“What is back there, Coran?” Brenna asked innocently enough, pointing to the closed door.
“’Tis where Master Garrick keeps his wealth.”
“Do you have the key?”
“Aye,” Coran answered. “But ’tis forbidden to use it unless ordered.”
“Have you never used it?”
“Of course,” he replied proudly. “Four times each year I clean and polish the weapons kept there. And ’tis where I put the furs after they are tanned.”
“Could you open the door now, Coran? I would love to have just one look.”
“Nay, I cannot.”
“Please, Coran,” Brenna said very sweetly. “The master need never know. I could look about while you fill the sack with grain.”
Coran shook his head slowly. It was obvious he was terribly afraid to do as Brenna asked. However, she was determined to get inside that room.
“I must not, Mistress Brenna. ’Twould mean a whipping if the master found out, mayhaps worse.”
“But he won’t find out, I promise,” Brenna persisted. “He is making merry in the hall at present, and does not even know we are here. Please, Coran—for me.”
He hesitated only a few seconds more, then smiled timidly. “Very well. But only for as long as it takes me to fill this sack.” He moved to the door and opened it. “And you must not touch anything.”
Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Coran. I will not forget this.”
His cheeks reddened, and he ducked his head bashfully and went to fill the sack.
Brenna threw the door open wide to let the candlelight filter into the smaller room. She had expected treasures, but not the abundance that she could see even in the dim light. There was a small pile of furs, which would grow high before spring, and beside this was an open coffer filled with exquisite material: silk, brocades, velvets made of the finest fabrics. On a shelf against the wall were beautiful chalices made of brass, silver and even gold, and inlaid with jewels. Beside them were carved and engraved silver platters and tankards.
On a long table were many oddities of value, statues of marble and ivory, gold candle-holders, tiny brass incense burners, a jeweled cross a foot in length, ivory chessmen, and many other treasures. In a carved teakwood chest lined with velvet that sat on the center of the table, Brenna saw jewelry that dazzled her senses: necklaces of rubies and diamonds, armbands of gold and silver studded with gems or delicately carved. Another chest was open on the floor, and filled with gold and silver coins.
Finally the weapons caught Brenna’s eye. Hanging from the two side walls were arms of every description. Crossbows and arrows, spears of different lengths, axes and broadswords, spiked clubs and, on a special rack, jeweled daggers. Brenna went over to these and took one inlaid with amber stones. Perhaps the amber, which was reputedly Thor’s favorite stone, would protect her. Not that she would need Thor’s help.
Brenna looked at the crossbows, which she was expert in handling. She took one, along with a supply of arrows. She put these in the sack tied to her belt, and stuck a sword through her belt. It was not as lightweight as her own had been, but that precious sword was no more.
Brenna started to leave the room, her sack full, but a pair of black leather boots caught her eye. Her own! Next to these on a shelf were her clothes, the ones she had worn to bury her father. She was still wearing them when she lost the most important battle of her life to Anselm Haardrad.
Brenna quickly grabbed these, then pulled her cape tightly about her and left the room just as Coran approached.
“I had not realized Garrick was such a rich man,” Brenna commented uncomfortably. She prayed Garrick would not notice the missing weapons.
“Aye, ’tis not many who know this.”
“But he is so young to have accumulated so much wealth. He must have raided often in his youth.”
Coran grinned. “Nay. Most of what you saw he brought with him from the East. Our master is a crafty tradesman.”
After Coran locked the doors, they returned to the house together. Hearing the sounds of revelry still coming from the hall, Brenna bid Coran goodnight and went quickly upstairs to the sewing room.
Though it was the middle of the night, Brenna was still wide awake. She turned over and burrowed deeper into the furs. There was a small fireplace in the room, but she had not bothered to light a fire in it. Now she wished she had. It was odd, but she could not remember ever being cold at home. Yet there had been chilling winters there too.
Home—so far away. No one was left there to make it home for her. She missed her father terribly. If he were alive, he would be moving heaven and earth to find her. A comforting thought, but not realistic. She missed Linnet, too, who was so close, yet unreachable. And God forbid, she even missed her stepsister.
If these self-pitying thoughts do not stop, I will be crying soon, Brenna chided herself. A moment later, she heard the stairs creak under a great weight and Garrick bellowed out her name from down the corridor.
“Brenna!” he yelled again.
