“Yea, I am grateful.”
“You show it admirably, Viking,” Brenna said sarcastically.
He sighed. “If I took no action against you, Brenna, ’twould be an invitation for the other slaves to run away also. I cannot allow that.”
She would not plead with him. “How long will you keep me in there?”
“Three or four days—until you have learned your lesson.”
She shot him a contemptuous glance. “And you thinkthiswill teach me anything, Viking? You are mistaken. Here my hatred will grow and I will be even more determined to escape you.”
He jerked her to him, and his lips crushed hers possessively. She returned his kiss, but only for spite. He must regret doing this to her. She would make him regret it.
“You need not stay here, Brenna,” he breathed against her neck, “if you will give me your word you will not leave me again.”
She put her arms about his neck and said provocatively, “But then the other slaves would think I am special to you.”
“You are special.”
“Special, yet still you could shut me in that cold cell.”
“Will you swear, Brenna?”
She kissed his lips lightly, teasingly, before she pushed him away. “The devil take you, Viking. I will not be your prized toy.”
With that she held her head high and walked into the dank cell, gritting her teeth as he closed the door behind her. She began to tremble immediately. She almost screamed out and called him back, but then she clamped her hand over her mouth. She would not beg to be released.
It was cold—freezing, in fact. Fortunately she had her cape and her arm coverings and fur leggings. There was also an old woolen blanket on a narrow bench, the only furniture in the room. But there was no fire, and the incompletely enclosed room could not keep out the icy cold.
No food had been left for her, either. All at once she felt ravenous, though she and Garrick had shared some venison only hours earlier. He would return. He could not possibly leave her here to freeze.
She sat down on the bench and covered her legs with the blanket. The first three days of leisurely riding with Garrick he had been coldly silent. But the last two days his mood lightened, and she began to think he would do nothing to her when they returned. Still she could not believe he would really make her stay here.
An hour passed, and then another. The blue mist in the sky disappeared, leaving only a depressing black gloom. Brenna shivered and felt the first signs of a fever. A while later she grew hot and threw off her cape, along with the strapped coverings on her legs and arms.
He was not going to return. That unwelcome lump grew in her throat again, and tears stung her eyes. After all they had shared, even after she had saved his life, he could so mercilessly lock her in here. She would freeze to death. Then he would be sorry. A fine way to have revenge, when she would not be there to revel in the fruits of it.
She started shaking again, and lay down on the hard bench. She dozed fitfully, alternately waking to either throw off her cape and blanket, or to pull them back over her again.
“I am ill and he doesn’t even know it,” she reasoned, half asleep. “I should have told him. But it wouldn’t have made a difference to him. He is a beast. He doesn’t care.” She turned over, tears making her eyes glassy. “You will be sorry, Garrick, sorry…sorry…”
Garrick turned fitfully on his bed and smashed a fist into his pillow. Try as he might, sleep would not come. The devils in his mind were having a fine time of it. Hour after hour, self-recriminations kept churning.
Finally he could stand it no more. He leaped out of bed and threw on his cloak, then stormed from the room. In the hall, he lit a torch quickly, then braced himself for the icy cold outside. He reached the small cell in seconds and rapidly fumbled with the keys to unlock it.
The door creaked open and he stooped to enter the dank chamber, then straightened, setting the torch in a wall holder before he approached Brenna. She was asleep on the floor by the bench, curled childlike in a ball, devoid of covering, including her velvet mantle.
Garrick gritted his teeth in anger. The little fool! With no covers, she would catch her death in this weather. No doubt that was her intention.
He knelt down beside her and shook her roughly, but stopped as he felt the heat that permeated even her thick velvet tunic. He put his hand to her face and drew in his breath sharply. She was burning with fever.
“My God, Brenna, what have you done?”
She opened her eyes and stared at him in confusion. “Why do you speak to my god? Your pagan gods will be angry.”
“Does it matter which god I speak to?” he asked angrily.
“They are one and the same, I think. But I ask them and you, why did you try to kill yourself?”
