She remembered her lessons with Wyndham and would not ask Garrick more of what she already knew. “So you expected to die without honor?”
He nodded and continued. “’Tis the truth that I was cruelly treated, and there are a few I would kill if I found them. But ’tis also the truth that I would not be alive today were it not for one of your people, an old guard who took pity on me and helped me to escape.”
“And that is why you do not hate us all?” When he nodded again, she added, “Yet your father does not feel that way. Does he not know ’twas a Celt who aided your escape?”
“He knows. But my father is a man of quick judgment. He decided to blame all of you for what I endured. Once his course was set, he would not deter from it—until he met you. He regrets attacking your village and bringing you here. You do know that, Brenna?”
“Yea, I know. Your mother has said as much.”
“Do you still hate him?”
Brenna was torn, for she did not really know. “If it had happened to you, Garrick, if a Celt had come here deceitfully and killed most of your clan, taking you prisoner, would you not hate him?”
“With certainty,” he admitted, surprising her. “Nor would I rest until he was dead.”
“Then do you blame me for how I feel?”
“Nay. I only asked if you still feel that way. A woman is usually more forgiving than a man, nor does she think like a man. But then, you are the exception to that rule, are you not?” he teased.
She smiled, anxious to be done with the subject she had unwillingly led herself into. “Not as much as before.”
“Oh? How have you changed, mistress? Did you not insist on carrying a weapon before you would come here? And will you not use that weapon against me when I claim you later?”
“Nay, not against you, Garrick,” she answered softly.
He leaned closer and tilted her chin up to search her eyes.
“Will you give your word, Brenna?”
“I give it.”
He leaned back and laughed. “Then indeed you have changed.”
She grinned slyly. “Not as you would think, Garrick. I may not use a weapon, but you still will not claim me easily.”
He sobered, then complained good humoredly, “’Tis not fair, wench, to give me such a brief moment of victory.”
Her eyes twinkled with merriment. “Who was it, Viking, who told you women played fairly?”
He grunted and purposely turned his attention away from her to Hugh, who was bragging to a few others that he would win the horse race planned for the next day. Brenna did not care to listen. She felt extremely good. It was the first time she had ever spoken to Garrick without anger coming between them.
That she had fallen in love with this Viking was not so surprising, now that she thought on it. He had everything that she admired in a man: courage, strength, a strong will. He could be gentle at times, she knew. And that he was so undeniably pleasing to look upon did not hinder his cause.
She was certainly aware that he wanted her. In small ways he had shown that he cared. Others had noticed this too, so it must be so. The only difficulty, then, was to tell him that she also cared.
Oh, Garrick, somehow I will make you trust me, Brenna thought, filled with determination. She smiled again and moved aside as servants laid huge platters of roasted boar and beef on the table, along with bread and honey.
She stood and filled a tankard with foaming mead. As she did so, her eyes met those of Anselm, who was at the head of the table. Brenna quickly turned away, missing the warm smile he gave her. She saw Perrin next, and returned his rather reserved greeting. Then her eyes were drawn to the woman beside him, a stunning creature in dark green silk, with a haughty bearing and vivid blue eyes. She would be truly lovely were it not for the cold venom in those eyes. Brenna was held by the silent message that passed between them.
She was shocked at first that she aroused such strong emotions in one she did not know. But then she realized she did know this woman, or knew of her. Morna—it could be no other.
So this was the ambitious woman who had hurt a younger, more vulnerable Garrick, who had made him distrust all women. Indirectly, Morna was responsible for many of Brenna’s difficulties. This was a woman without scruples, and with unbelievable audacity.
It was obvious Morna wanted Garrick for herself again. Why else would she look at Brenna with such contempt and loathing? She had gained her wealth and was aware now that Garrick had wealth of his own, so she wanted him. Did Morna truly think the past would not matter?
She gave Morna a tight, calculating smile. The blonde beauty would not have Garrick, not as long as Brenna still lived and breathed.
The feast progressed, and with it, the usual outrageous antics. In the Viking manner, tempers flared and brawls ensued continuously. Garrick had a bout with Hugh; fortunately Anselm interceded, and soon the argument was forgotten. Hugh and Fairfax also had words, but again it was Anselm who eased the tension between his sons before a challenge was met.
