Fires of Winter (2 page)

Cool gray eyes turned toward Enid’s cottage and then back to the woman. “Why did they wish privacy?”

The woman smiled knowingly. “You know Enid.”

“Yea, but she does not give her favors to strangers.”

Without another word the youth, sword in hand, crossed the short distance to Enid’s cottage and moved the closed door aside. It took a few moments for the silver-gray eyes to adjust to the darkened cottage, but then they lighted on the couple in the corner, unaware of the intrusion. The stranger was mounted atop Enid, thrusting his slim hips like a rutting boar.

At first the gray eyes were fascinated, watching the mating of the two creatures, the deep plunging of the male between the spread thighs of the female, listening to the grunts and groans that drifted from the corner. But then the flash of silver caught the gray eyes, and like clouds warning of an approaching storm, the youth’s eyes darkened, drawn to the knife in the stranger’s hand.

Without a second thought, the youth crossed the room with purposeful strides and raised sword, then skillfully cut into the stranger’s behind. A shocked scream echoed through the cottage, and the man jumped up off the cowering Enid and scrambled away from his attacker.

Enid gasped when she saw the reason that the stranger had jumped up. “Bren, what are you doing here?”

The youth stood with legs astride and answered without emotion, “’Tis fortunate, I suppose, that the nag I call Willow threw me, or I would not have come in time to see justice done. He forced you, did he not?”

“Yea,” Enid answered and could not stop the sobs of relief that shook her body.

“The girl was not a virgin!” the stranger blurted out angrily, cupping both hands over his bleeding backside.

This was not the girl’s father, the man easily surmised, but just a boy, and a very young boy by the sound of his high-pitched voice. The boy was clearly not of the village, for the youth’s wealth was apparent from the richly embroidered mantle covering the silver cloth tunic which matched the angry eyes of the wearer. The sword that had so accosted the stranger was like none he had ever seen: a broadsword surely, but exceptionally thin and lightweight, with sparkling blue and red jewels encrusted on the hilt.

“That she was no virgin did not give you leave to take her. Yea, ’tis known that Enid is generous with her favors,” the youth said, then added in a lower voice, “but only to those of her choosing. She bid you welcome, and you repaid her in this unspeakable manner. What shall be the punishment, Enid? Shall I sever his head and lay it at your feet, or perhaps that shriveled organ that stood so proud but a moment ago?”

The man sputtered with outrage. “I’ll cut out your heart for that, boy!”

Giggles came from a bevy of females who had gathered in the doorway upon hearing the scream. The naked man’s face turned livid with rage. To add further to his humiliation, the youth’s own tinkling laughter joined the others.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Enid spoke indignantly. “Bren, you should not make fun of him.”

The laughter stopped, and the youth shot her a contemptuous look. “Why, Enid? The stranger obviously thinks he is a match for me. I, who speared my first wild boar when I was but nine, and killed five worthless scavengers with my father when they would do harm to your village. I, who have held a sword in my hand since I could first walk, who have been trained diligently for the seriousness of warfare. This ravager of women thinks he can cut out my heart with that toy in his hand. Look at him! Tall though he may be, he is but a sniveling coward.”

This last insult brought a roar of outrage from the man, and he jumped forward, knife in hand, arm raised, fully intending to carry out his earlier threat. But the youth had not boasted falsely and stepped aside with lithe grace. A slight twist of the arm drew a long streak of blood across the man’s chest. This was followed by a booted foot to his already crimson behind.

“Mayhaps not a coward, but certainly a bungling oaf,” the youth taunted as the man slammed into the opposite wall.

“Have you had enough, rapist?”

The knife fell from the man’s hand when he hit the wall, but he quickly grabbed it and charged again. This time the youth’s long blade cut skillfully from the left, and the man looked angrily at the perfectly formed X on his upper chest. The wounds were not deep, but sufficed to cover his chest and lower torso in his own sticky blood.

“You inflict but scratches, boy,” the man growled. “My blade, though ’tis small, will still find a deadly mark!”

Since the opponents were now only a foot apart, the man saw his chance, and swiftly went for the slim white throat of his antagonist. But the other stepped aside with the ease of a matador moving out of the path of a charging bull. The man’s knife slashed through open space, and a second later it was struck from his hand with a vicious blow and clattered across the room, out of reach.

The stranger was left facing Enid, who glared at him without pity. “You fool! Bren was but toying with you.”

He saw the truth of her words and paled visibly. And though it nettled him sorely to be bested by a mere boy, he now feared for his life. He faced the boy and prayed that the death blow would be swift.

There was no mercy in the cold gray eyes that regarded him, and the laugh that came from the soft, sensuous lips chilled his blood.

“By what name are you called?”

“Donald—Donald Gillie,” he answered quickly.

“And from where have you traveled?”

“Anglesey.”

At the mention of the name, the gray eyes narrowed. “And were you there last year, when the cursed Vikings struck Holyhead Island?”

“Aye, ’twas a horror to see such slaughter and—”

“Cease! I did not ask for an account of what the bastards did. Know you this, Donald Gillie! Your life rests in the maid’s hands.” The youth turned to Enid. “What shall it be? Shall I end his ravishing days here and now?”

“Nay!” Enid gasped.

“Then shall I maim him for what he has done to you? Sever an arm? A leg?”

“Nay! Nay, Bren!”

“Justice shall be done here, Enid!” The youth snapped impatiently. “My justice is more lenient than my father’s. Were it Lord Angus who had found him rutting ’atween your legs, he would have skewed him on a pole and left him for the wolves. I have toyed with him, yea, but his crime I have seen with my own eyes and he will pay for it.”

Enid looked on with wide, fearful eyes. Donald Gillie stood with his shoulders slumped, awaiting his fate. The youth’s smooth forehead creased in thought, then the gray eyes lit up with a solution.

“I have it, then. Would you take the man for a husband, Enid?”

The barely audible whisper was not long in coming. “Yea.”

“Will you agree to this, Donald Gillie?” Gray eyes pierced him sharply.

The man’s head snapped up. “Yea, I will!” the words gushed forth.

“So be it, then; you shall be wedded,” the youth spoke with finality. “’Tis a good bargain you’ve made, Donald Gillie. But know you this. You cannot say yea today, then nay on the morrow. Do not make me regret that I have let you off so easily. If the girl comes to harm, or if you have in mind to desert her, there will not be a hole deep enough for you to hide in, for I will find you and right the wrong with your life.”

The man could not contain his joy at having such a light punishment. “I will not harm the girl.”

“Good,” the youth replied curtly, then turned toward the door and yelled, “You women, off with you now. You have had your entertainment for this day. Leave these two to get acquainted.” He turned back and said, “Enid, wash him quickly before your father returns. You will have much to explain to that good man.”

“Your own father has truly raised a merciful son, my lord,” Donald Gillie replied.

The youth laughed heartily. “My father has no son.”

Donald Gillie looked after the departing figure, then appealed to Enid for explanation. “What did he mean?”

“’Twas no he.” She laughed at his confusion. “’Twas the Lady Brenna who spared your life.”

B
renna swung open the heavy, solid-oak door, letting the midday sun spill into the darkened hall of the manor. The hallway was empty, but voices drifted out through the double doors of the large receiving chamber to the right. Brenna could hear her stepsister Cordella and the cook discussing the fare for the evening meal.

Cordella was the last person Brenna cared to see now—or at any time, for that matter. Especially not now, though, when she was so tender from her fall—damn Willow, anyway—and not at her best.

Accustomed to dashing through the hall on her merry way, Brenna was sorely put out to have to amble along at a snail’s pace. She felt as if every muscle in her lower region ached, and the short bout with the stranger Donald Gillie had not helped any. She had been hard pressed to keep from flinching everytime she moved about in Enid’s cottage, but a strong will had kept the pain from showing on her delicate features.

Ha! The stranger had thought she was a boy. This had done much for her ego. Wasn’t it the impression she wanted to give? For those few minutes she was truly her father’s son, not just the young-hearted boy in this cumbersome woman’s body. Angus would have been as proud as she was herself.

She climbed the few steps at the bottom of the wide stairs, then turned abruptly to climb the remaining ones that led to the maze of halls on the second floor. A stranger to the manor would surely get lost in those halls, for it was as if two separate builders had begun the manor, each on the opposite side, and tried to meet in the middle, without success. Angus’s father had built the house in this fashion because it suited him to confound his guests. Angus was already a young man when the manor was completed, for it had taken a score of years to build such a conglomeration of mazes.

The first floor of the manor was like that of any other such building, but the second floor had nine separate chambers, each one with its own private hallway. Brenna turned right at the first hall and passed the single door that led to her father’s room. He would be there now, in bed, for he had become ill a week past, and had yet to improve. She considered going in to tell him of her sport with the stranger. But perhaps later; she needed a bath first.

Brenna turned at the end of her father’s short hall and entered that of Cordella and her husband. To the left were her own chambers at the front of the house. Hers was a corner room, giving her ample light from two windows in the outer walls. Having seen only seventeen winters, she did not mind the long trek to her chamber except on a day like this one, when every step was an effort.

Brenna felt like screaming in relief when she finally opened her door, pausing only to call for Alane, her servant. She closed the door slowly and hobbled to the bed, taking off the mantle which hid her glorious long hair as she walked. Her long hair. It was the only thing that did not conform to the image she liked to affect. Her father forbade her to cut it, so she kept it hidden. She hated this very obvious symbol of her womanhood.

Before Brenna’s head touched the pillow, Alane rushed into the room from her own chamber around the corner. Alane was past her prime, but it did not show overly much. Her red hair bespoke her Scots forebears. It had been carrot-colored at one time, but now was a dull yellow-orange. Still, her dark blue eyes twinkled youthfully. She was not as sprightly as she used to be, however, and was given to frequent, long illnesses during the winter months, when Brenna became the servant and waited on Alane.

“Oh, Brenna, my girl!” Alane said breathlessly, holding a slim hand to her chest. “’Tis glad I am to see you back in time. You know your father would have his fits if you missed your lesson with Wyndham. So ’tis through dressing like the son for now; time to dress like the daughter you are. I did fear, when Boyd came with news of the boar, that you would not return in time.”

“Curse Wyndham and his kinsmen!” Brenna snapped tiredly. “And curse that bloody boar too!”

“My, but we’re in a fine mood this day,” Alane clucked.

“We’re not—I am!”

“What brought on this bit of temper?”

Brenna moved to sit up, winced, and lay down again. “Willow, that pregnant cow! As well as I’ve trained that nag, she had the effrontery to be spooked by a rabbit. A rabbit! I will never forgive her for that.”

Alane chuckled. “I take it you lost your perch on that spirited filly, and your pride is a wee bit bruised.”

“Oh, hush up, woman! I don’t need your prattling. I need a bath—a hot one to soak these sore bones.”

“’Twill have to be a quick one, my dear,” Alane replied, unoffended. She was quite used to her lady’s blustering ways. “Wyndham is expecting you soon.”

“Wyndham can wait!”

The large receiving chamber on the lower floor was where Brenna met Wyndham every afternoon. It had been thus for almost a year now, since the bloodthirsty heathens came from the north and raided Holyhead Island in
A.D
. 850. Brenna endured the hated lessons because she had no choice. She learned what she was taught, but for her own purpose, not because Angus ordered it.