“But sheiswell?” Garrick persisted.
“She was in good health when I left her,” Brenna conceded. She had too much on her mind to wonder about his concern.
Because of her new-found feelings, she looked at Garrick in a different light. She noticed quickly that he was not totally at ease, and wondered if she was the cause. She decided to convey some of her new feelings to him, but sensed she must do it in a subtle way. It would not do for Garrick to become suspicious and misconstrue her motives.
She smiled at him in a flirtatious manner. “Did I tell you how splendid you look this day, Garrick?”
As she had guessed, he looked at her skeptically. “I recall you had the opportunity to do so, but you let it pass.”
Her smile brightened. “Then I tell you now: you do indeed look the noble lord. ’Tis a fitting title, but not used in your land, eh?”
He shook his head. “We are a feudal kingdom. Each clan has a chief. He is lord, even King, of his settlement.”
“Like your father?”
“Yea,” he replied, his eyes questioning. “Why do you ask?”
She answered with another question. “Do you not think it is time I became curious about your people—and you?”
He grinned. “I suppose ’tis reasonable.”
“Is your family large?”
Garrick shrugged. “I have uncles, aunts and many cousins.”
“I know you have two brothers, but are there no others? No sisters?”
A black cloud seemed to descend on Garrick. “I had a sister,” he said in a voice edged with bitterness. “She was my mother’s youngest child. She died many years past.”
Brenna could feel his anger and pain like a sword piercing her heart, and it surprised her that she could be so touched by his emotions. “I am sorry, Garrick.”
“You need not be,” he said tightly. “You did not know her.”
She touched his hand gently. “Nay, but I know the pain of losing one you love.”
He took her hand in his and squeezed it. Then he gazed at her softly as the anger slipped away. “Yea, I suppose you do.”
Brenna had an overwhelming desire to lean against him, to feel his arms encircle her warmly. Even as she thought of it, the raw wounds of her father’s death seemed to heal somewhat. She no longer felt so alone, so lost.
Though Garrick was now the center of her life, she was not yet ready to bare herself before him. Brenna withdrew her hand from his. They had never before talked this way, and she was pleased with the new beginning. Yet she felt awkward and nervous as a short silence fell between them. She resumed her questioning, but on a new subject.
“Garrick, you never speak of the time you were captured by my people, nor do you appear to hate them for what they did to you. Why is this?”
He looked surprised by her question. “Who told you of that?”
“Your mother spoke of it when I was first brought here, to explain why Anselm attacked us.”
She did not need to add that it was Anselm who had gone into greater detail on the matter. “Do you prefer not to speak of it?” she continued, seeing that his mood at least did not darken with the reminder.
“I prefer to forget that time. But since you are profoundly curious this day, I will tell you. When a Viking raids, he is aware that he risks a warrior’s death, or capture and slaughter, which are not so valiant. These were the risks I took, and when captured I expected to die without honor.”
“This is so important?” Brenna interrupted. “To die a warrior’s death?”
“’Tis the only way to reach Valhalla.”
“A Viking’s heaven?”
He shrugged. “A good comparison. But only warriors may enter Valhalla.”
