By Love Enslaved (11 page)

Amused, Dana responded with a throaty laugh, certain his remark was based on something other than concern for her safety. “You are the only dangerous stranger on Fyn, Brendan, and as long as you attend to your duties here, I will feel safe.” His glance turned cold, but that didn’t bother her in the least. She preferred his hatred to the scathing heat of his unbridled lust. As a scowl contorted his mouth into a fierce grimace, she noticed for the first time that a thin scar crossed his upper lip midway to the left corner. Probably the result of a punch to his mouth he must surely have deserved, she mused silently.

“I waited until you had finished eating to ask this of you,” Dana pointed out in the same emotionless tone she had used when first addressing him. “Do not keep us waiting any longer than necessary.” She turned her back on him and disappeared around the side of the stable, giving him no opportunity to reply.

“The bitch!” Brendan again swore in his own tongue, repeating the insult that had started the fight with Erik the previous day. He would saddle her horse all right, but he was tempted to cut the cinch nearly through so it would break during her ride and spill the haughty flame-haired beauty in the dirt, where he thought she belonged.

“I don’t think I should ask Moira what that word means,” Thora announced solemnly.

His attention drawn to the shadows at the door, Brendan cursed himself for not having noticed Dana wasn’t alone. “No, you shouldn’t,” he agreed. “Who’s Moira?”

Thora followed as Brendan walked back to the stall where Dana’s dapple-gray mare stood. “She’s one of our servants, and her parents were from Erin so she speaks your tongue.”

“I thought I was the only thrall here.”

“You are. Her parents earned their freedom before she was born.”

“She was born here then?” Brendan thought Dana’s mare a beauty, but expecting her to have the same disagreeable temperament as her owner, he was pleasantly surprised when she stood quietly as he swung her saddle up on her back. Adorned with ribbons as was the horse, it had been easy to recognize which saddle and bridle Dana used.

“Yes. Does that matter?” Thora stepped out of Brendan’s way as he moved on down the aisle to her pony.

“Yes, for she will have no memories of my home.” Not wanting to think of his own memories growing faint before he was able to win his freedom and return home, Brendan abruptly changed the subject. “What’s your pony’s name?”

“Rascal,” the little girl responded with a giggle. “My father named him.”

“Did he?” The sheer playfulness of the name amazed him. Was it possible Haakon had a charming side? he wondered. “Why is everyone so afraid of your father? Does his sword never leave his hand?” Brendan’s tone was teasing, but he thought it more likely he could inspire Thora to provide some useful information about Haakon than anyone else, and he wanted to be prepared to meet him.

Thora cocked her head as she gazed up at the handsome slave. “What does it matter to you? You belong to Jørn, not him.”

Brendan was astonished the little girl had been clever enough to cut him off as coldly as he had her mother. She had been too bright to fall for his ploy and he wouldn’t insult her by attempting it again. “I was just curious since I’ll be here all summer.” He had Rascal saddled in a few minutes, and Thora took the reins from his hand, bounded up on the pony’s back, and rode him out of the stable without speaking to him again.

“Amazing child,” he murmured softly. He would have to remember to watch for her before he spouted off again about her sister.

By the time Brendan led Dana’s mare from the stable, his temper had cooled. He found the perplexing beauty waiting in the yard, and clasped his hands to provide her with a convenient step to reach her stirrup. After a slight hesitation, she lay her hand on his shoulder and placed the toe of her boot in his palms. Even encased in leather it was plain she had tiny feet, and her leggings were so snug they didn’t hide the elegant shape of her calf. She was dressed in pale green that day, and her garments were lightly perfumed with the exotic scent he immediately recalled from their encounter in the storehouse. What sweet torture, he thought to himself, but the moment passed all too swiftly.

Once comfortably seated astride her mare, Dana reached out to take the reins from Brendan. He did not simply hand them to her, however, but first brought her palm to his lips and brushed it lightly with a kiss. As shocked as her mother had been by such unexpected affection, her reflexes were far more swift, and she immediately jerked her hand free. “You are undoubtedly the most contemptible man ever born!” she hissed under her breath so Thora could not overhear.

Brendan flashed a wicked grin. “I can only beg your forgiveness, but after the aromas of the stable your perfume was too enticing to resist.”

“It is not my perfume which is the problem, but your arrogance!” Dana jabbed her heels into her mare’s flanks and bolted out of the yard at a speed so swift Thora had no chance to keep up.

Knowing she had missed something, the little girl turned back to look at Brendan, but he just waved and wished her a pleasant ride before returning to his chores with a smile he couldn’t hide. He would settle for arrogance for the time being. At least it showed something about him had touched Dana, and he considered that a good start.

Chapter Six

When Erik arrived home, he found Brendan seated in the pasture where Sky Dancer and half a dozen brood mares were grazing. Checking the stable to make certain the slave had cleaned it, he complimented him before issuing a reprimand.

“The stable has seldom looked better, but you should be grooming our stock, not merely admiring it.”

Brendan rose to his feet with a lazy stretch. He had removed his kirtle to enjoy the warmth of the sun, but donned it again before walking over to the wall where Erik stood. “They need an opportunity to get used to my scent, and it’s always wise to observe horses in order to understand their temperaments before working with them.”

Knowing that each animal did indeed have its own unique personality and quirks, Erik nevertheless appeared skeptical. “Just what have you learned this morning?”

Brendan casually leaned back against the wall. “Sky Dancer is naturally protective of his mares, but he has a very good disposition in addition to speed. It’s no wonder your father is so proud of him. These mares are all equally fine, as are the horses you use for riding. I’ve not had time to observe the yearlings or two-year-olds, but if Sky Dancer sired them all, I’ve no doubt they are outstanding animals too.”

“Yes, they are,” Erik agreed with justifiable pride. “Haakon sells any that don’t measure up to his high standard. Two of the mares should foal soon. The gray is Freya’s horse, Light of Dawn, so you’ll need to keep a close eye on her. Her last foal was sickly and didn’t live. I’d hate to see that happen again, but I’m more worried about the mare. Freya would be heartbroken if we lost her.”

Brendan pursed his lips thoughtfully, wondering if this wouldn’t be a good time to propose a bargain. Being a daring individual, he decided it was. “You don’t let bad news of any kind reach Freya’s ears, do you?” he asked slyly.

The change in the Celt’s expression alarmed Erik, and he grew wary. “As I told you, she’s very dear to me. It’s quite natural that I’d want to spare her grief.”

“Of course,” Brendan concurred. “So she knows nothing about what happened yesterday, does she?”

“There was no reason to upset her with tales of your disobedience, if that’s what you mean,” Erik replied sarcastically.

“Nor of her own son’s?”

Unwilling to justify his actions to a slave, even a strong and clever one, Erik drew himself up to his full height before speaking. “What Dana and I wish to confide or conceal is none of your business.”

“I happen to think that it is,” the Celt contradicted as he turned to face Erik squarely. “I understand that Freya isn’t well enough to manage this farm, but why do you let Dana give the orders? You’re not only several years older, but a man. Why isn’t the greater authority yours?”

When Erik’s violet eyes narrowed to menacing slits, Brendan was grateful for the wall that separated them, but he didn’t back down. “Just hear me out. I think you and I can strike a bargain that would be advantageous to us both. To enhance your position, I’ll do only what you tell me, and conveniently forget Dana’s orders. That will make you look forceful while she’ll appear incompetent. I’ll also go along with you to make Freya believe the life here is placid, even if that’s not the case, but I’ll expect certain favors in return.”

Erik immediately struck Brendan with a vicious backhanded blow that caught the startled slave on the right cheek and nearly knocked him off his feet. “You’ll get meals as long as you work. That’s the only bargain we’ll ever have,” he informed the badly bruised man in a threatening hiss. “Now see to my horse first, and then all of the others as you were told to do.”

Brendan slumped against the wall as the dark-haired man strode away. The acrid taste of hatred boiled up in his throat. It nearly choked him, and he spit in the dirt, disgusted that he had not made the defiant gesture in Erik’s face.

It took a moment for Brendan’s anger to subside enough for him to think clearly, but even then he still didn’t understand what he had done wrong. A lifetime of experience had taught him that selfishness was a common human failing. As a handsome youth he had discovered most women wanted skilled lovers who praised their beauty even if it was merely a convincing lie. It had taken him slightly longer to understand that what men craved most was power and prestige.

On Haakon’s farm those rules didn’t seem to apply, and he was becoming increasingly more confused as a result. Dana’s reaction to him had been hostile in the extreme. She was not attracted to him as women usually were. On the contrary, she seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in despising him. While only that morning he had had high hopes that she would eventually change her view of him, he now had his doubts.

And Erik had to be daft. That was the only explanation Brendan could imagine regarding Erik’s refusal of a bargain that would have afforded him control over his father’s farm. His pride aching as badly as his battered cheek, Brendan completed his chores, but he moved without a trace of the ambition he had felt earlier.

In order to avoid speaking with Brendan, Dana left her mare tethered outside the stable after her ride. She insisted that Thora do the same with Rascal. It wasn’t until that evening when she escorted Moira to Erik’s house that she saw him again.

She had intended to introduce the thrall to Moira, and then leave so she could truthfully tell her mother that the pair had met. The change in the slave’s appearance was so disturbing, however, that she completely forgot why she had accompanied Moira on her errand.

When Brendan opened the door and found Dana and a young serving girl bearing a heavily laden tray, he moved out of their way but not before Dana had seen his right cheek was badly bruised and his eye nearly swollen shut. He had had only a few slight cuts and scrapes after his last fight with Erik, but she was amazed that he appeared to be the loser in this fight. As the only slave on their farm, she had not considered how one of the servants might take advantage of him or abuse him, but that appalling possibility occurred to her now.

“Tell me who hit you, and I’ll see they’re punished immediately. You needn’t follow the orders of anyone but my mother, Erik, or me. If someone else thinks they can make you do their work, I’ll tell them just how wrong they are before your supper has had time to cool.”

Rather than reply, Brendan took a deep breath and held it a long moment. He already knew Erik and Dana kept things hidden from Freya, but they were seemingly not all that open with each other. He was in no mood for intrigues that night. “I’ll survive” was all he said.

Moira set the tray by the hearth, where the meal would remain warm, then returned to the door. Being so near Brendan frightened her, and she stole only a quick glance at him before whispering, “Excuse me,” as she slipped past Dana and hurriedly returned to the main house.

Moira’s exit didn’t distract Dana, and she repeated her demand. When Brendan again refused to provide a name, she tried another approach to learn the identity of his assailant. “Just because you and I don’t get along is no reason for you to protect someone who’s been mean to you. Are you afraid if you tell me who did that to you, they’ll do something worse tomorrow? You needn’t worry. I’ll send them away tonight. We’ve plenty of servants. We don’t need one who has nothing better to do than mistreat you.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Brendan finally announced with a faint smile. He had not expected Dana to be angered when what he had suffered was really only a small fraction of the abuse he was used to taking. He couldn’t help but hope her reason was a personal one. His spirits soared at that possibility. “I didn’t think that you cared what happened to me,” he murmured in an invitingly husky tone as his gaze locked with hers.

Dana clenched her fists at her sides, steeling herself to ignore the insolence of his glance. “You’re a valuable piece of property, so I have no choice but to care about what happens to you until I can hand you back over to Jørn,” she informed him flippantly, but when his slight smile vanished she recognized instantly that she had hurt him. The man was exasperating in the extreme, but she had not thought he possessed any feelings. That clearly had surprised her. It also made her far too aware of him as a man who possessed a full range of emotions, and she didn’t like that feeling one bit. Reminding herself she had meant to speak with him only when she had a specific task to assign him, she returned to the original subject of their discussion.