Cordella entered the hall and joined Brenna at the long table. Servants brought the meal of thick rabbit stew only moments later. Cordella, arrayed in yellow velvet that set off her hair and made it appear even brighter than it was, waited until they were alone before she spoke.
“Where is your aunt this eventide?”
“Linnet decided she would feed father this night,” Brenna answered as she dipped a ladle in the large pot of stew and filled her plate.
“You should be doing that, not your aunt,” Cordella returned.
Brenna shrugged. “’Twas Linnet’s choice.”
“How is my stepfather?”
“If you took the time to see for yourself, you would know that he is not improved.”
“He will,” Cordella said dryly. “That old man will outlive us all. But I did not expect you here for the meal. I understand a boar was killed today and there is a feast in the village. I thought surely you would be down there with your peasant friends, as are Wyndham and Fergus.”
“I see Dunstan finds the village more to his liking also,” Brenna said coldly, reminded of her fall in pursuit of the boar. “I want no part of that bloody boar’s carcass.”
“My, but you are touchy this night,” Cordella replied, a mischievous smile on her full lips. She purposely ignored Brenna’s mention of Dunstan. “Could it be perchance that Willow returned to the stable today long after you? Or mayhaps because the time grows shorter before your betrothed comes?”
“Be careful, Della,” Brenna said, her eyes darkening. “I have not the patience for your wagging tongue this night.”
Cordella stared at Brenna with wide-eyed innocence and let the subject pass for now. She was sorely jealous of her younger sister; she admitted it to herself freely. It had not always been so. When Cordella and her mother had first come to live in this fine manor eight winters past, Brenna was only a scrawny nine-year-old. In truth, it was a month before Cordella learned she had a sister, not a brother, as she assumed.
Of course, they had not liked each other from the start, for there was resentment on both sides, and to make the gap even wider, they had absolutely nothing in common. With her boyish ways, Brenna was leery of Cordella, who even at twelve was wholly female. Cordella thought Brenna was a fool to prefer swords to sewing, or caring for horses to running a household. Yet the two lived together without an eruption of hostility, and the years passed.
Then Cordella met Dunstan, a big, brawny male who set her heart aflutter. They were wed, and for once Cordella was truly happy. But their joy lasted only a year. It ended when Linnet insisted Brenna begin wearing female clothes on occasion, and Dunstan saw what a beauty she really was. Brenna, damn her, was not even aware that Dunstan lusted for her. Nor was Dunstan aware that his wife knew. He only knew that her love for him died that year.
Cordella’s jealousy was mixed with hatred—for Dunstan and for Brenna. She could not openly attack Brenna, though many was the time she wished she could claw her eyes out. Brenna was a skilled fighter, thanks to her father, and when riled, she turned Cordella’s blood cold. She had killed men without batting an eye. She had proved herself well, to Angus’s pride.
Since Cordella could not fight Brenna, she could give her stepsister cause to fear the one thing Brenna had yet to experience—being with a man. Cordella took great pleasure in expounding on the horrors, and not the pleasures, of knowing a man. She taunted Brenna at every available opportunity, feeling joy at the terror that leaped into those gray eyes. It was the only revenge Cordella had. Now if only she could pay Dunstan in turn…
Brenna would be leaving soon, a prospect Cordella knew the young woman dreaded. Then there would be no one for miles to compare with her own loveliness, and Dunstan would be brought to heel.
Cordella pushed her plate away and eyed Brenna speculatively. “You know, sister, the ship from the north could come any day now. ’Tis well into summer already. Are you ready to meet your future husband?”
“I will never be ready,” Brenna replied dismally, and pushed her own plate aside.
“Yea, the princess thrown to the lions. ’Tis unfortunate that you had no say in the matter. I would not have expected your father to do this to you. After all,Ihad a choice.”
“You know why ’twas done!” Brenna snapped.
“Yea, of course. To save us all,” Cordella replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “At least you know what to expect. If I had known what it would be like, I would have been like you, wishing never to marry. Lord, how I dread each night, knowing the pain I must bear!”
Brenna glared at her icily. “Della, I saw an act of coupling in the village today.”
“Really? How was this?”
“Never mind how. What I saw was not as horrifying as you would have me believe.”
“You will not know until you experience it yourself,” Cordella returned sharply. “You will learn that you must bear your pain in silence, else the man will beat you. ’Tis a wonder more women do not cut their throats rather than submit to such agony every night.”
“Enough, Della! I do not wish to hear anymore.”
“Be thankful you know. At leastyouwill not go unsuspecting to your wedding bed.” Cordella finished and left the table, her lips curving in a smile as soon as she was out of Brenna’s sight.
Bulgar, on the eastern bend of the Volga River, was a large reshipment port where West met East. Here Viking longships traded with caravans from the steppes of Central Asia and Arab freighters from Eastern provinces. Leading eastward from Bulgar was the legendary Silk Road to China.
A cornucopia of humanity abounded in Bulgar, from thieves and murderers to merchants and kings. At the start of summer, Garrick Haardrad anchored his splendid longship here and set out to add to the fortune he had accumulated on his travels. A wondrous business, trading.
