By Love Enslaved (6 page)

“How soon?” Brendan asked, her answer suddenly more important to him than he cared to admit.

“I’m not supposed to gossip,” Thora replied with an impish toss of her long red curls.

Before Brendan could think of another way to phrase the same question, Thora announced she was finished and handed the comb and scissors back to Erik.

“Well, how does it look?” Brendan asked as he got to his feet and brushed off his bare shoulders.

Thora answered before Erik could, as always speaking with the voice of authority despite her tender years. “If you would only shave and put on a kirtle to hide those ugly scars you might even be called handsome.”

When Brendan laughed at her comment, Erik got his first glimpse of the man’s smile. His grin was wide, showing off even teeth of a dazzling white. It was no wonder women sought his company, but Brendan’s questions had made it plain he wasn’t interested in meeting any servants here. Since he knew Dana did not even like the man, Erik wasn’t worried, and he bent down to give Thora a loving hug before sending her on her way.

As Dana drew her mother’s door closed, she paused to rest her forehead against the intricately carved wood. She tried to tell herself she hadn’t really lied to her, but she knew she had stretched the truth shamelessly. She had succeeded in giving Freya the impression that while Brendan’s manners were a bit coarse, he was going to do whatever work they assigned him quite willingly. She had then misled the woman even further by encouraging her to continue to think him a fine prospect for Moira.

Thoroughly embarrassed by such inexcusable behavior, Dana hoped she could keep her mother from ever discovering what an obnoxious person Brendan truly was. With that thought in mind, she hurried into the main hall, where half a dozen women sat weaving fine woolen cloth at looms propped against the walls.

“I beg of you,” she greeted them in a conspiratorial whisper, “not a word of the fight Erik had with the thrall is to reach my mother’s ears. He won’t be with us long, and I don’t want my mother’s rest disturbed by tales of his antics.”

“Yes, mistress,” the women murmured softly, but after they paused to exchange knowing smiles, none seemed eager to return to her weaving.

“What’s the man’s name?” asked the youngest.

“It’s Brendan, but I trust you will have no reason to speak with him,” Dana cautioned firmly. “I plan to see that he is kept busy working, and hope that the time passes swiftly until he’s gone.”

That she had not come near to satisfying the weavers’ curiosity didn’t occur to Dana, and she hurried on through the hall to the kitchen at the far end of the house. Because someone would have to be responsible for taking Brendan his meals, Moira seemed the perfect choice, but when Dana explained this, the shy girl shrank back in fear.

“I caught only a glimpse of him as he struggled in the dirt with Erik, but I would rather you sent one of the others, a man perhaps, than me.”

Dana first cautioned the girl never to mention the fight to her mother, and then resting her fingertips on Moira’s narrow shoulders, she attempted to win her cooperation. “Brendan is a Celt. He is from Erin, as your parents were. Naturally he is confused about being sent here, but I am certain in a few days he’ll be far more agreeable. You might even find that you like him.”

“I do not think so, mistress.”

Since she spent most of her own time avoiding men’s attentions rather than cultivating them, Dana did not try and convince Moira she would enjoy Brendan’s company. Instead, she merely smiled. “You needn’t be afraid of the man, and to prove that, I’ll go with you tonight. I’ll need to see if Brendan followed the directions I gave him before he has his supper anyway.”

Mollified for the time being, Moira smiled shyly. “As you wish, mistress.”

Soren’s duties were to recover stray cattle and sheep and to see all the farm’s fences and walls remained in good repair. When he returned his horse to the stable that afternoon, he saw Sleipner in the last stall, and having always wanted to ride his cousin’s stallion, he seized the opportunity without any thought of the consequences. That the horse was far too high-spirited for a fourteen-year-old boy to handle did not occur to him. He saddled the bay quickly, and rode out of the stable at a full gallop, eager to see how fast the elegant animal would go.

Brendan had just finished shaving when he and Erik heard Soren ride by the house. The thunderous pounding of Sleipner’s hooves echoed inside the small dwelling with an ominous rhythm that alarmed them both. When Erik rushed outside to see who was being so foolish, Brendan followed right behind him.

When the slave saw Jørn’s horse disappearing from sight, he thought immediately that the magnificent mount had been stolen and feared he would be blamed for bringing him there where it could happen. “That was Jørn’s horse!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Who could have taken him?”

Erik had seen a glimpse of blond curls and had recognized the rider instantly. “It’s Soren, Dana’s younger brother. I’ll have to go after him.”

Brendan ran along beside him as Erik entered the stable. “That black gelding you rode this morning is no match for Sleipner. Haven’t you another horse with more speed?”

Erik had already grabbed his gelding’s bridle, but he recognized the truth of Brendan’s words. Haakon’s stallion was grazing in the adjacent pasture, but he had never ridden him. “Haakon owns a fleet stallion, but he never allows anyone else to ride him.”

“What if his son is thrown and badly hurt, or if Sleipner is injured and must be destroyed?” Brendan forced him to consider. “Wouldn’t he call you a fool for not borrowing his horse to prevent it?”

Erik could not imagine his father’s wrath being any more violent upon hearing of those tragedies than if he learned his stallion had been ridden. That was expressly forbidden, and he dared not disregard his father’s wishes for any reason. “I’ll ride my own mount,” he announced without the slightest doubt that that was the only choice he had.

Brendan could not understand Erik’s reluctance to ride the farm’s swiftest horse. He cared not at all what happened to Soren, but he wouldn’t allow any mishap to befall Sleipner. “Where is this stallion?” he demanded.

Erik waved him aside as he ran to his horse. “Sky Dancer’s in the pasture, but I’ll not ride him.”

Too eager to protect his own skin to worry about angering a man he had not met, Brendan gave up the attempt to influence Erik and grabbed the most ornate bridle from the hooks by the doors. Once outside the stable he circled the building in a lively sprint, hoping that Haakon’s stallion would be grazing nearby. When he saw the white horse, he thought him aptly named, for his alabaster coat had the snowy appearance of the clouds overhead. Knowing such a fine animal would be able to race the wind, he vaulted the wall and whistled as he approached him.

As a small child, Brendan had discovered he had a way with horses, and this was a talent he relied upon often. He called to Sky Dancer, speaking in a low, friendly tone that instantly piqued the animal’s curiosity. The stallion eyed the blond man suspiciously, not recognizing his scent, but apparently attending to his rhythmic flow of words, the horse did not bolt when Brendan reached him. In one fluid motion the confident slave slipped on the bridle and sprang on his back. Having no time to waste in opening the gate, he urged the stallion to a gallop, and the horse cleared the wall surrounding the pasture in a majestic leap with nearly a foot to spare. As they sped by the stable, Brendan saw Erik just emerging, leading the black gelding, but he didn’t bother to wave.

Erik screamed a vile curse, for he knew he would be in far more trouble for allowing the slave to ride Sky Dancer than if he’d had the courage to ride the spirited white horse himself. He leapt on his gelding’s back, then jabbed his heels into the horse’s sleek black hide. He doubted they could overtake his father’s stallion, but he was determined to give it his best try.

The exhilaration of riding Sleipner was short-lived when Soren found the stallion had taken the bit firmly between his teeth and would not obey his frantic tugs on the reins and halt. The boy had meant to go only for a brief ride, not to streak clear across the island of Fyn, but he began to fear the horse would not stop until they had reached the sea. Although he pulled with all his strength on the reins, he could not subdue the fleet-footed animal’s innate desire to run. He could do nothing but hang on and hope Sleipner would grow tired and come to a halt of his own accord.

Brendan soon had Sleipner in sight, and he could easily discern from the helpless bobbing of his rider that the animal was running out of control. When the horse veered off the path to cross a nearby meadow, Brendan urged Sky Dancer to put an even greater effort into the chase. When the stallion responded, they began to close the distance between them.

Soren saw the succession of stone walls in the distance and knew while Sleipner might clear them all, he probably wouldn’t. He clung to the speeding horse, his heart pounding in his chest in time with his mount’s thundering hoofbeats, and he shut his eyes tightly as they reached the first wall. He felt a surge of power as Sleipner’s feet left the thick grass, and in the next instant he was nearly thrown forward over the horse’s head when the spirited stallion’s hooves returned to earth. When the ground did not rise up to smack him in the face, he peered ahead cautiously, only to find the second wall mere seconds away. Tears streamed down his face as he imagined himself lying in the dirt, a heap of badly broken bones, and he again closed his eyes. The wind stung his cheeks, making Sleipner’s progress seem all the more swift, and Soren uttered a wild scream of terror as the stallion’s feet left the ground for the second time.

Not realizing that only paralyzing fear kept Soren in the saddle, Brendan began to think the boy might be a better rider than he had first thought. He had no business to ride Jørn’s horse, however, and that was Brendan’s sole concern. He could not overtake Sleipner as he gathered speed to leap, for that might cause the horse to break his stride and fail to clear a wall, resulting in a disastrous fall for both horse and rider. Instead, he would have to come alongside the runaway stallion, leap the next wall with him, then force Sleipner to run parallel to that barrier until he could reach out to catch him. It sounded like a good plan to him, and while he had no way to explain it to Sky Dancer, he had found the white stallion remarkably responsive and did not doubt the horse would follow his unspoken commands.

They were nearing the third wall when out of the corner of his eye Soren caught a glimpse of Sky Dancer’s glossy white coat. While he couldn’t imagine who had had the audacity to ride his father’s horse, he took heart in the fact that help was so near. Not wanting to embarrass himself by falling now, with a brave effort he kept his seat as Sleipner cleared the third wall with another effortless leap. When Sky Dancer’s rider headed them off, then reached over to pull the reins from his hands, he opened his mouth to shout a hearty thanks until he saw his rescuer was a bare-chested stranger with the meanest expression he had ever seen.

Brendan slid off Sky Dancer’s back the instant he had brought Sleipner to a halt. He then pulled Soren off the sweat-soaked bay and, kneeling in the grass, turned the boy over his knee and commenced to give him the spanking he deserved for riding his cousin’s horse without permission. By the time Erik reached them, he had punished the reckless boy to his satisfaction and released him. Soren then stood sobbing pathetically and rubbing his bruised behind.

While Erik knew Soren had gotten exactly what he deserved, he did not understand how Brendan could possibly have thought that he had the right to reprimand him. Even though he had no experience with slaves, he was certain they were never allowed to strike their master’s children. He didn’t know whether he was more angry with Brendan or Soren. While his half brother had already taken the beating he had earned, he would not let Brendan escape without equally harsh punishment. Erik was not a man to make rash judgments, though, and he decided to wait until he had returned home to talk the matter over with Dana. Then he would take whatever action they deemed best.

Glaring down at them, his violet eyes flashing with purple sparks of rage, Erik delivered a scathing rebuke. “You are both equally guilty of willfully endangering the lives of valuable horses, and that is inexcusable. Since neither of you may be able to walk when I finish with you, get home as best you can. I will deal with you when you get there.” Without dismounting, he circled Sky Dancer and Sleipner, grabbed up their trailing reins, and led them away to find a way out of the meadow that did not require the horses to leap the walls a second time.

Brendan still thought he was in far less trouble than he would have been had Sleipner been injured, and he hurriedly climbed over the wall to begin what he knew would be a long and tiring walk. “Hurry up,” he called over his shoulder, “or we won’t get back to your farm before dark.”

Soren brushed away the last of his tears, but he didn’t budge. Danish boys were considered men at twelve, even if they remained at home several more years, and his father had always encouraged him to display a bold spirit. He doubted Erik would have punished him for riding Sleipner if this slave had not interfered.

“Who are you to give me orders?” the boy shouted hoarsely. At first he had not known who the abusive man was, but once he had seen the scars on his back, Soren knew he had to be Jørn’s thrall. He was sick of taking orders not only from his mother, but from Dana and Erik too. He wouldn’t allow a slave to talk to him in so abrasive a manner.