By Love Enslaved (5 page)

An astonished gasp went up from the surrounding crowd as the torn kirtle revealed a savage pattern of long scars crisscrossing the slave’s back. Distracted by that sound, Brendan glanced over his shoulder to find Dana staring down at him with a look of such horrified disbelief he knew he was in even worse trouble than he had been when the fight had begun. Jarred by this realization, he released Erik with a rude shove and scrambled to his feet. He tried then to pull his kirtle back into place, but discovered it was ruined and yanked it off instead. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, but the gaze he directed at Dana was as defiant as ever.

Erik also got to his feet and began brushing off his clothes. While in his view the fight had been a draw, he knew Brendan might have gotten the better of him had it continued. He didn’t understand his sister’s anguished expression until he noticed the slave’s badly scarred back. That Brendan had once had so brutal a master provided a clear explanation for his belligerent attitude, and it was thus difficult for Erik to remain angry with him.

“Go on back to work,” he directed the bystanders with a ready smile. “Our dispute is settled.” With a few more words of encouragement, the crowd of curious servants dispersed and Erik, Dana, and Brendan were again alone.

Dana knew she would have to take some action immediately to discipline the troublesome slave, but having no experience with owning human beings, she was at a loss for just what to do. She knew she dared not let him see her confusion, however.

“I’m sure you deserved the beating that left you so badly scarred, and if you don’t apologize immediately for insulting me, I will take great delight in giving you an even worse whipping myself.”

Caught by surprise, Erik’s eyes widened in amazement, for he could not imagine Dana being so cruel. The defiant tilt of her chin convinced him she was completely serious in her threat, though. “Well, go on, apologize,” he urged the man he had just fought, not nearly so eager to see Brendan’s back again cut to shreds as she appeared to be.

Brendan wadded his torn kirtle into a tight ball as he tried to decide what to say. Since he knew it had been a mistake to speak his opinion of Dana out loud, he had no choice but to sacrifice his pride and apologize, but he thought a beating might prove less painful. “I, that is, I—”

“Yes?” Dana folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot impatiently. Seeming to have a will of its own, her glance strayed from Brendan’s intense frown to the pulse beating wildly in his throat and then swept slowly over the powerful contours of his upper body. His broad chest was covered with a thick mat of hair a shade darker than the untamed curls she’d ordered trimmed. That handsome accent to his muscular build narrowed to a thin line as it crossed the flatness of his belly. Her gaze followed that enticing trail as it disappeared at his waistband, but when her inquisitive stare reached the prominent bulge outlined so impressively by the tightness of his breeches, she shook her head slightly to clear her mind. She didn’t understand why it was so difficult for her to get along with him.

She dropped her hands to her sides. “I will not wait all day for an apology,” she prompted coolly. “Erik, bring me the whip we use on the bull.”

Erik took a step away, but only to hide his smile. Haakon would have skinned any man alive who turned a whip on one of his animals. He understood immediately that Dana’s threat was not one she meant to carry out, but he appeared to go along with it. He didn’t think they even owned a whip, but knowing if they did it would be in the stable, he headed toward the wide double doors.

“Wait!” Brendan called to Erik. He swallowed nervously, then forced himself to speak in a calmer tone. “I am sorry,” he began hesitantly, trying to sound sincere even though he wasn’t. “I spoke without thinking. I did not mean to offend you.” He paused then, hoping Dana would accept the effort at an apology, but when she appeared by her silence to want still more, he lost his temper again. “Do you want me on my knees?”

“Of course not, but it is remarkable you are still alive when you have not one bit of sense,” Dana replied with a thoughtful frown. Truly, she didn’t understand why a slave possessed of such enormous pride hadn’t provoked a beating that would have left him dead long ago.

While she didn’t believe for a second that he was really sorry he had insulted her, she saw no point in calling him a liar to his face. “You are much too thin,” she criticized instead. “Erik, I want you to get him some food, and force him to eat it if you must, but I won’t have him looking as though he’s being starved while he’s here.” Hoping Brendan would now refrain from making remarks about her behind her back, she turned toward the house and was greatly pleased when she reached the door without hearing him utter a single word.

Chapter Three

When Brendan had seen to the horses, Erik took him to the neatly kept dwelling he called home and heated the porridge that had been left over from breakfast. When the slave ate it all eagerly, he offered several slices of bread and a thick wedge of cheese, then tried unsuccessfully to hide his dismay as Brendan gobbled them down with the same ravenous appetite.

“Didn’t Grena feed you?” Erik asked as he debated with himself the wisdom of offering still more.

Brendan washed down the last bite of cheese with a long swallow of ale before he replied, “I was fed.”

“Obviously not recently.” Erik shook his head, as perplexed by the slave as his half sister had been. As he searched his mind about what to do with him, he had a sudden inspiration and decided to teach the man to behave more politely with the same techniques he used to train his falcons. He would be kind but firm. He then realized Dana had been very clever to threaten to withhold Brendan’s food if he did not improve his appearance by nightfall.

Taking a seat beside him on one of the long benches which provided seating in his home, Erik cleared his throat and began to speak in an effort to make Brendan’s situation clear. “While a farm this size might be expected to have as many as thirty thralls, Haakon prefers to hire freemen and owns none. You’ll be here only until he returns home, but you’ll be treated well as long as you give us your best.”

Brendan looked away, not caring to hear a lecture on the joys of hard work, but when Erik paused he glanced toward him. “Haakon is Dana’s husband?”

When Erik did no more than regard him with an amused stare, Brendan finally noticed his eyes were the same unusual violet color as the redhead’s. That made him all the more curious. “What is Dana to you?”

Certain their conversation was going to be more lengthy than he had anticipated if Brendan persisted in asking such irrelevant questions, Erik leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He had no desire to make a friend of the slave, so he made his answers brief. “Haakon is Dana’s father and mine as well. While my mother is long dead, Dana’s is alive, but she hasn’t been well. Freya is a dear woman, and neither of us will allow you to disrupt her convalescence. Should I even suspect that might happen, I will lock you up in one of the storehouses until Jørn returns. Now I’ll loan you clothes, and a razor. Do you want me to cut your hair, or will you do it yourself?”

Insulted by the implied criticism of his appearance, Brendan rose to his feet and picked up the change of clothes he had brought with him. “I have other clothes,” he pointed out sullenly.

Erik regarded the slave’s hostile stance with a cool stare. “You are a fool to be so stubborn when I’m trying to help you. If what you brought fits no better than what you are wearing, we’ll use the garments for rags.”

Brendan straightened his shoulders proudly. He knew his clothes fit poorly and were far from new, but they were all he had. “If you give me clothes now, what happens when Jørn comes home? Will I have to give them back?”

“As on all farms, the women here weave and fashion the fabric into clothing. Your garments will be tailored for you, and we won’t expect you to return them, as we’d not send you back to Jørn naked. For the time being I will lend you some clothes of mine, but you needn’t return them either.”

Brendan continued to grip his small parcel possessively. “I want to keep my things too.”

“Fine.” Thinking that their discussion was as successful as it was likely to be with Brendan in so obstinate a mood, Erik rose to his feet and went to the end of the house’s single room to open the chest where his garments were stored. He sorted through his kirtles until he found one that was a trifle large. Then he searched for a pair of breeches he would not miss. Since he could not hope Brendan owned wearable undergarments, he provided those too.

“Where did you sleep at Grena’s?” he called over his shoulder.

“In the stable. I kept the straw clean.”

“I’m sure you did.” Erik broke into a wide grin as he remembered Dana’s story about the slave’s remarkable success with women. He preferred to keep a far closer eye on the man than Grena had, and he would not allow him to set up residence in the stable, where any women who cared to visit him could come and go as they pleased. When he turned around to face him again, his mind was made up.

“I have ample room for you here. At breakfast I can tell you what I expect of you each day. I take the evening meal in the main house, but I’ll have food sent over for you to eat here. Our servants are a good lot, but I don’t want you to mix with them. They all have their own duties and you’ll have yours. Is that clear?”

Before he replied, Brendan surveyed the neatly kept interior of Erik’s house. He knew the benches which lined both walls were also used for sleeping, and he couldn’t deny that he would be more comfortable there than in a drafty stable. He was not used to being treated kindly, however, and he didn’t understand why Erik was being so generous. Surely it was some sort of devious trick.

“Do you snore?” he asked suspiciously.

“No,” Erik insisted, startled that Brendan seemed to consider him a poor companion when he was willing to share his quarters with a slave. “You have a strange way of looking at things, but I think in time you’ll learn not to ask such insulting questions. Now, do you want me to cut your hair or not?”

“Have you no barber here?”

“Yes, we do, but he also shears the sheep. Do you want him to cut your hair or will you take your chances with me?”

Erik’s hair brushed his collar. It was dark and thick, without the slightest hint of curl. Brendan’s hair was also thick, but curly, and he did not think it was too long. “Why must I cut my hair?”

“Because Dana said you must to eat tonight. Of course, if you’ll not be hungry by then, or in the morning either, then let it go.”

Since that was no choice at all, Brendan reluctantly gave in. “All right, you cut it, but not any shorter than yours.”

“Come outside,” Erik directed, and grabbing a comb and pair of scissors, he followed Brendan out the door. There was a stool at the side of the house, and once the slave was seated, Erik began to comb and snip with a confident hand.

Brendan watched the mounting pile of severed curls lying on the grass and feared he might soon be bald. “You’re cutting off too much!” he protested angrily.

“Hush, I’ve just begun.”

Brooding over this latest misfortune, Brendan didn’t hear Thora sneaking up on them until she greeted Erik. He jerked his head up and looked around to find a beautiful little girl who resembled Dana so closely he knew they had to be sisters.

“Is Erik any good at this?” he asked, for he had found children were often more sympathetic to his plight than adults, and far more honest.

Thora pursed her lips thoughtfully as she walked around the two men. After studying Brendan’s appearance quite thoroughly, she offered her opinion. “I think not.”

Certain she was right, Brendan leapt to his feet. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Sit down,” Erik commanded firmly. “And you’ll keep your opinions to yourself, Thora dear.”

When Brendan reluctantly resumed his seat, Thora shook her head sadly. “You must cut his hair with the wave, not against it. I can show you how.”

Erik had thought he was doing a splendid job until Thora had pointed out why he wasn’t. Since he realized instantly that she was right, he readily relinquished the task. “All right, you do it.” Handing the slender child the comb and scissors, he stepped back out of her way.

Brendan was sorry he had spoken up, for he doubted the little girl knew what she was doing either. As she stepped around to trim the hair over his ears, he noted the intense concentration of her expression and did not complain again, but he knew it would probably take months for his hair to grow out sufficiently for him to look normal again.

“How old are you, Thora?” he asked with an enticing sweetness, as eager to distract himself from the ordeal he was undergoing as he was to hear her answer.

“I’m ten, Soren’s fourteen, Dana’s seventeen, and Svien’s twenty. Now be still.”

Amused rather than silenced, Brendan continued his quest to learn more about the family on whose farm he now resided. “What about Erik here, don’t you know how old he is?”

“He’s twenty-two,” Thora added as an afterthought.

That surprised Brendan, for the dark-haired young man’s manner was so serious he had judged him to be several years older than that. “What about Dana’s husband, how old is he?”

“She has no husband yet, but she soon will,” the talkative child confided.