By Love Enslaved (9 page)

“The knife Dana carries is as sharp as her tongue. You mustn’t provoke her again,” he advised calmly.

Brendan noted that the direction of Erik’s glance was focused squarely on his crotch, but he had never heard of anyone castrating a slave. He did not wish to be the first to suffer that misfortune, however. Pretending not to understand Erik’s remark, he sat down to put on his boots and fasten the laces on the leggings he had been given. When he got to his feet, he waited for Erik to move out of the way, then walked along beside him to the privy the servants used. When he came out, Erik marched him straight back to the storehouse, but then paused at the door.

“Freya wishes to speak with you in the morning. If you succeed in impressing her favorably, I’ll let you work in the stable tomorrow and provide all the food you can eat. If not, well, then you’ll just have to spend the day in this small, dark storehouse with perhaps a scrap of bread. The choice is yours. Make it a wise one.”

Bristling under the unwanted advice, Brendan sought more information than Erik had given. “I thought you said Freya was ill.”

“No, I said she hasn’t been well. There’s a difference.” When Brendan nodded, Erik was glad he understood. “She is dearly loved by us all, and you must treat her with all the respect and courtesy you possess. Since we have seen none, I can only hope you will learn how to behave by tomorrow.”

“I thought it was Dana you wanted me to please.” That was exactly what Brendan wanted to do too, although not in the way Erik would imagine.

“Dana will be satisfied with your behavior if Freya is,” Erik informed him coolly. “Good night.” As soon as the slave had crossed the threshold, Erik closed and locked the storehouse door. He wasn’t certain he had made any impression on the man, but he hoped Brendan had sense enough to do what was in his own best interests.

Dana had stepped outside for a breath of air before preparing for bed, and while neither Erik nor Brendan had seen her as they walked across the yard, she had seen them. In Erik’s clothes, Brendan resembled a Dane so closely she had not immediately recognized him. Then she had been filled with shame over the flutter of excitement that had caused her heart to skip a beat when he had first come into view. She had repeatedly told herself that Brendan’s appearance was totally irrelevant, and she knew she was right. He might be bright, attractive, and clearly possessed of a great deal of courage, but that didn’t make up for the vileness of his nature. That memory of his suggested bargain brought a renewed flush of anger to her cheeks, and she hurried back inside before Erik escorted him back to the storehouse, for she did not want to suffer the torment of watching the graceful pride in the impossible slave’s long stride a second time that night.

Immediately engulfed in darkness, Brendan fumbled with the buttons on his new shirt, and succeeding in freeing them, he then yanked it off over his head. He lay the light woolen garment on the closest shelf so it wouldn’t get wrinkled while he slept. Then realizing he didn’t want to sleep, he began to pace the narrow space near the door.

Two Norsemen and three Danes had claimed him as their property before Jørn, and while he had hated them all equally, he had never found himself in so confusing a situation as his present one. While Erik was not truly friendly, he had displayed none of the outright meanness Brendan had seen so often. Nor could he truthfully describe Dana as cruel, and he would not deny that the fire of her temper intrigued rather than repelled him.

It would be quite a challenge to tame a woman with her spirit. He longed to possess not only her shapely body, but to hold her heart in the palm of his hand. He made a tight fist then, as though he had already accomplished that impossible feat and could crush both her spirit and emotions in one masterful gesture.

He knew such thoughts were dangerous, and yet they were only thoughts. What harm could they do when he had nothing better to occupy his mind? He would reside on Haakon’s farm all summer—surely that was time enough to win any woman’s heart. He had learned that both she and Erik held Haakon in such high esteem that they would not disregard his wishes no matter how dire the situation. Now it seemed Freya might be feared too, or was it merely love that made them want to please her, as Erik had said? Whatever the reason, neither of them would take any action without first thinking of the consequences. That might be seen as a strength by some, but in his view, it was a weakness he planned to use to his own advantage.

Dana might fight the prospect of taking him for a lover, but he was confident it was only a matter of time before she succumbed, for he had seen the keen interest in her eyes earlier despite her attempt to hide it. If he was truly clever, he would soon have not only a magnificent mistress, but his freedom as well. That thought was so pleasant that when he removed the rest of his clothes and stretched out on the bearskin, he fell asleep instantly and had the most amusing dreams the whole night through.

Chapter Five

Dana had never thought of herself as a coward, but when Erik was ready to bring Brendan into their home she chose to sit some distance away from her mother, discreetly screened by the women working at the looms. She was far too curious about what might transpire to leave the house as Soren had, but she didn’t want to provide the contentious slave with another opportunity to insult her. She wanted only to listen without being drawn into the conversation she feared could not possibly go well. She trusted her mother, however, to handle the man without losing her temper. When she heard the door open, she leaned back into the shadows, but her senses were keenly alert.

Erik had insisted that Brendan wash and shave again that morning before meeting Freya. Preferring to be clean, the Celt had not argued since it was always to his advantage to look his best when he met a new mistress. He could not help but wonder what sort of woman Freya might be, but he hoped she was not nearly so easily provoked to anger as her eldest daughter.

As they entered the hall, they passed first through the area where the meals were prepared. Brendan attempted to ignore the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread, but it taunted his senses with poignant memories of home. The gnawing hunger with which he had awakened had yet to be assuaged, and while he rebelled inwardly at the crudity of Erik’s tactics, he had to admit they worked. After going nearly a full day without food, he feared he would have little resistance no matter what Freya demanded of him. He was willing to agree to perform the most menial of chores provided she would give him a good meal.

Before Erik led Brendan into the hall, Freya had been concentrating on making the tiny stitches necessary to fashion a new hood for one of the falcons. When she heard the men approaching, she lay the piece of glove-soft leather aside and looked up into the bright blue eyes of a far more handsome young man than she had been led to expect. Grena was wrong, she thought to herself, for any woman would find Brendan attractive, not merely a few. He had not only a pleasing appearance, but also a powerful build which conveyed the unmistakable impression of both strength and courage.

His features, while definitely masculine, were so finely sculpted that it was immediately apparent he was no peasant who had been dragged from his fields in Erin to till those of her homeland. No, this was no humble farmer, nor was he a mere stablehand who possessed extraordinary skill with horses. He was someone else entirely, and greatly intrigued, she wanted to know precisely who and what he was.

As soon as Erik had introduced the remarkable slave, Freya began to question him. Her voice was light, enticing rather than commanding a response, just as Dana’s had been the first time she had spoken to him. “From where do you come, Brendan, and what do your people do there?”

Freya’s golden-red curls were drawn back into a knot at her nape and caught the same bright blue ribbons she had used that day on Thora’s hair. Her silk chemise and sleeveless wool tunic were as fine as the garments Dana wore, and Brendan glanced around quickly, hoping to find the young woman nearby. When he saw only Thora and half a dozen servants looking his way, he could scarcely hide his disappointment. He had been certain that Dana would have been anxious to see him again.

Disgusted with himself for overestimating the fiery young woman’s interest in him, Brendan turned his attention back to Freya. That she and Dana resembled each other so closely had given him something of a start when he had first entered the long, wide hall. Freya was also a beauty, but a very fragile one, while Dana’s vibrant good looks glowed with the bloom of health.

Frowning slightly, he tried to recall what it was Freya had asked him, and as a result his expression mirrored the curiosity in hers. It was plain to him where Dana had gotten her long dark lashes, since Freya had them too, but in her case they framed eyes of a clear blue rather than a haunting violet. Her features held the same sweet perfection as her daughter’s, and he was relieved to see no evidence of the underlying tension which erupted so easily into fits of temper with Dana. His immediate impression of Freya was one of graceful tranquility.

Brendan’s glance swept over the soft folds of Freya’s loose-fitting garments, noting they failed to disguise her far too slender figure. Her hands were resting lightly in her lap, displaying the well-manicured nails of a lady who did nothing more strenuous than an occasional bit of sewing. Her fair skin was translucent, allowing the network of blue veins crossing the backs of her hands to easily show through. He drew in a deep breath as he wondered why Erik had lied to him. Freya was not recovering from an illness. She looked to him as though she was slowly sinking to her death.

“Where I am from matters not at all now that I am here. As for my people, I’ll not speak of them with you,” he stated firmly.

While disappointed in his refusal to provide information about himself, Freya did not insist. It was obvious to her that he was a man of great pride, and she assumed that, like Haakon, once he had taken a stance on an issue he would not change it. “Grena told me you are good with horses. Is that true?”

Brendan shrugged slightly. Then, realizing by her question she must know nothing of Soren’s wild ride and how he had come to the boy’s rescue, he glanced over at Erik. The dark-haired young man nodded, urging him to respond. “Some say that I am,” Brendan admitted modestly. He smiled slightly then, wondering what he could get from Erik in exchange for his silence. What would Freya do if she learned Soren had ridden Sleipner? Surely she would not be pleased, since Erik and Dana had been so upset by it.

Naturally observant, Freya watched what she considered an evil glint fill Brendan’s gaze and, growing cautious, decided to bring the interview to a close. “My husband takes a great deal of pride in his horses, Brendan. You must give them excellent care or his anger will know no bounds. Strive to avoid that.”

After only one day, Brendan was thoroughly sick of the way everyone shook with dread at Haakon’s name. Was there not a single member of his household who was not terrified of the man? He saw Thora out of the corner of his eye, and wondered if maybe the bright-eyed child might be the only one who wasn’t. Before he could assure Freya that no one had ever complained about his work, his stomach rumbled so noisily that everyone in the hall heard it, and several laughed.

Rather than being embarrassed or annoyed, Freya was relieved to suddenly have an excellent excuse to dismiss the unusual thrall. “Erik, it’s plain this man is hungry. We can’t expect him to work without hearty meals to sustain his strength. See that he has all he wants to eat, and then show him what must be done.”

“I’ll see to it immediately,” Erik replied eagerly, equally relieved that they were being sent on their way before Brendan had created some type of unfortunate scene.

As Erik turned away, Brendan hesitated to follow, for while he never talked about himself, he sensed how greatly his reluctance to do so had disappointed Freya. Seized with a sudden inspiration, he dropped to his knees in front of the soft-spoken woman. Grabbing her hands, he brought them to his lips and covered her palms with a flurry of adoring kisses. “Bless you for your kindness, mistress. It will not go unrewarded.”

Freya was so shocked by this totally unexpected display of gratitude she sat staring at the top of Brendan’s bowed head for a long moment before she had the presence of mind to withdraw her hands from his. He had nearly flung himself across her lap in his eagerness to thank her, and when she recovered from her initial astonishment, she was quite touched by the spontaneity of his display of devotion.

She reached out to pat his fair curls lightly, thinking she must have badly misjudged his attitude. “Get up, Brendan. Have something to eat and then see to our horses’ needs. That’s all I’ve asked of you.”

Brendan wiped away a nonexistent tear as he rose to his feet. Uncertain if he could keep from laughing out loud, he kept his head bowed as he followed Erik out of the hall, but as soon as they had stepped out into the sunshine he broke into a wide grin.

“What did you expect to gain by behaving in so outrageous a manner?” Erik asked as he gave Brendan’s shoulder a hearty shove, which nearly knocked the slave off his feet. “I wanted you to be civil, not to worship Freya as though she were a goddess!”

“You told me only to please her,” Brendan contradicted. “You didn’t say how to go about it.”

Erik let out a moan which closely resembled a menacing growl, but he didn’t strike Brendan again before starting toward his house. “Come on. I’m too busy to argue with you. You must eat and get to work. I want the stables thoroughly cleaned inside and out and each of the horses groomed.”