie.”
“Poor me,” he whispered back at her, his expression full of woe. Then he grinned. “’Twould help matters if you would but smile at him.”
Brenna straightened and laughed aloud. “Shame upon you, Perrin, for even suggesting such a thing.”
She then left for the cooking area, unaware that Garrick followed her with his eyes, now become the dark color of turbulent waters in the deep sea.
In all her years, Brenna wondered if she would ever again see anything as beautiful as the northern lights. She gazed in wonder at the swirling violet mist in the sky. The ground, the buildings, everything about her was painted a bright, glowing violet. Who would ask for a sun to light the way, when they could have such magnificent displays of color instead. If only it were not so cold, Brenna would have stayed and watched the glowing mists indefinitely. But it was cold—freezing, in fact.
“Come on, Coran, before my feet turn to ice and me along with them.”
She hurried along with the young man. He too was bathed in violet and looked as though he belonged on a tapestry.
It was a stroke of luck when Coran asked her if any more supplies were needed from the storehouse before he retired for the night. There was really nothing needed that couldn’t wait till morning, but Brenna made the excuse that they were low on rye for bread, and it they fetched it now, Coran could sleep later in the morning.
Brenna made him wait while she got two sacks from the small storage area behind the stairs where food and spices were kept. She hid one of these sacks beneath her cape, then told Coran she would accompany him in case she saw something else they might need.
This was the opportunity she had hoped for. She could get weapons that she would hide away until she needed them. And if she could find a lighter cape she would exchange hers, though she had to admit now that the heavier one did keep her warm.
Brenna was thankful it was late and the other women were busy in the hall, clearing away the remains of the roasted bear that had been served earlier.
Coran unlocked the sturdy door to the storehouse and quickly lit the candle that was just inside. Brenna was disappointed to see that the room contained only foodstuffs, but was amply filled indeed. A large vat like the one outside the house in which rain water was collected in warmer weather was full almost to the brim with barley, and another was filled with oats. Salted meat was hung from the rafters—small game that Garrick had caught. There were barrels of rye, and one full of mountain apples and other dried fruits. Large sacks containing peas, onions and nuts, and many smaller sacks of herbs and spices were on shelves built on the walls. What Brenna was after was obviously behind another locked door, the one at the back of the storehouse, where a smaller room had been added.
