By Love Enslaved (15 page)

“I’m needed in the house, mistress,” Moira complained apprehensively. She was relieved to find the Celt gone and didn’t want to have to wait for him to appear.

“Wait here,” Dana commanded firmly as she hurried out the door. She made her way to the stable, but when there was no sign of Brendan inside, she walked around to the back to check the pasture. At that point, she was happy to find the tall blond man standing out with the horses, but before she could call to him, she saw one of the mares sink to her knees. Even from that distance she was certain it was Light of Dawn.

Alarmed, Dana dashed to the gate, flung it open, then slammed it shut behind her and ran through the tall grass to her mother’s mare. The gray horse raised her head and gave a feeble whinny when she recognized Dana, but clearly the horse was in pain. Kneeling by her side, the redhead patted her neck with long, reassuring strokes.

“I know it’s best to leave the mares alone when they foal, but Light is so precious to us I don’t want to take any chances with her.”

Brendan watched Dana’s graceful gestures, wishing all the while she would show him that same kind of tender concern. “I’ll stay with her all night if I must,” he assured her. “You can go on back to your guests.”

Dana turned to look up at him. “You’ve watched many a birth?”

Brendan nodded. “A great many.”

Dana cast a worried glance over the gray mare. She thought it likely Brendan would know what to do should anything go wrong, but still she couldn’t leave. “No, I want to stay. Your supper is waiting for you. Go on back to Erik’s and eat. Introduce yourself to Moira, and tell her I said it was all right for her to go back to the house.”

Dana had dismissed him again, given him a carefully worded order just as she would a servant, but Brendan refused to go. “My supper can wait.” He knelt by her side, and while he did not want to see the mare suffer unnecessarily, he hoped they could pass the entire night together. “How many foals has this mare given you?”

Dana was too distracted to realize Brendan had not done as she had asked. “Dawn’s Kiss, my mare, was her first.” She hesitated a moment, counting in her head. “There were three others, then the one we lost. That makes this number six.”

“She knows what she’s doing then,” Brendan remarked softly, but he didn’t like the way the mare looked either. Her labor had been under way when he had come out to check on her and Spring Blossom, but he had no way of knowing when it had begun.

As they remained side by side, so close their shoulders were touching, Dana found Brendan’s presence more comforting than she had thought possible. Rather than pester her with his usual taunts, he spoke only to Light of Dawn, his voice low and soothing, and the mare actually seemed to grow more calm.

“I think she likes you,” Dana remarked hesitantly.

“Horses always do,” Brendan replied with a shrug.

Dana turned slightly to peek at the Celt through the fringe of her half-lowered lashes. The sun was still hovering on the horizon, and there was light enough for her to see his expression clearly. It was his enormous confidence that was so unsettling, she thought to herself. He was his own man, regardless of the fact Jørn owned him. Jørn, of all people, she scoffed silently, for the handsome thrall had far more intelligence and initiative than his owner any day. Because that had to be an intolerable situation, she couldn’t help but feel guilty despite the fact she had had no hand in the transaction that had made him her cousin’s property.

As they waited in the meadow, her attention remained more focused on her companion than the mare, but Dana knew his status was not something they could safely discuss. When Jørn returned, she would ask if he planned to allow Brendan to earn his freedom, and if he didn’t, well, she would just have to convince him that he would have to allow it. If for no other reason than she simply couldn’t bear to think of Brendan causing owner after owner the same endless problems he had caused her, she wanted him to have his freedom. That she might have a more personal interest in him was not something she dared admit.

With a sudden lurch, Light of Dawn struggled to her feet, but when she tried to take a step, she nearly fell. Brendan gave Dana a hand to pull her up, then pushed her aside out of his way. “Something’s wrong,” he advised with a frown.

“Go and get Erik then.”

“No, I don’t think there’s going to be time.” With the mare standing, Brendan had no difficulty examining her, and just as he had feared, the foal was in the wrong position, with the forelegs bent back rather than extended. “Take the mare’s head and talk to her so she doesn’t get frightened.”

“Just what are you going to do?” Dana grabbed Light of Dawn’s mane. She couldn’t see from where she stood, yet she had no doubt Brendan meant to assist the horse.

“I’m just giving nature a bit of a help, is all,” Brendan called as he struggled to push the foal back far enough to allow him to straighten out the forelegs. The head had been in the right position, and once he had realigned the forelegs, the birth proceeded rapidly. Tiny hooves appeared first, then a soft white nose.

Brendan removed his kirtle to wipe off his arms, and allowed the mare to do the rest of the work without further assistance. The horse stood until the withers had appeared, then lay down to expel the rest of the snow-white foal. With Dana kneeling by his side, Brendan used his stained kirtle to dry off the foal, whose legs appeared far too long for his diminutive size, but his eyes were bright as he took his first look at the world.

“Isn’t he a beauty?” the Celt exclaimed proudly.

Dana wanted to agree, but tears choked her throat and she could only nod.

“What’s the matter?” Brendan inquired. “Didn’t you want another stallion as fine as his sire?”

Dana used the front of her tunic to dry her tears as she tried to explain. “I always cry,” she sobbed. “Every last time. Lambs, calves, puppies, watching all our animals being born always makes me cry.”

Brendan leaned over the newborn colt to pull the tearful redhead into his arms. Cuddling her cheek against his bare shoulder, he felt the same sense of wonder and joy that had overwhelmed her, but he only wanted to shout with glee rather than weep as she was. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the softness of her flowing curls as he stroked her hair lightly. For one brief moment he thought the world perfect and didn’t hesitate to whisper his request.

“Show me how you like to be kissed,” he murmured as his lips caressed the damp curve of her cheek.

As entranced with him as he was with her, Dana lifted her lips to his without a moment’s hesitation. She raised her hand to his nape to keep his mouth molded to hers as she opened her lips slightly. Displaying the grace of the most practiced temptress, she slid her tongue between his lips, and with a captivating insouciance created the most memorable kiss he had ever received. It was filled with the delicious flavor of true affection and left him breathless when all too soon she drew away. Brendan could only stare at her in awestruck silence when he saw by the bright color in her cheeks that the emotional splendor they had just shared had also affected her deeply.

Dana had been stunned, for Brendan had just shown her a gentleness she had not suspected he possessed. The colt stirred then, eager to get to his feet, and the loving mood which had enveloped them came to an abrupt end.

“I’ve got to go and tell the others,” Dana exclaimed as she rose to her feet. “This has been such a perfect day, and Mother will be thrilled to know Light of Dawn has given us such a sturdy colt.”

Brendan watched the flame-haired beauty who had just captured his heart race across the pasture with light, dancing steps, and prayed he would be able to find his voice by the time she returned with her family. He didn’t know how it had happened, but even though he despised the Danes, he feared he had just fallen in love with the prettiest one he had ever met.

Chapter Eight

That night Brendan listened to Erik flip-flopping on his mattress like a fish out of water, and easily surmised the falconer was no more able to sleep than he was. In his case, it was the persistent memory of Dana’s luscious kiss that was keeping him awake. He couldn’t help but wonder if Erik might not be thinking about a woman too.

“Is Berit your betrothed?” he asked when his curiosity got the better of him and he could no longer keep still.

“What?” Erik replied in a harsh gasp, both dismayed and alarmed at being asked such a personal question.

“You heard me.” Brendan stretched out on his back and placed his hands behind his head to make a comfortable pillow while they talked. “Berit’s very pretty. She seldom takes her eyes off you, and she often stands close enough to rub up against you. I didn’t see you trying to discourage her either.”

Realizing he had been holding his breath ever since Brendan had first spoken, Erik exhaled slowly. He hadn’t thought their behavior as indiscreet as the slave described, but obviously it had been. If Brendan had noticed, then what about the children? If they had noted that Berit’s affection for him was readily returned, wouldn’t they soon be teasing them about it? Or worse yet, telling their mothers?

“Berit’s my cousin,” he answered noncommittally.

“More than one man has married an attractive cousin,” Brendan observed smugly.

Again Erik had no ready response. He could not deny that he wanted the delightful blonde, but wanting and having were two entirely different things. He had not even dared hope there might be something more than friendship between them until Berit had made it so shockingly plain that she craved much more.

“She’s only sixteen,” Erik reminded himself aloud.

“Is that your only objection to her?”

Objection? Erik groaned inwardly at the ridiculousness of that word. How could any man object to a young woman as loving and sweet as Berit? He could as easily object to the warmth of a summer day, or the vibrant beauty of wildflowers, or the magnificence of a falcon in flight.

“I’ll not answer your questions,” he snapped angrily. “Go to sleep.”

Brendan smiled to himself, certain he had discovered something important about the man whose house he shared. “Jørn is hot-tempered too. If he suspects you have taken advantage of his sister’s affections, you might need help to defend yourself.”

Erik was out of bed before he stopped to analyze the comment. He halted then and stood with his fists clenched at his sides. “What are you threatening? That you’ll tell Jørn I’m bedding his sister if I don’t give you what you want?”

“You’re bedding the girl?” Brendan sat up, as startled by the remark as Erik had been by his. After all, Berit was Erik’s cousin, and he had not thought even Danes would sink to seducing their own kin.

“No!” Erik shouted angrily. “And if you think you can threaten me with such a vile lie, we’ll settle the matter outside right now.”

While Brendan was usually quick to defend his honor, he remained seated on his makeshift bed. There had been a time when he would have threatened anything to get a crust of bread, but not now, not here where the people were kind. It was difficult to explain why, even to himself, but he had no desire to fight Erik ever again.

“You misunderstood me,” the Celt began with deliberate care. “I meant that I would take your side, not that I would carry tales.”

“Another of your ridiculous attempts to help me?” Erik scoffed. “Like your offer to make Dana look inept?”

“I’ll admit that was a mistake,” Brendan readily confessed, but he would not explain what constant floggings and mistreatment did to the soul. He had learned to survive by playing the members of a large household off against each other, and if that method no longer worked, then he hoped he would soon discover another.

His house was dark, and Erik could see only Brendan’s dim silhouette. The slave’s voice was low and soft, conciliatory rather than belligerent, and suddenly his anger seemed totally misplaced. Erik knew it was bitterness over his fate that was tearing him apart, not worry over what Jørn might do. When he spoke, his voice had a hollow ring, even in his own ears.

“My mother was a thrall. I’m Haakon’s firstborn, but a bastard, and of no consequence to him. Because of that misfortune, Grena will never give Berit to me, so nothing can come of what we feel for each other. Forget whatever it was you think you saw. That’s all you need do to help me.”

“So that’s why Dana runs things?” Brendan inquired hurriedly, wanting to keep Erik talking now that he had revealed such an important point about his heritage.

“Yes. There’s no reason for me to give orders to anyone but you. I’m employed here as a falconer, nothing more.”

“You’re wrong,” Brendan was quick to argue, for everything he had seen convinced him Erik was a respected member of Haakon’s family. “Dana relies on you, Freya as well. Berit adores you. Don’t think less of yourself than those women do.”

“I’ve never relied on a thrall for advice, and I’ll not begin now,” Erik cut him off rudely. He returned to his bed and yanked his quilt up over his ears to drown out any other unwanted comments the Celt might wish to make. He didn’t want to talk about himself, not with Brendan nor anyone else. A multitude of women might love him. So what? The only person whose opinion mattered was Haakon, and all he had ever gotten from his father was contempt.

Disappointed that Erik had ended the intensely interesting conversation when he was still so eager to talk, Brendan lay back down, but his mind wasn’t ready for sleep. He couldn’t help but think how different he and Erik were. He didn’t care what people called him, when it was only what he thought of himself that truly mattered. Clearly Erik didn’t share that view. Brendan had fought him, though, and knew Erik possessed an admirable toughness not only of body, but of spirit as well. Erik was the type of man he would choose for a friend, if he ever wanted a Dane for a friend, which was highly unlikely.