Fires of Winter by Johanna Lindsey Page B

“It may last for days.”
    “What?”
    He chuckled. “Aye. There is much to celebrate. The master has returned a wealthy man, and the family is reunited again. Truly there is much to celebrate.”
    A look of disgust crossed her features. Was she to be tucked away from sight all this time? Why did Garrick not want her to be seen?
    “May I help you, Erin?” she suddenly pleaded.
    “Nay, ’tis a man’s work.”
    Brenna refrained from debating this and asked instead, “If I obtain Garrick’s permission, will you let me work with you here in the stable?”
    He raised a brow. “You know horses, do you?”
    “Aye,” she grinned, “As well as you, I’ll wager.” She was silent a moment; then in a soft voice she continued, “I rode every day when I lived in my father’s home—out through our fields, over the streams and stone walls and into the forest. How free I felt…then.” She stopped, and a look of great sadness passed over her face. She shook it off and looked once again at Erin. “If I work with you in the stables, will you let me ride the horses?”
    “Aye, lassie. Nothing would please me more. But I must secure the permission of the master. Otherwise I can do naught.”
    “I will speak to him, then.”
    “You had best wait until the feast is finished. The master will be well into his cups by now and may not remember your request or his answer.”
    She would prefer to have it done with, but perhaps Erin was right.
    “So be it. I will wait.”
    “And, lassie, I suggest you remain away from the hall ’til the guests have all gone. ’Twill not go well for you if you are seen.”
    Curiosity made her eyes sparkle. First Garrick left instructions that she should stay in that small room. Now this old man warned her to stay out of sight.
    “What is wrong with me that I should not be seen?”

    “Brenna, lass, you must know you are a comely wench. These Vikings are a lusty lot, with an eye for a fair maid such as you. The master is generous with his female slaves. His friends need not even ask permission to have one of his wenches, for his hospitality is well known.”
    “You cannot be serious!” Brenna gasped, appalled.
    “’Tis true, lass. At one particularly boisterous affair, a poor wench was tumbled before all, right there on the floor of the hall.”
    Brenna’s eyes opened wide; they were filled with repulsion. “Garrick allowed it?”
    “He would have stopped that form of entertainment, but he was passed out on the table—or so the story made the rounds—thoroughly besotted.”
    “It happened nonetheless?”
    “Aye, so take care, lass. I would not see the same happen to you.”
    “Have no fear, Erin. I would not allow it!”
    The old man shook his head doubtfully as he watched her walk away.

G arrick sat at the head of a long table. His father was on his left, facing the room, and his mother sat on his right. His brother Hugh was also there, his plump wife by his side. Around the rest of the table were Garrick’s closest friends, those who had sailed with him. And at the foot of the table sat his half-brother Fairfax.
    Garrick eyed his brothers thoughtfully. Although he resembled his older brother in height and build, he and his younger brother had in common only their eyes, which were like those of their grandfather, Ulric. Fairfax was less than a year younger than Garrick, but he was a good head shorter; in that regard he took after his mother, Yarmille.
    Garrick and Hugh enjoyed the normal rivalry that exists between brothers, even if it was sometimes a bit too earnest. Still, the bond of brotherhood was strong between them. With Fairfax, Garrick enjoyed a different relationship, of companionable friendship, just like the one he shared with Perrin, his closest friend.
    Between Hugh and Fairfax, however, there was genuine dislike, and tensions were usually high when they were in the same room together. Hugh begrudged Fairfax their father’s love, and Fairfax reacted to that