Fires of Winter - Viking 1 Read online

  Brenna drew back, her face a sickly white. "How could you jest about this?" she accused harshly. " 'Tis not so!"

  "Brenna," Linnet sighed, and reached out to caress her niece's cheek. "I would not lie to you. Angus died but an hour past."

  Brenna shook her head slowly, denying the words. "He was not so ill. He cannot die!"

  "Angus had the same illness as my husband, but at least he did not suffer overmuch."

  Brenna's eyes were the size of saucers, and filled with horror. "You knew he would die?"

  "Yea, I did."

  "In God's name, why did you not tell me? Why did you let me go on believing he would be well again?"

  " 'Twas his wish, Brenna. He forbade me to tell anyone, especially you. He did not want to see you weeping by his side. Angus never could tolerate tears, and 'twas enough that he put up with mine."

  Tears now sprang to Brenna's eyes. They were altogether unknown to her, for she had never shed them before. "But I should have been the one to nurse him. Instead, I went on my way as if naught was amiss."

  "He did not want you grieving overmuch, Brenna. And you would have if you had known. This way you will mourn for a while, then you will put it behind you. Your forthcoming marriage will help you."

  "Nay! There will be no wedding now!"

  "Your father's word has been given, Brenna." Linnet spoke a bit impatiently. "You must honor it, even though he is dead."

  Brenna could hold back the heartbreaking sobs no longer. "Why did he have to die, Aunt? Why?

  Lord Angus Carmarham was laid to rest on a clear blue morning. Birds had only just begun to greet the day, and the fragrance of wild flowers drifted through the chill morning air.

  Brenna, her eyes dry now, was dressed in black from head to foot. She wore a tunic and trousers gartered with leather trousers, topped by a short, flowing mantle trimmed with silver thread. Her long raven tresses were braided and as usual tucked securely beneath the mantle. The only outstanding colors were the white of her face and the shining silver of her sword.

  Her aunt had expressed disapproval at her apparel, but Brenna remained adamant. Her father had treated her and raised her as a son, and she would dress like that son for their final farewell.

  The people of the village were present, and many wept loudly. Linnet stood on Brenna's right, her comforting arm wrapped around the girl's shoulders. Cordelia and Dunstan were on her left. Dunstan spoke words of praise and past glory, but Brenna did not hear them. In those few moments she was reliving memories: a young child sitting on her father's knee; a proud man yelling encouragement when his daughter rode her first horse. She recalled the tender, cherished moments.

  Brenna felt lost without him, and a terrible feeling of emptiness washed over her. But she stood proud for her people to see. Only her eyes, lackluster and deadened, told of her heartache.

  The moment when Dunstan spoke no more was silent and solemn. It was with much surprise that those in attendance saw a rider burst through the trees and descend upon the large gathering. He jumped from his horse and made his way quickly through the throng to Brenna's side.

  "Your betrothed has come." The young man spoke breathlessly. "I was returning from Anglesey and passed the party on the way."

  "How do you know 'twas my betrothed?" Brenna asked apprehensively. She was not prepared for this news, not with her father just laid in his grave.

  "Who else could it be?" the man replied. " 'Twas a large group of huge, fair-haired men. They are Vikings to be sure."

  Alarmed voices broke out in the crowd, but Brenna could only think of her own predicament. "Lord in Heaven, why now? she cried.

  This the young man could not answer. Linnet drew her close, saying, "Never mind why, my dear. 'Tis done." Then she spoke to the messenger. "How close are they?"

  "On the other side of those trees." He pointed northwest. "About a mile."

  "Very well," Linnet replied. "We must receive them at the manor. You people return to your village. You have naught to fear from these Vikings. They come in peace."

  Back in the manor, Brenna paced restlessly in the large receiving room. Fergus sat anxiously with the rest of the family. He was responsible for the Vikings being here, and was eager to make them welcome. He had spent a good deal of time in a hostile land finding the Haardrad clan. The head of the clan himself had received Fergus and made the bargain for his son, giving his solemn word that all would be as agreed upon. With the death of Lord Angus, the bride was worth a great fortune, for his lands and manor were now hers, and thus her husband's. The Vikings would be pleased indeed.

  "Brenna, love, 'twould be more seemly if you would change to a gown," Linnet suggested.

  "Nay."

  "Brenna, you cannot receive your future husband this way. What will he think?"

  "I said nay!" Brenna snapped, and continued her nervous pacing.

  Cordelia eyed her stepsister smugly. She was amused, for she guessed why Brenna was fretting. The young woman was worrying if her betrothed would want to marry her before they sailed. The wedding could be this very night or on the morrow. And then came the wedding night—and the terror. Cordelia almost laughed aloud. There would be pain that first night, and Brenna would think it would always be thus, thanks to her. What sweet revenge. If only she could be there to see it.

  Brenna was thinking exactly that. She was not ready for marriage, and never would be. She was not geared to suffer pain without retaliation. She would fight! Lord in Heaven, what if she killed her husband for claiming his rights? It would be her own death sentence.

  These wild thoughts were tumbling through her mind when the first large boulder struck the manor door. Startled exclamations came from one and all. Questioning glances met confused looks, but when a choked cry came from the yard, followed by yet another boulder against the door, Brenna dashed to the window to take in the scene with disbelieving eyes.

  "Holy God, they are attacking!"

  A servant lay decapitated by the path from the stables, and the yard was crawling with Vikings, their swords, axes and spears drawn and ready. A small, crudely constructed catapult was worked by two men. A third boulder hit the door. From down the bill, dark curls of smoke drifted skyward—the village was afire.

  Brenna turned to the group behind her. Wyndham was among them, and her eyes met his accusingly. "Is this the way your kinsmen come for a bride?"

  Wyndham had no answer, but Fergus spoke with uncertainty. "These Vikings cannot be the ones I sought out."

  "Look, then, and see if you know them!" she ordered harshly.

  "Brenna, calm yourself," Linnet said, though her own voice betrayed her anxiety.

  Fergus went to the window, and it took only a second for him to recognize the tall chieftain of the Haardrad clan. Anselm the Eager stood before his men shouting orders.

  " 'Tis not possible!" Fergus cried, facing the small, terrified group in the room. "He gave his word!"

  Another boulder against the door prompted Brenna to action. "Wyndham, are you with us or with your treacherous kinsmen? I would know before I turn my back on you."

  He looked sorely affronted. "With you, my lady. I do not claim kinship with these Norsemen who do not honor their word."

  "So be it," she replied. "Those fools have given us time to prepare by bombarding an unlocked door. Dunstan, go bolt it now before more damage is done."

  Dunstan drew back from her, his eyes filled with horror. "Brenna, they are thirty or more to our three!"

  "Four, curse you!" she snapped. "Do you think I will sit back and watch?"

  "Brenna, be reasonable. We have no chance!"

  "Do you suggest we surrender? Fool, have you forgotten Holyhead Island? Those who did not fight, as well as those who did, all met the bloody axe. Now bolt the door! Fergus, gather the servants and arm them. Wyndham, secure the rear of the manor, then meet me in the hall. We will be ready for the bloody bastards when the door finally gives way."

  All left to do her bidding without furth
er question. Cordelia sat huddled in the corner, weeping hysterically. Linnet was also near tears when she grabbed Brenna's arm to stay her.

  "You cannot fight them, Brenna! They will kill you the same as a man!"

  "They would kill me anyway, Aunt. My father trained me for this. I will die fighting with honor, rather than weeping in self-pity as Delia is wont to do!"

  "They would not kill you, Brenna, if you do not resist them," Linnet persisted. "They take women—"

  "Never!" Brenna cut her short. "I would rather die than be a Viking captive!"

  With that, Brenna stalked from the room, leaving Linnet and Cordelia to their prayers. But before all the servants were roused and armed, the barrier was broken and a blood-curdling war cry sounded from the yard. A moment later, a dozen men lusting for blood burst through the demolished door and stormed into the hall.

  Brenna stood by the foot of the stairs, legs astride, sword drawn. An axe missed her by inches. Halfway between her and the enemy, Dunstan was the first to fall. The Vikings divided their party. Three went to the back of the hall and three into the receiving room, closing the door soundly after them. Wyndham came from the rear and took on two of his kinsmen. He fought valiantly, but he was old and tired quickly. He felled one, however, before the other's sword entered his body and ended his life.

  Five men came at Brenna. Four passed her and mounted the stairs, only to lose themselves in the maze on the second floor. She met the remaining man without fear. His broadsword was heavier than hers, and each blow she countered was backed by enormous strength. Her arm and back ached with the effort, but the screams coming from behind the closed door of the receiving room added to her determination. With strength she had not realized she possessed, she knocked the man's sword aside and pierced him smoothly with her own. She kicked him away, but another, older man quickly took his place. Her stamina failing, Brenna continued to fight until, with a powerful downward stroke, the man's sword split hers in two.

  Brenna stared stupidly at the broken weapon in her hand. She did not see the death blow coming her way, or hear Fergus's anguished cry. "Cease! 'Tis the Lady Brenna!"

  Then Fergus was between her and the glittering sword, pushing her back. The mighty double-edged blade severed his arm, which dropped to the floor with a sickening thud. Fergus, his life slowly slipping away, fell at Brenna's feet.

  Anselm the Eager looked at the girl curiously. To think he had fought her and almost killed her. A fine honor that would have been to take home. He would never have lived it down. So this was the girl they would wed to his son. A stunning maid, to be sure, now that he saw her for what she was. And such spirit and courage as he had never seen in a woman before. She had even succeeded in wounding one of his men. That one would go home in shame. Bested by a woman—ha!

  It was too bad she was the enemy. This black-haired beauty would have made a fine daughter-in-law. She would have bred sons with strength and courage to match no other. In truth, it was a pity.

  The servants, late in arriving, fell all around Brenna. Blood flowed everywhere. The screams from the receiving room had ceased. Two of the Vikings came out of there, laughing and clapping each other on the back before they joined the others to ransack the manor. Linnet and Cordelia, were they dead too? wondered Brenna.

  From the top of the stairs came another garbled cry, and Brenna turned mutely to see its source. Alane was there, a short dagger in her hand. It slipped from her fingers as Brenna watched, horrified. Then her old servant, face gray and eyes bulging, tumbled down the stairs to land in a pool of her own blood. An axe was grotesquely embedded in her back, which gushed crimson.

  It was the final horror, the last act of madness which pushed Brenna beyond her endurance. Something snapped in her mind and blackness engulfed her, yet did not blot out everything, for she could still hear voices, and she was still standing erect. Someone else was screaming and screaming. It sounded so close, she knew that if she reached out she could touch whoever was making that agonizing noise. But she could not move her arms. No matter how much she willed them to move, they would not budge.

  "Anselm, can you not stop the wench from screaming? Her madness is beginning to spook the men. They would sooner give her to Hel than listen to that."

  "There is only one way I know of," Anselm the Eager replied tiredly.

  Brenna did not feel the blow, but at last the blackness was complete. She no longer heard the terrible screaming of one demented.

  Chapter 6

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  THE march to the coast was slow. It took two hours more to return than it had to come. The horses, cattle, pigs and carts loaded with plunder slowed their progress. Still, they reached the ship before nightfall.

  The Viking longship was a horror to the prisoners, all of whom were women. It was a sleek sixty-foot-long vessel, at least fifteen wide in the middle. On the prow was an intricately carved, hideous monster from Hell. This ship would take them from their land and sever all ties with the world they knew.

  The proud Viking ship was beached in a little cove, hidden by tall trees. Two men had been left behind to guard it. They had been instructed to put it out to sea in case of trouble. But there had been no trouble, and the two men greeted the returning warriors with whoops and bellows.

  Usually the Vikings spent the night on land, but because of the number of enemy who had escaped into the woods during the attack (possibly to run for help), and because of the wide trail the Vikings had left behind in transporting the livestock, Anselm the Eager hoisted the square purple sail that night

  A handful of men made the sacrifice to Thor to insure a safe journey while the others loaded the cargo. The women were put in the stern, where a crude tent was erected for them. Other than that, they were left alone. The men had satisfied their blood lust and their carnal lust, and would not need to do so again until the ship reached land once more.

  All of the women had been raped, some many times, save for Brenna, who remained unconscious from the blow Anselm dealt her until after the ship sailed. There were seven prisoners in all; Linnet and Cordelia, along with Enid and three other young girls from the village. Most of the men had been killed, except for those who managed to flee into the woods or those left gravely wounded who were not expected to last the night.

  Brenna knew this, and it was an additional torture to her. She had failed to protect her people and she had failed to protect herself. Her defeat at the hands of the Viking chieftain, a man past his youthful prime, was the shameful blow she could not bear. Her hate for this one man surpassed all reason. He had rendered her helpless; he had struck her down. He had shown one and all that she was just a woman after all. He would pay for that, and for everything else.

  The ship glided over the waves like a sleek monster, leaving Wales behind. The women were fed twice a day on dry codfish, ham or pickled meats, flat bread and butter. It was cold, dry food, which many could not keep down. Cordelia frequently dashed to the side of the ship to empty her stomach. The men found this amusing, and their laughter added to the women's shame.

  Brenna ate only to sustain her strength for the goal she had set for herself: to kill Anselm the Eager. She would not speak to her companions or listen to their fearful wailings. Linnet tried to comfort her, but she could not tolerate any kindness and would not even speak to her. Her shame was too great, her bitterness too new. Wisely, Linnet gave up for the time being.

  Anselm the Eager came occasionally to look at Brenna. He was a huge man with the girth of a bear. His hair was tawny-colored, as was the beard that covered his face, and he had piercing blue eyes. He was a man to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies—but not into Brenna's. When he looked at her curiously—almost admiringly, it seemed—she would meet his look with a venomous one, such open hostility and hatred in her eyes that he would walk away disgruntled.

  Anselm almost regretted what he had done, but he would never admit it aloud. He had given his word of honor to the enemy. Yet there was no dishonor i
n breaking his word to his enemy—to a friend, yea, but not to the enemy.

  He who had arranged the marriage had promised much wealth would accompany the bride, and, unsuspecting, had told where it was to be found. There would be no bride for Anselm's son, but the gold was there for the taking. The chieftain was returning home a wealthier man, and his men had their share and were happy.

  When Anselm looked at the young beauty, he was amused by her show of defiance. Her pride was equal to his own, but he wondered how long it would last. The thought of such a spirit being broken left a sour taste in his mouth.

  He remembered watching her fight the man she had wounded. He had thought her a slim young man, and was amazed at the skill with which she fought against such brute strength. It was a pleasure to watch such courage, which was prized among his people. He had been reluctant to kill her even when he thought her a male, but he could not lose any more of his men to her. And then to discover she was the young girl offered to his son in marriage, and such a magnificent female at that . . .

  After her valiant effort and remarkable display of courage, Anselm was disappointed to see her crumble. When she saw the old woman with the red hair die, she went berserk, screaming and screaming, her small fists pressed against her temples. Had she seen her father fall? Could the woman have been her mother? But no, the black-haired older woman who stayed near her now bore more resemblance. If only they could speak the same language, then he would have the answers he sought. But he would have to wait until they reached home, where Heloise could talk to them.

  For now, he could only wonder about this Celtic beauty. She was a prize indeed, and he resolved to keep his men away from her. Her virginity made her an even better acquisition. Surely she would please his son Garrick.

  They sailed on through the Irish Sea, stopping at the Isle of Man to spend the night and have a cooked meal. Those of the men who were so inclined, raped the women again, but still they did not approach Brenna with her look of wild hatred. Some thought she was mad. Soon they were in the North Channel, sailing past the Scottish coast, where they spent another of the nights the women so dreaded. Then they made a stop on Hebrides Island, where many of their kinsmen had settled. There they stayed two days. Thence they sailed past the Orkneys. Their final night on land was on the Shetland Islands.