By love enslaved Read online

  "I'll not say a word," Erik promised with a sly grin. As he returned to his chores, he laughed time and again over the prospect of meeting a man so many women were eager

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  to possess. But then he began to wonder if Berit had found the Celt slave attractive too.

  Late that afternoon, Dana joined her mother when Freya awoke from her nap. She sat down on the edge of her bed, and taking advantage of the privacy afforded by the cozy sleeping chamber, she was eager to discuss their favorite maid. "Moira is twenty. Don't you think we ought to be giving some serious thought to finding her a husband?"

  Freya covered a wide yawn with a pale hand before nodding in agreement. She found it difficult to shake her desire for more sleep. '*Yes, I most certainly do. She is such a dear little person, I don't understand how I could have been so remiss."

  Dana was delighted to find her mother's interest in Moira's future was as keen as her own. It would provide a welcome diversion, for she knew her mother spent far too much time dwelling on the aftereflfects of her long illness. Freya had recently celebrated her thirty-seventh birthday, but Dana still thought her mother beautiful. Her golden-red hair was as glossy and curly as her own, and her flawless complexion was unlined. Only her eyes looked different. They had once sparkled with the fiery brilliance of sapphires, but now her gaze held only a compelling sadness that frequently moved Dana to tears.

  She knew her mother had tricked her father into thinking her more fully recovered than she truly was so that he would leave for the summer. They were a devoted couple, and Dana could not bear to think how deep her father's pain would be should he return home to find the wife he adored more frail than when he had left her. The winters in Denmark were not harsh, but should Freya fall ill agaia, Dana knew she would not survive to see another spring.

  Forcing such sad thoughts aside, she pressed on with their discussion. "Let's not say anything to Moira until we've all had the opportunity to get to know Brendan well. The fact that they share a common heritage won't mean anything if they don't like each other."

  Making no effort to hide her smile, Freya offered a perceptive observation. *'That's true. She might dislike him every bit as much as you dislike Jarald."

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  Dana pulled back slightly. "It's not that I dislike him," she denied unconvincingly. "It is just that, well, I find him a difficult man to like. He talks about nothing but himself, which I know most men do, but with him it always seems more of a fault than with others."

  Freya reached out to pat her daughter's hand. "Jarald has many fine qualities which perhaps you are still too young to see, so I don't want you to dismiss him too hastily. You know you needn't marry a man you don't love. Your father and I would never ask that of you. We Danish women are fortunate in that we may divorce a poor husband quite easily, but that is no reason to enter into a marriage with haste. If nothing about Jarald pleases you by the coming spring, then I'll ask your father to tell him to pay his calls elsewhere. I know Grena would be very pleased to have him court Berit. Do you think she likes him?"

  "Berit's only sixteen. Mother, and Jarald must be thirty at least, perhaps closer to thirty-five. He ought to court Grena rather than her daughter."

  Freya found that suggestion, while sensible, quite amusing. "Jarald is not the type of man to marry a widow and take on the responsibility for another man's children. He is far too proud for that."

  Dana nodded, hoping her mother would let the matter drop. Since she had been troubled ever since she had found her half brother in a dark mood that afternoon, she asked about him. "What's going to happen to Erik, Mother? Where will he be able to find a wife?"

  Immediately taking that question to heart, Freya sighed unhappily. "We love Erik, so I'm certain other women will too. None of your friends would have him, of course, but that doesn't mean he couldn't successfully court a girl of modest means. A girl from a small farm would think him a wonderful husband, I'm sure."

  "He is so busy here. When does he have time to travel the countryside calling on farmers in hopes they have marriageable daughters?"

  "Yes, finding such a young woman will be the problem, but Erik is young yet and I doubt he has given any thought to taking a wife. Let's worry about Brendan and Moira first,

  .^

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  and see if we can't make a match there." Freya paused as her ten-year-old daughter, Thora, peered in the door. "Come join us, baby."

  A precocious child, Freya's youngest was a delightful imp who thoughtfully did not tax her mother with her own boundless energy. '*I heard Moira say you're taking a thrall from Grena. Won't father be furious at us for that?"

  "Now, how did Moira hear about Brendan?" Freya asked Dana in dismay.

  "I've no idea," Dana assured her. "I've said nothing about the man to anyone but Erik, and surely he would not gossip with the servants."

  "Oh, don't be silly," Thora exclaimed as she crawled over the end of her mother's bed. "Erik talks with Moira all the time. I think they're lovers."

  "Thora! Shame on you," Freya scolded, but her laughter kept her from sounding cross.

  Dana gave her little sister a hug. Each had inherited her mother's golden-red hair and her father's deep violet eyes, but their personalities were distinctly their own. "I wish you had joined us earlier, Thora. I think perhaps we have been worrying over matters that have akeady been decided."

  "What matters?" Thora asked as she eluded her sister'& grasp to reach her mother's lap.

  Freya greeted her daughter with a welcoming embrace, but quickly released her. "I'll explain later, but it's Erik I need to speak with now. Will you please go and get him for me?'^

  Thora responded with a prompt refusal. "Not if you're going to be angry with him."

  "No, baby, I'm not angry with him, merely curious. Now run find him for me so we'll have time to talk before supper."

  When Thora returned a few minutes later leading Erik by the hand, Dana quickly rose jfrom her mother's bed. "I'm sure you two would appreciate some privacy," she explained as she winked at her half brother and escorted her little sister from the room.

  Having no idea why he had been summoned, Erik hoped Freya had not become so weak she needed to be carried out

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  to the main hall where they took their meals. "What do you need?" he asked anxiously.

  "You are like a son to me, Erik," Freya began, but then, delighted by her topic she smiled eagerly.

  "Freya?" While Erik was happy to find that the woman who had been the only mother he had ever known wasn't as ill as he had feared, he didn't understand why she was so amused. "Have I done something wrong?"

  "No, of course not," Freya assured him before taking a deep breath in an effort to begin again in a more serious manner. "I just wanted to ask you a question. You know Moira is very dear to me. Since her parents are dead, I feel it is my responsibility to find a husband for her. You are quite young to marry, but if you hope someday to make her your wife, please say so now."

  Erik was so shocked by the suggestion he didn't know how to reply. Moira was small and dark, probably as petite as his mother had been. He thought her a sweet girl and they were friends, but she was very shy and he could not even imagine taking her for his wife. He wanted someone with the spirit of the Danish women he knew. While he thought his red-haired half sisters as beautiful as their mother, he longed for a pretty blonde like Berit. Even though he knew she was beyond his reach, he would not deny that he hoped to wed someone exactly like her.

  "No!" he replied angrily, barely able to force the word over the painful surge of emotion that filled his throat. His well-defined features were contorted in a mask of hopeless confusion at the absurdity of her question. "I know Moira would have me, but can't I hope to do better?"

  As deeply shocked by his response as he had been by her question, Freya tossed her blankets aside and rose to embrace him. "Forgive me, Erik, I never meant to mak
e you think I thought less of you than I do of my own sons. I have money of my own. Whenever you are ready to take a bride, I'll see you have her price."

  As the compassionate woman drew him into her arms, Erik buried his face in the softness of her curls, but he was far too proud a man to weep at the generosity of her offer. He had never had reason to consider the fact that he would

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  be expected to give both his bride and her family sizable gifts which would be theirs to keep should their marriage fail, while he would have to return her dowry. It wasn't only money he lacked, however, but a heritage he could ask a woman to share and pass on to their children. Freya had forced him to confront that issue as he never had before, and he didn't like what he had found. Placing his hands around her tiny waist, he stepped back. He made a heroic attempt to smile, but failed.

  '*I don't want Moira, nor is there anyone else I can hope to marry now, but thank you for wanting to help me. You have always been so kind to me and I love you dearly for it. Save your money for yourself, or the others. I won't have any need of it."

  Knowing she had upset him badly, Freya let Erik go without argument, but she was thoroughly depressed by their encounter and promptly returned to her bed. The only arguments she and Haakon had ever had were over the cool indifference with which he regarded his eldest son. That she could now foresee disagreements aplenty over Erik's future darkened her mood even more. Even if Haakon had never loved his firstborn, she would not deny that she did, and she wanted to see Erik have the happy life he deserved.

  When Dana entered her room a short while later, Freya would not violate Erik's confidence by explaining what had transpired between them and greeted her coolly. "Thora is an imaginative child. There's nothing between Erik and Moira so please don't embarrass him by mentioning that we thought there might be. Just go and get Brendan in the morning, and if he proves to have an agreeable personality, we'll arrange for Moira and him to have the opportunity-to get to know each other."

  Dana could readily discern there was far more to her mother's conversation with Erik than the frail woman was reporting, for she had obviously been badly upset by it. Her face was flushed and the threat of tears were plainly in her eyes. Whatever could have happened? Dana wondered. "You know I love Erik too. If there's anything wrong—"

  'That will be the end of it, Dana," Freya interrupted sharply. *'We'll talk of him no more."

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  Since her mother seldom gave such exphcit commands, Dana respected her wishes and left to summon Moira to help her dress. As she prepared for the evening meal, she couldn't stop wondering why her mother's mood had changed so suddenly. Erik would know the reason why, of course, but since she had been forbidden to ask him what had happened, she would not. Still, if the subject of marriage came up between them, she would most definitely encourage her half brother to talk.

  CHAPTER II

  The following morning both Dana and Erik were so lost in their own thoughts that they were halfway to Grena's farm before they realized they had failed to bring along an extra horse for Brendan to ride home on. While they laughed at that oversight, neither could believe the other hadn't had the presence of mind to remember such an obvious detail.

  Chagrined, Erik dismissed the problem as one of no consequence. "Let's have him follow us home on foot. It's not too long a walk."

  "No," Dana argued persuasively. "That would be a poor way to welcome him to our home."

  In the teasing tone he often used when they were together, Erik dismissed that comment as utterly ridiculous. "He is a thrall, dear sister, not an important guest we must impress."

  While that was true, having a thrall on their farm would be such a novelty Dana was not at all certain how they should treat the man. But she did not want to get oflf to a bad start. She knew some masters treated their slaves well, but many more did not. From what she had observed, her

  L.

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  aunt was neither cruel nor kind, but merely indiflFerent to her hapless slaves' welfare.

  Dana had never inquired about the reason for her father's preference for staffing his farm with freemen. Haakon was not the type of man whose authority could be questioned on any matter, let alone the manner in which he chose to run his home. He was an affectionate man, a loving father, but also one who insisted upon strict obedience to his commands. She had never defied any of his rules, and could not even imagine a situation which might lead her to do so. The very thought of crossing so determined a man made her shiver with dread. She was the very best of daughters, and had never caused the man she both admired and feared a moment's worry.

  Until now, she thought with a painful stab of guilt, but since the decision to bring Brendan to their farm had not been hers, Dana decided her only choice was to make the best of the situation and have confidence that her mother would be able to soothe her father's temper as she always had. That happy thought brought a smile to her lips. Haakon nught be able to strike terror into his children's hearts with an angry glance, but her mother had always loved the man far too much to fear him.

  Turning her thoughts to the problem at hand, Dana knew it was only common sense that a slave who was well treated would be a more willing worker than one who was abused, and she made up her mind to treat Brendan as fairly as possible. She would not make him walk to her home on his fu'st trip there.

  *'Grena has horses aplenty. We'll just have him borrew one.

  Complaining of fatigue, Freya had not left her bed that morning, and Dana didn't know whether it had been Grena's visit that had taxed her mother's smaH store of strength or her conversation with Erik later that afternoon. The pensive redhead peeked at her half brother's expression and, fmding him equally preoccupied, she made a sincere request rather than pester him with questions.

  "No matter how difficult Brendan proves to be, we

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  needn't trouble my mother. Let's agree to handle him ourselves."

  Devoted to Freya, Erik was happy to oblige. "I understand. She'll hear no complaints from my lips, and I'll see the servants don't bother her either."

  "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you, Erik. There is so much to be done each day, and although I try my best to see everything runs as smoothly as it always has for Mother, I fear I'm not nearly as good at it as she is."

  Surprised by the confession, since Dana had a confidence well beyond her seventeen years, Erik reached over to give her shoulder an afiFectionate pat. "You're doing beautifully. Freya has merely had more practice at running the farm than you, that's all."

  While Dana was certain the compliment was undeserved, she was grateful for it as Erik's approval meant a great deal to her. But it was the agonizing slowness of her mother's recovery rather than maintaining the efficient routine of the farm that weighed most heavily on her mind. Her fourteen-year-old brother, Soren, provided no help at all, for he did little other than complain endlessly that he was old enough to have gone trading with his father, while Thora's incessant curiosity and seemingly limitless energy often landed her in trouble. Summers were never completely free of care with her father and older brother gone, but as Dana reviewed her many problems, she hoped with all her heart the time would pass quickly this year.

  Seated at the gate, Brendan grabbed up the small bundle containing his meager possessions and leapt to his feet when he saw two riders approaching. When they came close enough for him to make them out clearly, he found it difficult not to gape like a witless fool, for he had never dreamed such a striking pair would come for him.

  It was the young woman's bright halo that captured his attention first, but as she drew near he discovered that heavenly glow was an illusion created by the rays of the morning sun being reflected off her golden-red curls. Never had he seen a woman with such a glorious shade of hair, for it rivaled even the vibrant colors of a sunset for beauty.

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  Kissed by the
sun with each turn of her head, the glossy tresses fell in a cascade of ringlets that reached clear pasi her waist.

  As his glance strayed to her face, Brendan was even more awed to discover her remaricable hair merely complemented delicate features of exquisite perfection. Her flawless skin was the pale golden shade of rich cream and her lashes were so long and thick that they veiled the color of her eyes, but he imagined they must be as clear a blue as the summer sky.

  The astonishingly lovely young woman was dressed in a pale pink chemise topped with a loose tunic of deep rose whose hem was decorated with a wide band of gold braid. Her garments were easily the finest he had ever seen. The chemise was plainly silk and the tunic of whisper-light wool, and although he dared not reach out to touch it, he knew the beautifully woven fabric would have the softness of a sparrow's breast.

  The twin brooches that secured the tunic to the front of her chemise were gold, and the keys suspended from the right one showed her to be the mistress of her household. Brendan thought her very young for that much responsibility, but she carried herself with an unmistakable pride that convinced him she was fully capable of handling it.

  He knew she must possess wealth beyond measure if she chose to ride in such costly attire. As if her appearance were not dazzling enough, she seemed to have selected her mount to complement her outfit, for she rode astride a dapple gray mare whose flowing white mane and tail had been decorated with pink satin bows trailing long streamers. She presented a vision of such incomparable beauty it was all Brendan could do to wrench his gaze away and turn toward her companion.

  Her escort appeared to be in his midtwenties, as Brendan was. While his kirtle and breeches were of dove-gray wool rather than brightly colored like the young woman's regal attire, his garments were as handsomely tailored as those Brendan had once owned. The man was quite handsome, but dark for a Dane. That puzzled the slave, as did the fact that his features, while definitely masculine, in some faint