By love enslaved Read online

  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

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  catch his breath, but the gaze he directed at Dana was as defiant as ever.

  Erik also got to his feet and began brushing oflF 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^© 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

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  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

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  pleased when she reached the door without hearing him utter a single word.

  CHAPTER III

  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 fopd 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

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  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 J0m 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 J0m 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 J0m nak
ed. 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

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  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.*'

  '*rm 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 niix 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,

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  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 1 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. *'A11 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 knev/ 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

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  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.

  'Tm 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.

  "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 ofiF 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

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  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' cur
iosity 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."

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  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 trik rushed outside to see who was being so foolish, Brendan followed right behind him.