Fires of Winter (3 page)

Wyndham stood up when she entered the room, a dark scowl across his fair features. “You are late, Lady Brenna.”

Gowned in sea-green silk, which went well with the raven black hair that flowed freely down her trim back, Brenna smiled sweetly. “You must forgive me, Wyndham. It grieves me that I have kept you waiting, when I am sure you have more important things to do.”

The tall Norseman’s features softened and his eyes darted about the room, looking everywhere except at Brenna. “Nonsense. There is naught more important than preparing you for your new life and home.”

“Then we must begin immediately, to make up for the time we have lost.”

To give credit where credit was due, Brenna could be a lady when the situation warranted it. Her Aunt Linnet had seen to that. She could be gracious, charming, and use her wiles to suit her purpose. It was not often that she called on these female ploys, but when she did, all men were lost to her.

The bath had helped, but not enough to allow her easy movement. Brenna crossed slowly to one of the four thronelike chairs that faced the huge fireplace and joined Wyndham. He started the lesson where they had left off the day before, with Norse mythology. He spoke in Norwegian now, which Brenna clearly understood, for that language was the first thing Wyndham had taught her.

Was it really less than a year since they received the news of Holyhead Island? It seemed like so much longer. The story had been a shock and put the fear of death into them all. It was two days later that Augus sent for Brenna and told her of the solution to their predicament. Brenna had not even been aware that they were in one.

She saw the meeting clearly in her mind. It was a scene that haunted many of her dreams. Her father, sitting across from her in this very room, was appropriately wearing black. Black, the color of doom. A black tunic as dark as his shoulder-length hair and as somber as his blue eyes. Angus Carmarham’s eyes were generally sparkling and clear, unusually bright for a man of two score and ten. That day the blue eyes were clouded with the eyes of an old man.

Brenna had just come in from a morning ride on Willow, her silver-gray mare, when she was given the summons. She was dressed in her boy’s finery, a dove-gray tunic and short mantle threaded with silver; fine, gartered trousers of soft deerskin; and boots of the best Spanish leather. Her sword swung from her hip, but she removed it before she sat down in the high-backed velvet seat across from her father.

“You shall be wed to a Norse chieftain, daughter,” were Lord Angus’s first words.

“And I shall breed twenty fine sons to come and raid our coasts,” Brenna answered.

Angus did not laugh at her jest, and the very soberness of his expression turned her blood cold. She gripped the arms of her chair, waiting tensely for him to deny his statement.

He sighed tiredly, as if all his years and more had just caught up with him. “Mayhaps they will raid our coast, but not us.”

Brenna could not keep the apprehension from her voice. “What have you done, father?”

“The arranger was sent on his way yesterday. He will travel to Norway and make a pact with the Vikings—”

Brenna jumped to her feet. “The Vikings who struck Holyhead Island?”

“Nay, not necessarily the same. The man will seek out a chieftain who will take you to wife. A man with power.”

“You would barter me from door to door?” Brenna accused, looking down on her father with wide gray eyes, feeling for the first time in her life as if she did not know this man who sired her.

“You will not be bartered, Brenna!” Lord Angus said with conviction, feeling by all that was holy that he had acted correctly, no matter how much it pained him. “The man will use discretion. I sent Fergus. He is a diplomatic man. He will make inquiries. He will find a man of power who does not already have a wife and make the offer to him. You will not be bartered. Fergus was told to ask only once. If he has no luck, he will return and that will be the end of it. But heaven help us if he returns without the name of your future husband.”

Brenna saw red, blood red before her eyes. “How could you do this to me?”

“’Tis the only way, Brenna.”

“Nay, ’tis not!” she stormed. “We are miles from the coast. We have naught to fear!”

“The Vikings grow bolder each year,” Angus tried to explain. “The first news of their daring came before I was born. The land across from us is lost to them. To the north our brothers serve them, on the east of Brittany where they have settled. And now they have finally reached our shores. ’Twill only be a matter of time before they raid inland—mayhaps next year. Would you see our village laid to waste at their feet? Our men killed, the women taken as slaves?”

“’Twould not have been so!” she cried. “You are a knight skilled in warfare. You have trained me in the same arts. We can fight them, father—you and I!”

“Ah, Brenna, my Brenna,” he sighed. “I am too old to fight. You could kill many, but not enough. The Norsemen are a race of giants. There are none like them. They are fierce and without mercy. I would see you live, not die. I would protect my people.”

“By sacrificing me!” she hissed, beside herself with rage. “To an old chieftain, who by your own words will be ferocious and without mercy!”

“I have no fear for you on that score. I know you can hold your own.”

“I will not have to!” Brenna stormed. “I will not agree to the marriage!”

Angus’s brow darkened threateningly. “You will! Fergus carries my word of honor with him.”

“Why did you not tell me of this yesterday? You knew I would stop Fergus, didn’t you?”

“Yea, I did indeed, daughter. But what is done cannot now be undone. And ’tis partly your own doing. You are available. Cordella is not, and your aunt, though lovely still, is too old. The Viking will expect a young bride.”

“Do not put this blame on me, father! ’Tis wholly your doing.”

“I have put scores of men before you, men of wealth, title and handsome appearance, but you would have none of them!” Lord Angus reminded her gruffly. “You could have been married long since, but then, unfortunately, we would have been doomed.”

“You showed me naught but boorish braggarts and handsome fops. You expected me to choose from that handful of fools?”

“I know you, Brenna. You would not have chosen no matter who I brought before you. The very idea of marriage rankles you, though I know not why.”

“You are right there, milord,” she returned dryly.

“So I have choosen for you. You will wed the man Fergus finds. The deed is done.”

Brenna whirled around and faced the fire. Her mind revolted at the thought, but she felt utterly helpless. She, who had been trained to fight, could find no way to combat this. She grasped at straws before finally conceding.

“Another can take my place,” she said flatly. “No one would be the wiser.”

“You would pass a servant off as a lady?” Angus asked incredulously. “’Twould bring the Vikings here for revenge of the worst kind if you did such a thing. Fergus will extoll your virtues, Brenna.
Yours!
What servant here or anywhere, has your beauty, your manners or your courage? ’Twould take years to teach a maid your qualities. You are of noble birth, and a lady in all respects, thanks to your aunt’s gentle teachings. I thank the day Linnet came and took you in hand, else you would not be fit for marriage to anyone, let alone a Norseman.”

“Well, I curse that day for what it has brought me to!” she shouted.

“Brenna!”

At once she regretted her words. She loved her aunt dearly. Motherless since birth, Brenna had attached herself to the lovely Linnet when she first came, four years earlier, after the death of her husband. Linnet was Angus’s younger sister; she acted and looked only half of her two score years. She had taken Brenna in hand, even though it was too late to curb her boyish ways completely. She had been a second mother to Brenna, whereas her stepmother, a thorn in everyone’s side, spoke to her stepdaughter only to upbraid her. Even Angus sorely regretted marrying her. But at least her presence did not have to be endured for more than three winters, for she died the year after Linnet came. However, she left her daughter Cordella behind, who carried on her shrewish ways.

“I’m sorry, father,” Brenna said softly, her silver-gray eyes downcast, her shoulders slumped forward in defeat. “’Tis only that I so abhor this decision you have made.”

“I knew you would be upset, Brenna, but not this much,” Angus replied, and stood to wrap his arm around his daughter’s shoulder. “Take heart, girl. You admire courage and strength, and no people have as much as the Norsemen. You may thank me one day for this match I have made.”

Brenna smiled tiredly, for she had lost the will to argue. A fortnight later she was introduced to Wyndham, a merchant Norseman who had settled on the Emerald Isle and whom Angus had found in Anglesey. He was handsomely rewarded for tutoring Brenna in the Norwegian language and customs, so that she would not “walk blindly into the lion’s den,” as her father put it.

At harvest time, Fergus returned with the name of her betrothed, sealing her fate once and for all. Brenna’s future husband was not the head of his clan, as Angus had hoped, for no such men, still unmarried, were to be found. He was a merchant prince, the son of a powerful chieftain—a young man who had already served his years at war and was now making his own way in the world. Garrick Haardrad was the man’s name.

Nay, Fergus had not seen him personally, for the merchant was trading in the east. Yea, Garrick would return by the following summer and come for his bride before the fall. The terms were agreed upon. It was all set. Set, set, set, with no escape!

Brenna counted the days after that with a melancholy dread, until her youthful energies drove her to wipe the unpleasant future from her mind. Only her daily lessons served as a constant reminder of it. As time passed, however, she resolved to make the best of her situation. She would meet the enemy on his ground; she would not be dominated. She would exert her will over that of her husband, and would be free to do as she pleased. A new land, yea, but not a new Brenna.

Brenna’s attention returned to Wyndham, who was preparing to summarize this day’s lesson.

“And so Odin, Lord of Heaven, is chief of all the gods, a culture god; god of all knowledge, aware of the future. He is also the god of war. Odin, with his army of dead warriors gathered around him by the Valkyries, rides through the clouds on his tireless eight-legged steed, Sleipnir. The dream of every Viking is to join Odin in Valhalla, the eternal banquet hall where one fights all day and feasts all night on sacred boar served by the Valkyries, Odin’s adopted daughters.

“Odin’s blood brother is Loki. Comparable to the Christian Lucifer, he is sly and treacherous, and plots the downfall of the gods. Red-bearded Thor, on the other hand, is greatly loved—a cheerful god free from malice, but easily angered. He is the god of thunder, the storm god whose mighty hammer pounds out thunderbolts. A replica of Thor’s flying hammer can be found in every Norse household.

“Tyr, also a god of war and tamer of the gigantic Fenrir wolf, and sober Hel, daughter of Loki and goddess of the underworld, are only minor figures, as is Frey, god of fertility. You shall learn more of these minor gods on the morrow, Brenna.”

“Oh, Wyndham,” Brenna sighed. “When will these lessons come to an end?”

“Do you grow tired of me?” he asked gently, surprisingly so for such a large man.

“Of course not,” she replied quickly. “I am quite fond of you. If all of your kinsmen were like you, I would have naught to fear.”

He smiled, almost sadly. “I wish it could be so, Brenna. But in truth, I can no longer be called a Viking. A score of years have passed since I have seen my homeland. You Christians have tamed me.

“You are an adept learner, my dear. You know now as much of my people as you do your own Celtic ancestors. From now until your betrothed comes, we will only review what you have already learned.”

“Can you not tell me more of this clan I will wed into?” she asked.

“Not much more than I have already told you. I only knew your betrothed’s grandfather, Ulric the Sly. He was a man of great courage. Ulric ruled with an iron hand, and fought with Loki by his side. But he was a strange man. Rather than come to blows with his son, Ulric left his family, turning over the bulk of his lands to his son, Anselm the Eager. Anselm was true to his name. He was over-anxious to be chief of the clan.

“He did not go far, mind you, only a few miles up the fjord to a piece of his land that was not in use. There, with horses, twenty head of cattle and a handful of servants, he constructed a house like no other in Norway. It was built on the cliffs of the Horten Fjord with stone bought from the Frisians. It is a large place, though not as big as your manor here, and with a fireplace in every room.”

“But that is no different from here, Wyndham,” Brenna pointed out.

“Except that the wooden houses in Norway do not have fireplaces as you know them, only large fires in the center of the room, with no place for smoke to escape except through an open door.”

“How awful!”

“Aye, and very hard on the eyes and nose.”

“Will I have to live in a wooden house such as you have described?”

“Most likely. But ’tis a condition you’ll get used to soon enough.”