“By the saints, Viking, must you shout the house down?” Brenna said to herself as she went to open the door. She called out to him in a soft whisper, “I am here. You have no doubt aroused your mother with your blustering,” she added as he came over to stand before her. “Did you consider that?”
“That good woman is used to being roused from sleep during a feast,” Garrick answered in a loud voice which made Brenna grimace.
“By her husband, yea, but not by a drunken son,” she scolded quietly. “Now what did you want?”
“I am not drunk, mistress,” he said evenly enough, his dimples showing as he grinned. “To answer your inquiry, I want you,” he added as he laughed and grabbed her about the waist, lifting her from the floor and carrying her against his hip to his room. Once inside, he set her down. She backed away from him toward the divan while he closed the door. When he faced her he grinned, but did not approach her.
“Will you have some wine with me?” he asked pleasantly enough.
Brenna hesitated, wondering at his mood. It was the first time he had offered her wine. She recalled him saying once that slaves were not allowed it.
“Yea, I will drink with you.”
She curled up against the armrest on the divan while he filled two chalices from a wineskin. A single candle lit the room and cast a flickering, dim light, but Brenna could see Garrick clearly. He did not appear drunk as she first suspected. He had changed from the clothes he wore earlier to dark-green trousers with soft-skinned boots trimmed in white fur. His short robe was of white silk, with green thread shot through the hem and the long sleeves. On his chest rested a gold medallion with a single large emerald in the center, instead of the engraved silver medallion he usually wore. He looked terribly handsome this night, and Brenna found it hard to take her eyes from him.
Garrick brought her a chalice. She took only a small sip of the bittersweet liquid, savoring the taste, then held the vessel in her lap as she watched him move to light a fire in the hearth. She had forgotten how chilly it was, forgotten everything except Garrick’s presence.
The fire caught, and added more light to the room. Garrick picked up his wine and joined Brenna on the divan. He leaned back against the wall and raised one leg, on which he rested his arm, then took a long draught of wine.
Brenna was so nervous waiting for Garrick to make some kind of move that her hands would have trembled if she were not gripping the chalice so tightly in her lap.
“The wine is not to your liking?”
She started when he spoke, then looked guiltily at him. “Nay—I mean, ’tis fine.”
He grinned at her knowingly. “If you have it in mind to delay me with the excuse you have not finished your wine, ’twill not work. Still, I am not in a hurry, mistress, so relax and drink your wine. You may have more when you finish.”
Brenna took his advice and downed the intoxicating liquid, hoping it would steady her nerves. Yet she could not relax, even as the wine warmed her blood.
Finally she leaned back, beginning to feel the effects of the wine. “If you were to die, Garrick, what would happen to me?”
He looked at her with amusement. “Are you contemplating foul play?”
“Nay, I fight fairly. But suppose you did not return from one of your hunting trips?”
Garrick sighed and stared thoughtfully at the chalice in his hand. “Since I have no bastards nor a wife, all that I own will fall to my father. That should please you, Brenna,” he added dryly.
Brenna knew what he meant, but she could not let him see that. “Why should that please me? I hate your father even more than you.”
“Would you still hate him if he set you free? That is his wish,” Garrick said in annoyance. “He regrets now that he gave you to me.”
Brenna finished her wine and looked at Garrick seriously. “Then give me back or sell me to him.”
Garrick picked up a lock of her hair from her shoulder and twirled it slowly around his finger. “And what would you do for me, sweet Brenna, if I agreed?”
She stared at him in surprise. What price freedom? “Anything,” she breathed.
“You would make love to me?”
She did not hesitate. “Yea, even that.”
Garrick set his wine down and pulled her onto his lap, supporting her back with his arm. He grinned down at her before he buried his head in the hollow of her neck. His lips felt like a searing brand, and she moaned softly until his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that demanded more than a mere response.
Brenna dropped her empty chalice on the floor and gripped Garrick’s head, pulling him even closer. She was lost to him. She did not know if it was for freedom or for herself, and she didn’t care. She wanted him.
Brenna protested when Garrick moved her and stood up, but smiled when she saw him begin to remove his clothing. She stretched languidly, contentedly, before she got up to do the same. On her feet she swayed dizzily, then giggled.
“Too much of your precious wine, I think.”
