Fires of Winter by Johanna Lindsey
Her legs were spread wide by his hips. His huge member was like a thick steel pole pressing to enter her. It met the hard resistance of her maidenhead, a sturdy wall meant to keep out intruders. But like a battering ram, he broke through the fortress wall, tearing her flesh so she felt a stabbing white-hot pain. Her body was stiff with expectancy as she waited for the terrible agony to continue. She could feel the offending weapon deep inside her womb and then it left her completely, only to thrust into her even deeper. Again and again it teased her, departing, then returning quickly to bury itself within her. Where was the pain that she feared above all else? And what was this strange sensation that was slowly speading through her loins, which made her feel as if she were floating, somehow soaring on a mystical cloud that was lifting her ever higher—and to what end?
Brenna did not know that Garrick was watching the confusion which crossed her features. Finally he closed his eyes and thrust so deeply it seemed he would join them together for all eternity. Then he was still. Though he wanted to relax his guard and revel in this closeness, to take more pleasure from it, he could not trust her even now.
Brenna was deep in thought when he looked down at her, a frown creasing her brow. Garrick wondered briefly at her mood, why she was now so still and not demanding that he leave her. She had proved to be a greater pleasure than he had thought possible, and he found with some small bit of amazement that he already looked forward to having her again.
“Why did you stop?” Brenna asked him in a haughty tone.
He looked at her confused eyes and laughed. “Because you have my seed and ’twill be awhile before I can give you more.”
“But you are still hard within me,” she replied unabashedly. “I can feel you. Can you not continue?”
Garrick stared at her in utter amazement. “Do you want me to?”
She considered this for a moment, then answered flatly, “Nay, the mood has passed.”
He grunted in irritation at her answer and wondered if he had won the battle after all. “I take it you found it was not so terrifying, eh?” he asked as he moved to her side and reached for his trousers.
“Nay, not in the least,” she answered, stretching lazily before him. Suddenly a look of anger crossed her features. “But someone will answer dearly for what I was led to expect!”
“Who?”
“’Tis my concern, not yours,” she replied, then her laughter rang through the room, completely confounding him. “I have learned much this day, Viking. My thanks.”
Since neither Yarmille nor Garrick was about to tell her nay, Brenna spent the day lazily in the house, getting to know the servants. Garrick had stormed from the room after he dressed, in a thoroughly black mood. He returned only long enough to throw a new shift at her, then left again without a word. She knew he was sorely vexed at the outcome of their lovemaking. He had expected her to be humbled, when in truth she had mastered the situation. This did not sit well with him. Mayhaps even now he was scheming other ways to bring her down, but she would handle them in turn.
After he left, though, surprise at the new experience wore off, and Brenna brooded about her stepsister. She was almost tempted to take one of Garrick’s horses and go seek out Cordella. What the bitch had done was unforgivable. The terror and panic Brenna had succumbed to were bad enough, but what rankled the most was that she had shown that fear to the Viking. Against her will she remembered the pleasurable feeling that had spread through her when he entered her. Then quickly she pushed the thought away. Why Cordella had filled her mind with lies was beyond her—but she would find out one day soon.
Brenna sat at the table in the long, narrow cooking area and watched Janie prepare loaves of bread for Garrick’s evening meal. Maudya was by the fire, stirring a thick soup full of large chunks of chicken. Maudya was a tawny-haired woman of about two score years, short and pudgy, with a quick smile and florid complexion.
Both women had confided to Brenna how they came to be here. Surprisingly, their account was without rancor. They had been neighbors in their homeland, living in a village that was raided four years past. It was Garrick himself who had captured and brought them here. In those years he served his father, and went on many such raids. The two women did not mind their life here, for it was no different than they would have had at home, and they were well provided for. Maudya did not mind as Janie did the fact that any guest of Garrick’s could bed them whenever he desired, simply because they were slaves and had no rights of their own. This was the only aspect of living here that Janie complained about. At least it did not happen often.
They both listened eagerly while Brenna explained her story, and were a bit overawed to learn the manner in which she was raised. She was doubly grateful now that her father had cared not a whit for custom or tradition, else she too might be like these other women, passive behind the yoke. She would never bend, either, and Garrick Haardrad would learn that truth in time, even if he did not accept it.
“Tell me about Garrick,” Brenna prompted as she nibbled on some wild nuts Erin had brought them that morning. “Is he a fair man?”
“Indeed he is,” Maudya answered easily.
“Except when he gives us to his friends,” Janie added, the days of the feast still uppermost in her mind.
“Methinks you complain too much,” Maudya chuckled. “I have heard you giggling the same as me when tousled in the hay.”
“I do not mind one man at a time, but not one after another as it is at a feast,” Janie returned in irritation. “Tell me you like the soreness ’atween your legs the next day?”
Brenna tried quickly to change the subject, for her own experience with a man was still too new, and she did not want to think of it yet. “What of the slaves he sold? Does he not care what becomes of them?”
“He had to sell them, Brenna,” Janie explained. “He had too many here—those he took himself, those from Ulric and those his father gave him. He sold only the hardy ones who would fare well and, of course, those who were troublesome.”
Brenna blanched at this, but Janie and Maudya did not notice. She soon regained her composure. “How many does he have left?”
“About twelve, I would say. There’s us, and the two old ones you saw here yesterday. Then there’s Erin and old Duncan, and five younger men. Of course, there’s the children too.”
“Children?”
Janie beamed proudly. “I have one: Sheldon, who is two. Maudya here has three, two of them twins.”
“The old ones watch them in the day,” Maudya said. “You will meet them later, when you come home with us. I do hope you like children.”
“I do,” Brenna smiled. “I used to take the little ones from our village hunting while their fathers worked the fields. Mayhaps I can take yours also, when they are older.”
Brenna realized with a shock that she had spoken of a future here, when she had no intention of staying overly long. She would have to guard herself and not become too friendly with these people, else she might regret leaving.
She continued her quest for information about the Viking. “Are they Garrick’s children?”
“The master never touched me,” Maudya pouted, “though I tried hard enough to catch his eye.”
“He took me to his bed a few times after he first brought us here,” Janie replied. “He lost interest in me, though, and would journey to his father’s house to taste his slaves. Perrin is Sheldon’s father; of this I am sure.”
“Perrin?”
“He is Garrick’s closest friend. They became blood brothers to bind that friendship. They combined their blood by sprinkling it on the ground in a fertility rite. This was six years past, when Garrick was but ten and nine, and Perrin two score and three.”
“Perrin told you this?”
“Yea, he comes to see me often and tells me much.”
“Does Perrin know that Sheldon is his child?” Brenna questioned.
“Of course.”
“Then why doesn’t he marry y
Both girls looked at Brenna as if she were daft. Maudya answered, “A Viking cannot marry a slave. ’Tis not allowed.”
“What if the slave were freed?”
“Freedom will not come to me here, Brenna. There is only one way I know of that a slave can gain his freedom, and that is to help during a feud, to kill an enemy of the clan. Even then, freedom can be denied. ’Tis only a generous master who gives it. Perrin has thought to buy me from Garrick; he is waiting for the right time to make the offer, when Garrick’s hardness mellows somewhat.”
“Garrick was a cheerful young man when first we came, kind and gentle to all. Perrin’s sister changed that three years past. Now he scorns all women and would scoff at Perrin for loving me. Perrin’s sister has caused us much anguish, especially Garrick.”
Brenna’s interest was aroused. “Is this the Morna I have heard mentioned with distaste?”
Janie looked to the doorways to be sure they were alone before she answered. “She is surely the one. A cold bitch if you ask me—nothing like Perrin. Well, Garrick fell in love with Morna and thought she returned that love. They were to be married, in fact. But then a rich merchant came through here and Morna ran off with him, preferring wealth to love, so it seems. Garrick has not been the same since. He has vowed to scorn all women and never marry. He rants and raves about the smallest thing. He became cold-hearted and cruel and picked fights, and lost many friends.
“For two winters he took to the forests and sailed north to hunt, driving himself to exhaustion to accumulate hundreds of furs. These he sold with the slaves when he went east the spring before last. His quest for sudden wealth was intense. At least he has accomplished that. Perrin says he is a rich man now. And he is also not so violently harsh with us as he was before he left. But he is still cold and distrustful.”
“Do you think he means to win Morna back with these new riches?” Brenna asked.
“Mayhaps,” Janie replied. “I have no understanding of his mind. I only know what Perrin tells me, and that is that Garrick will never lose his heart to another woman. He guards it carefully. The only woman who has his love is his mother. That woman can do no wrong in his eyes.”
“Yea, I saw the respect he gave her in the hall,” Brenna remarked. “Tell me, why did she teach Garrick our language, and not her other son?”
“Hugh was her first born and is the heir, so he must be a Viking true. She could not show her love for him in public, for this is frowned upon, and he was always watched by the clan. She gave him up to them. Garrick was her second son, and she doted on him as only a mother can. He speaks our language and knows of our god, as well as his own. His kind and gentle ways came from that love she poured on him, until Morna killed it.”
“I find it hard to believe that a broken heart can do so much damage,” Brenna said thoughtfully.
“’Tis easy to see you have never lost your heart, Brenna, or you would know of the devils that can wreak vengeance on a grieving mind. In Garrick they turned him mean. ’Tis not in jest they nicknamed him Garrick the Hardhearted.”
Brenna braided her hair as she walked up the path to the stable, then entered to find Erin busy applying a poultice to a mare’s injured leg.
“I was beginning to wonder if you had lost interest in the stable, lass,” he said as she approached him. “I could have used your help this morning to quiet this filly after that beastly stallion kicked her in his eagerness to be off.”
Brenna rubbed the mare’s nose gently. “I thought you would not accept my help unless Garrick gave his permission.”
“He did that, last eventide.”
“Really?” Brenna asked in surprise, then she laughed heartily. “So I have won!”
“I don’t know about winning,” Erin replied with an amused chuckle. “He said I was to work you till you dropped.”
“Well, I did not think he would lose gracefully,” Brenna grinned, feeling thoroughly pleased with herself. “I am willing to work hard, however. Here, let me finish that for you.”
Erin stood up slowly and she dropped to her knees to take his place beside the mare. He watched her with a critical eye as she worked, but she did not mind. She knew it would take a while to prove to the old man that she was capable.
“Winter is fast approaching,” Brenna speculated. “The wind was chill on my bare arms as I came up the hill.”
Erin chuckled. “You will be pleased with this fair weather, lassie, after you have had a taste of winter here. But aye, ’twill soon be upon us. The crops were harvested a fortnight past, and the sun sinks lower on the horizon. Before long, you will wish for the fires of Hell to warm you.”
“Never that,” Brenna admonished. “Mayhaps I can sleep here with the horses once the snow comes.”
“Humph!” he grunted. “The notions you get, lass. Master Garrick would never allow that.”
Brenna smiled slyly. “You thought he would not allow me to work here, but he did. Garrick is not so hard to persuade.” Curiously she asked, “What does he do in winter, to occupy his time?”
“There is not much for anyone to do once the snows come. The master hunts mostly and gathers with his friends for drinking bouts. Usually he joins his brother Hugh for a month, to sail further north in search of the polar bear.”
“Where is he now?”
“Gone for his morning ride.”
“Does he ride every morn?”
Erin looked at her oddly. “Why so many questions, lass? Have you an eye for the master?”
“Certainly not!” Brenna retorted. “But if I am to stay here, then I would know all I can about the man who is master here.”
“If?” he cocked an eyebrow. “You have no choice, lass.”
Brenna rose, her task with the horse finished, and dusted straw from her skirt. “I have a choice, Erin. Do not doubt it,” she said confidently.
A frown added to the wrinkles already on his brow. “What devilment is in your mind, girl? I warn you now for your own good, the master deals harshly with those who run away.”
“If he finds them. Have no others from here sought their freedom?”
“Aye, two have. The female Hope tried to escape to the hills in the heart of winter, but the master found her easily and brought her back. She spent two days in the punishment cell and was nearly frozen to death when finally released. She was taken with the other slaves who were sold.”
“You said two?”
“A young man ran just last year. Hugh dealt with him since Garrick was not here. The lad was whipped to death before all. Hugh likes to make a warning well remembered.”
Brenna shuddered. “This punishment cell. There is really such a place?”
Erin nodded grimly. “’Tis below the house, facing the fjord. Ulric had it built for punishment, since he did not care for the whip. ’Tis just a small room carved in the cliff with a heavy door to seal it. A tiny square opening is in the door, with iron bars affixed, and this allows the only air to enter, but it also lets in the cold in winter. ’Tis not a pleasant room, but the master has made use of it on occasion.”
“Well, never fear, Erin. I will not see that room. When and if I go, I will leave the land and not be found.”
“By ship?” he laughed shortly. “How, lassie? There are only three ships on this fjord. The master’s, his father’s and one belonging to the clan across the fjord. None of these will sail again till spring, and you alone could never handle one by yourself.”
“I did not imagine I could,” Brenna replied stiffly, feeling a certain despair descend on her.
Just then they heard a rider approaching. A moment later the great black stallion pranced his way into the stable. Garrick sat straight and tall on the stallion’s back, dressed in dark brown tunic and trousers, his blond hair tousled from the ride.
Brenna’s eyes appraised the horse and rider appreciatively. The horse was powerfully sleek, a magnificent animal. But then, so was the rider, she admitted shamelessly. His was a body whose gre
Garrick sat motionless for a long moment, wondering at Brenna’s bold perusal of him. He noticed quickly that she seemed overly pleased with herself. No doubt she thought she had scored a victory over him. Had she?
Gradually a smile made Garrick’s lips curve and he dismounted, then tossed the reins to Brenna. She took them, and without being told, led the stallion to the stall she had previously seen him in. Erin came forward to remove the heavy saddle, but Garrick held up a hand and dismissed him. The old man returned to the back of the stable, mumbling that his bones could well use the rest.
“The horse needs grooming, mistress,” Garrick finally spoke, his tone condescending. “See to it.”
“You think I cannot?” she retorted, slightly piqued. “Is this a test then?”
“Nay, ’twas an order, wench. You have been given a task—do it.”
“You—ohh!”
She stilled her tongue and gave him a murderous glare instead, before she tackled the saddle. Several strenuous pulls were needed before it gave way, then the heavy weight nearly toppled her backward. She then swung with maddening force to place the saddle over the stall rail. Her breasts heaving with the effort, she looked at him triumphantly.
“There!”
Folding his arms across his chest, Garrick leaned against one of the stall beams. “There what? You have not finished. Must I tell you what to do next?”
“I can care for horses better than you, Viking. I wager I can handle them better too!” she snapped, grabbing a rag to rub down the stallion’s sweaty coat. “Were I atop him this morn, he would not have kicked the mare!”
“You grasp every opportunity to act the male,” he sneered at her. “But I have seen the other side of you, wench.”