Authors: Phoebe Conn
Dana was naturally high-strung, but as Erik studied her preoccupied frown, he feared Brendan had upset her more than he had first realized. “No, you’re right. We ought to make certain that Sleipner is returned while Brendan is confined. I’ll take the stallion back to Grena’s in the morning. That will be one less problem for you to worry about.”
“I hate to have you miss working with the falcons two mornings in a row,” Dana remarked considerately. “I ride nearly every day, I can go to Grena’s as easily as anywhere else.”
Knowing her point was well-taken, Erik hesitated a moment before making up his mind, but when he had he stated his plans firmly. “I’ll take the falcons out at first light and then see to the horse.” He knew his offer was a reasonable one, but he also had the nagging suspicion that his eagerness to return Sleipner might just be an excuse to see Berit again. That was ridiculous, of course, as he could scarcely encourage tomorrow the friendship he had rejected today, but the haunting memory of Berit’s stricken expression as he had rebuffed her attentions had made him feel guilty all day.
“Erik?” Dana prompted, thinking the obstreperous slave was the cause of his pensive frown. “You’ll have to take Brendan the clothes right away.”
“Why? He’s not going anywhere.”
“I did promise someone would take him to the privy.”
“I can’t trust that task to one of the servants,” Erik realized instantly. “The belligerent oaf might harm one of them. I’ll see to him myself after supper.”
“Just remember to take him the clothes so he doesn’t get cold. It would be just like him to fall ill and die on us.”
Erik couldn’t help but laugh at that dire prediction. “Not even Brendan is that obstinate, Dana. He’d not die just to spite us.”
Dana’s lovely violet eyes narrowed as her gaze swept over her handsome half brother’s amused expression. “Oh, yes, he is, and I don’t want Jørn coming to me demanding I pay him what he spent on the man.”
“All right, I won’t forget the clothes, but there must still be enough furs handy for him to keep himself warm until I get there.”
Dana had completely forgotten about the furs remaining in the storehouse and now felt very foolish she had stopped for even one instant to consider Brendan’s health. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a shrew.”
Erik leaned forward to plant a light kiss on her cheek. “You never do, dear sister, never.”
While she feared that wasn’t true, Dana returned his kiss without argument, and the problems Brendan presented solved for the moment, they discussed Soren’s punishment and decided to forbid him to ride for a week. As always, Erik’s level-headed sensibilities calmed Dana’s frayed nerves, and she felt up to returning to the house when they parted a few minutes later. She realized Erik had such a soothing effect on everyone. He was a very competent young man, and while Brendan had provoked him to anger, she was certain the obnoxious slave would have the same disastrous effect on any other man.
Taking a deep breath, Dana promised herself she would not lose her temper again. No matter what disgusting thing Brendan said or did, she would not react with anger. Instead, she would remain firmly in control of her emotions. She was the mistress and he was the slave. She would not forget that fact nor allow him to disregard it either.
With her family seated on either side of the hearth located in the center of the long room, Freya could not help but cast frequent glances toward Haakon’s empty place at her side. As master and mistress of the home, they normally shared one of the wide benches placed between the four central posts which supported the roof. Ornately carved, the columns marked not only the center of the house, but the heart of the family as well.
Freya missed her husband terribly, and not simply at mealtimes but at every hour of the day and night. She missed the sound of his deep voice and hearty laughter, and longed to again feel the exquisite sensation of his loving touch. They were so close a couple that when he was away she felt only half alive. As a young bride she had learned to focus her attention on her children when Haakon traveled, and that was exactly what she did this night. When she found not only Soren, but Dana and Erik unusually quiet, she encouraged Thora to talk about her day.
The vivacious ten-year-old finished spreading butter on a thick slab of bread as she began an enthusiastic account of how she had given Brendan a haircut. “His hair is every bit as thick and curly as yours, Soren, and he hates having it trimmed as much as you do. It was a good thing I happened along, since Erik was making such a mess of the job he would have left the thrall nearly bald.”
Erik opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. “You’re right, Thora. I’m a poor barber, it seems.”
Freya took a sip of ale and then set her tankard upon the small table which had been placed in front of her bench to hold the evening meal. “I should have told you to stay away from the man, baby. What’s done is done, but I don’t want you talking with him again. I’m sure he’s no fit companion for a young girl, so just stay out of his way. It’s not your fault, Erik, I know Thora is always underfoot, but you must keep Brendan too busy working to have any time to chat with children. What did you plan to have him do tomorrow?”
When Dana dropped her spoon with a loud clatter, Erik knew she had been as badly startled by the question as he was. “It will take me a few days to decide what he does best.”
“From what Grena told us, he is an expert horseman. Isn’t there plenty of work for him to do around the stable?” Freya inquired with a curious glance. Her lashes were as long and thick as her daughters’, and her face was now so thin her eyes were her dominant feature.
“Well, yes, I suppose there is,” Erik was forced to admit. When Dana gave him an encouraging nod, he continued with a forceful show of confidence. “I think I’ll release the stable boys to work in the fields and turn their work over to Brendan. That will give him more than enough to do.”
“Good. For as long as he’s here I want him to earn his keep,” Freya instructed with the quiet competence which marked all her actions. “After we have finished breakfast in the morning, bring him to me. I didn’t feel up to speaking with him today, but I’m certain that I will tomorrow.”
Dana exchanged a stricken glance with Erik before she hurriedly attempted to change Freya’s mind. “I really don’t think that’s wise, Mother. Erik and I can handle the man. You needn’t trouble yourself over him. His presence here really doesn’t merit your attention. He’s already insufferably arrogant. If you give him any of your time, he’ll be so flattered it will make him even worse.”
Surprised not only by Dana’s opinion but also by the fervor with which she had expressed it, Freya glanced at the other members of her family to see if they shared it. She found Erik’s expression equally determined, but then he and Dana usually agreed. Soren was bent so low over his plate his nose was in danger of becoming coated with gravy. The fourteen-year-old’s silence puzzled her, but she found it preferable to the stream of complaints he usually made during supper. As for Thora, her violet eyes were alight with mischief.
“I like Brendan,” the lively girl announced when her mother looked her way. “I don’t see how you can say I can’t talk to him when you haven’t met him. Maybe you’ll like him too.”
“Mother’s right, Thora,” Dana insisted in the same emphatic tone she had just used with Freya. “We know almost nothing about Brendan. We can’t trust him like we do our servants. He might try to befriend you in hopes you’ll help him escape.”
“That’s silly. Fyn is an island,” Thora remarked with a giggle. “He can’t escape.”
“Let me put it this way, Thora,” Erik said, swiftly coming to Dana’s aid. “I plan to keep Brendan too busy to talk with anyone. If you pester him with questions, then he won’t get his work done and I’ll have to punish him. If you like him as you say you do, then you’ll spare him that pain and keep away from him.”
Thora knew Erik didn’t make idle threats, and rather than waste her breath arguing with him, she grabbed up her freshly buttered bread and took a savage bite. She continued to glare at her half brother as she chewed, letting him know that while he may have gotten the last word for the moment, she wasn’t ready to concede the fight.
That the conversation about the slave had become so heated only served to whet Freya’s curiosity about him. “Soren, you’ve not said a word. Don’t you have an opinion about Brendan?”
Soren looked up then, his blue eyes smoldering with fury. “I despise the bastard!” he shouted, and shoving aside the small table upon which his dishes sat, he leapt to his feet and stormed out of the hall.
A deathly silence descended upon the long room, for the servants tidying up the kitchen had also heard Soren’s curse and were as deeply stunned by it as his family. They all knew Erik’s heritage and Soren’s outburst was an insult and a shocking breach of manners.
“I’m going to kill him!” Dana swore as she rose from her seat, but Erik reached out to catch her wrist.
“Soren has been in a disagreeable mood ever since Haakon left. He didn’t mean anything by that,” the persuasive young man insisted as he coaxed the volatile redhead back down into her place.
Freya sighed sadly, fearing she had caused a regrettable scene when it should have been obvious to her by his dejected pose that Soren was in no mood to contribute anything positive to the evening. What little appetite she had had was now gone, and she wanted only to go to her room and rest for the coming day.
“I really must speak with Brendan in the morning, Erik,” Freya insisted as she rose from her place. “If he has stirred up such deep resentment after only one day with us, I don’t dare let another go by without meeting him.”
Feeling utterly defeated, Dana sank back against the thickly padded bench as she watched her mother move away. Freya had always been graceful, but now she was so thin that her flowing garments floated about her as though borne by an unseen breeze rather than being suspended from her narrow shoulders.
“I don’t know whom I dislike most at this moment, Soren or that despicable Celt!” Dana whispered under her breath.
“Soren,” Thora spit out the name, as always ready to offer her opinion.
Erik and Soren had never shared the closeness he and Svien did. Indeed, Soren admired neither his elder brother nor his half brother. He was simply jealous of them and envied the independence their advantage in years had given them. Since each had his own work, Erik seldom spent any time with Soren, which he was certain only added to the strain that existed between them. Still, he knew the boy had not meant to insult him as well as Brendan.
“Soren’s moodiness is a minor problem, Dana. Forget him. In the morning I’ll see Brendan behaves himself so you needn’t worry about him either. Now let’s finish this stew. It’s quite the best meal we’ve had all week.”
Dana watched Erik and Thora finish the tasty dish down to the last drop of gravy in the bottom of their bowls, but she didn’t take another bite. All she could think of was Brendan’s mocking grin, and the prospect of facing him again so soon was almost more than she could bear.
As Erik approached the fur storehouse, he could hear Brendan singing to himself. While the words of the song were in the slave’s own tongue, it was obvious from the lighthearted nature of the tune that the Celt was having no difficulty keeping himself amused. He had not expected the man would be weeping over being confined, but still Erik was not pleased to find him distracting himself with so pleasant a diversion.
When Brendan heard the key being turned in the lock, he sprang to his feet and took a firm grasp on the bearskin he had wrapped around his waist. Thinking it must be Dana returning to bid him good night, a surge of exhilaration coursed down his spine and he let himself hope she had realized his bargain would be beneficial to them both. He broke into a wide grin at the delicious nature of that possibility, but when he saw Erik standing at the door, his expression became a disappointed frown.
When Erik first peered into the storehouse, he thought Brendan must have discarded his breeches in preparation to sleep. When he saw no sign of them he realized why Dana had been so insistent about his taking the Celt some clothes, and he began to chuckle.
“What do you find so funny?” Brendan inquired in a sarcastic snarl. Knowing few men could project an air of dignity while wrapped in a bearskin, he straightened his shoulders proudly in an attempt to do just that.
“I warned you not to underestimate Dana’s wrath. The next time you fail to curb your insolence she may take more than your breeches.”
Brendan took a deep breath and held it. He wasn’t certain what Erik was threatening, but since he didn’t think he really wanted to know, he hurriedly changed the subject. “If you’ve come to take me to the privy, let’s go.”
The days were lengthening with the arrival of summer, and Erik had no desire to parade the half-naked slave through the twilight when his state of undress would be readily observed. “I brought the clothes I showed you earlier. Put them on first.”
Since he knew no matter what lay ahead that he would be better off clothed than wrapped in a fur, Brendan didn’t argue.
Erik leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited. He wasn’t surprised to find the Celt as well-endowed below the waist as he was above, but he couldn’t help but wonder just how much of the handsomely built slave Dana had observed.