By Love Enslaved (17 page)

Brendan had not been worried about Dawn’s Kiss and Rascal, however, but about how cruelly Dana was snubbing him. Freya was frail; he knew that. Could Dana suddenly have become so devoted a daughter she never left her mother’s side? No, the timing was no coincidence. Dana was avoiding him, and that was not a slight he would forgive.

Erik had seen that very same look of defiant anger cross Brendan’s features too often not to recognize it, and with a moment’s reflection he thought he understood the cause of the slave’s troubled mood. “Dana’s a young woman of remarkable beauty and charm, but you mustn’t allow yourself to fall in love with her. She’s one woman you can never have, and the sooner you accept that fact the better off you’ll be.”

They had been preparing for bed, but Brendan was far too restless to sleep. “I will accept nothing!” he blurted out as he started for the door. “You may meekly accept your lot in life without trying to better it, but I never will.” He stomped out of the small house, and certain Erik trusted him enough not to follow, he started out on what he knew would have to be a long walk to cool his temper.

Erik was stunned by Brendan’s words, but he had struggled far too long to gain what status he had to consider himself meek. On the contrary, he thought himself unusually strong-willed. He might have let his feelings for Berit cloud his thinking, but Brendan’s impassioned insult had made him realize it was pointless to avoid facing up to what had to be done, and he vowed to visit Grena the very next day.

The more immediate problem was Brendan’s surly attitude, and Erik would not allow him to speak to him in such a rude fashion. He followed him out the door, and seeing the slave had not gone far, he took off at a run and tackled him around the waist with a mighty leap. The two men landed in the dirt, fists and insults flying as thick as the dust that swirled around them.

Too evenly matched in size and mood for one to gain the upper hand, they fought until they finally grew exhausted enough to realize neither had created the frustrations that had made the other so short-tempered. Fortunately, neither was badly hurt before that moment arrived.

“You must learn to keep your ridiculous opinions to yourself,” Erik warned with a satisfied chuckle. Brendan was a strong brute, and he was confident that by again fighting him to a draw he had proved himself to be anything but meek. After scrambling to his feet, he extended his hand to help the brawny slave rise.

Brendan grasped Erik’s hand for the instant he needed to leap to his feet, then broke the contact between them immediately. He gave a hoarse laugh as he dusted off his kirtle and breeches. “I am wearing your clothes, and it is your fault they are so dirty.”

Erik regarded the disheveled Celt with an amused stare. “You are so close to my size I told Freya to have her seamstresses use my measurements for your garments. They should be ready soon. Perhaps that’s why you haven’t seen Dana. Maybe she’s been too busy sewing the buttons on your new clothes to go riding.”

While the sweetness of that thought nearly overwhelmed him with longing, Brendan knew Dana couldn’t possibly be doing anything of the kind. “Your opinions are far more ridiculous than mine. Must I hit you again to convince you to swallow them?” he asked, all playfulness gone from his tone.

“I’ll say whatever I please,” Erik replied without growing angry. “It’s late and I’ve too much to do tomorrow to continue our fight.” He returned to his house with a confident stride, but he still had no hope things would turn out well on the morrow.

Brendan hesitated a moment, then followed Erik back inside. Any other man would have whipped him for being so insolent, but Erik liked to settle things with his fists. It was an odd approach to take with a slave, but Brendan could not deny that he liked it, since it gave him a chance to defend himself. What a strange place this was! he thought, as he did so often.

“Erik?” He cleared his throat.

“What is it now?” Erik yanked off his kirtle quickly so he could keep his eye on his companion.

“Meek was the wrong word.”

Because he knew that was as close as the Celt would come to making an apology, Erik clapped him on the back and wished him a good night. His knuckles were scraped, his hands ached badly, and his body was covered with bruises from the slave’s hearty blows, but he felt too tired to complain about the pain and had no trouble falling asleep.

Not wanting to involve Freya or Dana in his mission, Erik did not reveal the purpose of his errand before leaving for Grena’s farm. He practiced what he had to say as he rode along, polishing his speech until it sounded painfully sincere, but he couldn’t bring himself to prepare any sort of a response to the terse rejection he was bound to receive. He would just have to listen silently, no matter how coldly Grena refused him, and then turn and leave.

Too restless to remain indoors, Berit had been out gathering berries off the vines that grew along the path to her home. When she saw a rider approaching, she moved out of his way, until she recognized the dark gleam on Shadow’s coat and knew it must be Erik. She ran forward then, berries flying from her basket, but she was too happy to notice how many she had spilled.

One look at Berit’s radiant smile and Erik completely forgot the purpose of his visit. In one fluid motion he pulled Shadow to a halt, slid down from his back, and drew the breathless blonde into his arms. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he sighed in the second before his lips touched hers.

Berit flung her basket aside, spilling the last of the berries into the path as she threw her arms around his neck. “And I have missed you even more!” she exclaimed when he gave her a chance to draw a breath.

Berit had eaten as many of the succulent berries as she had picked. Her lips were stained with the deep red juice and her taste was delicious. Erik had kissed her a dozen times before he could bear to draw away. He glanced down the path, but none of the field-workers, nor anyone else, was in sight.

“Come on, we must find a secluded place to talk.” He took her hand and, leading Shadow through a break in the vines, made his way to a stand of trees where they could sit and the horse could graze unnoticed.

Berit wanted to discuss only one topic: how dearly she loved him. She covered his face with kisses, then reached for the buttons on his kirtle.

Erik caught her hands, but he did not want to hurt her feelings and spoke softly. “I meant talk, Berit. I could kiss you forever, but we must talk first.”

Adopting what she hoped was a suitably rapt expression, Berit sat back and waited for him to begin. The morning sun cast copper highlights on his hair that made the sharp contrast of his cool violet eyes all the more appealing. “How can I listen?” she teased. “When you are so very handsome, I can think of nothing but how much I love you.”

“Would you find me less distracting if we sat back to back?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Berit revealed with a bewitching smile.

The spontaneity of her mood was infectious, and Erik drew her across his lap, where he could hug her tightly as they talked. His plan to ask for her and then accept Grena’s refusal suddenly seemed so ludicrous an option he did not know how he could have deluded himself into thinking it was his only choice.

Brendan’s words came back to him then. Perhaps he had been meekly accepting his lot in life, but with the enthusiasm of Berit’s love for encouragement, he would not pursue such a hopeless course any longer. There had to be some way he could make her his wife, and he would just have to be clever enough to find it.

“Freya offered to give me the money I will need to marry the woman of my choice, but she didn’t even suspect that might be you. She might refuse to give me the money now; I haven’t asked her to find out. We both know your mother thinks you are far too good for me, so she may ask so exorbitant a bride-price that I will never be able to raise the sum.”

“Erik,” Berit interrupted, as always not interested in talking about practical matters when they had so few opportunities to be alone. “I’ll simply refuse to wed anyone else, and you know that I can’t be forced to marry against my will. My mother can ask any amount that she wants, but when she realizes all she will ever get for me is what you can afford to pay, she’ll not forbid the match.”

Encouraged by the determined set of the lively blonde’s chin, Erik was inclined to believe her prediction. He still saw complications, however. “Freya isn’t well enough to argue with your mother, Berit. If Grena wants to be stubborn, then you and I will have to stand up to her all by ourselves.”

“Dana will take our side. Svien too,” Berit argued. “Jørn will want to see his only sister happy, and you are one of his closest friends. He’ll help us too.”

“Yes, Dana will be on our side, but I want this matter settled before Svien and Jørn return, so don’t count on them.”

Berit snuggled against the hollow of his shoulder as she considered his words. She was certain what he really meant was that he wanted their marriage arranged before Haakon came home. “Are you afraid of what Haakon will do?” she whispered apprehensively.

Erik paused a long moment before speaking his fears aloud. “Not in the way you think, but he might forbid Freya to give me the money since he doesn’t consider me one of his family. She would defy him, but that conflict would hurt her badly. It might cost her what little strength she has, and if she falls ill again—”

Berit turned to face Erik when he could not continue. “I understand. Our love mustn’t cost Freya her life, but I’ll not give you up, Erik.”

Erik raised his hand to her cheek, caressing her fair skin softly as he gloried in the love that shone so brightly in her eyes. She had grown up quickly, but he did not doubt for a moment that she was a woman who knew her own mind. Her delightful curves, fair coloring, and warm smile all conveyed a charming innocence, but she had an inner strength he had not even suspected she possessed until that very moment.

A slow smile played across his lips before he spoke, “You’ll not give me up? When did I become yours, Berit?”

The affectionate blonde lowered her glance demurely as she thought of a suitable reply, but when she looked up again, her eyes were dancing with mischief. “On the day I was born, Erik, for I swear I have loved you my whole life.”

As his lips met hers in a lingering kiss, Erik could not recall a time when he had not loved her either. The love for a pretty child was far different from what he felt for the lovely young woman in his arms now, however. Their kisses grew more fevered, and he did not object when she slid her hands beneath his kirtle and drew it off over his head. He loved the feel of her hands on his chest and soon found himself wanting to caress her bare skin as well.

Her long tunic was easily cast aside, but he paused to release her hair from its confining braid before he reached for the ribbon at the neckline of her chemise. The sun was warm at his back, the only sounds those of birds singing in the trees overhead, and with each step he took toward total intimacy, Berit encouraged him to take two more. He did not recall flinging the last of his clothes aside, nor helping her out of hers, and once she lay nude in his arms it was impossible for him to think at all.

It was not the curiosity she had exhibited with Dana that had motivated the abandon of Berit’s actions, but the sheer joy of love. She was too bright to have thought they could wed without first overcoming the objections to the stigma of his birth, but those objections would all be Grena’s and not hers. She wanted the handsome man in her arms for her husband and did not hesitate to take him for a lover first.

Erik wound his fingers in the glorious cascade of Berit’s honey-blonde tresses as he paid her a well-deserved compliment. “Your hair is as beautiful as sunshine. You should always wear it falling loose like this, instead of in a braid.”

“If it pleases you, then I will,” Berit promised before drawing his mouth back to hers. She had never kissed another man, but she was certain his was the only affection she would ever want. When he lowered his mouth to the fullness of her breasts, she combed her fingers through his hair to press his lips closer still. While she had known nothing about making love, it was plain to her that Erik most certainly did, for his motions were smooth and sure, without the slightest trace of clumsiness. To enjoy what he was so thoughtfully teaching her seemed her natural right, when each new sensation was even more pleasant than the last.

Erik knew Berit was a virgin, but she was so wonderfully responsive he saw no reason to inhibit his own desire. He lost himself not only in her beauty, but in the warmth of her affection which enticed him to pursue what they had begun and promised endless satisfaction as a result. He traced each curve and hollow of her figure until he had committed it to memory. Then, delving deeper, he began the slow, rhythmic assault on her senses that would soon make her completely his.

Berit’s whole body tingled with the warmth of desire as Erik caressed the smooth skin of her inner thighs, but when he eased her legs farther apart to reach the tawny triangle of curls nestled at their apex, her breath caught in her throat for fear he would draw away.

Sensing the depth of her need, Erik did not disappoint her, but used her body’s own sweetly scented fluids to lubricate his path. “Don’t hold your breath,” he whispered. “You’ll faint long before I’m through.”

Berit tried to follow his directions, but the feelings his touch aroused were so new, and so exquisitely beautiful, she could not concentrate on anything as distracting as the need to draw a breath. She was aware only of a growing heat that seared within her loins. Like an open flame, it danced and leapt to ever greater heights until she feared she would be consumed and leave behind no more than a handful of ashes that would be scattered by the wind.