By Love Enslaved (23 page)

Brendan had felt Dana’s gaze long before she left her hiding place. Being watched created a curious sensation, an uneasiness he couldn’t shake until he realized its source. He caught only a brief glimpse of the slender redhead before she vanished into the woods. She was dressed in the rose and pink garments he found so attractive, and he wished she had crossed the meadow to observe their progress up close.

When Erik left hurriedly, Brendan could not contain his curiosity, for it seemed unlikely the man would flash such a wide grin at the prospect of speaking with his sister. He thought it far more likely Erik was dashing off to meet Berit, but what would occupy Dana’s time while those two were together?

The field hands helping with the construction were gathering in small groups to share a noon meal. Soren had already sat down with his back toward the forest, but the boy was not the one who gave him his orders, so Brendan didn’t care what he thought. Hungry for something far more delicious than dried fish and cheese, he hesitated only a moment, and then, certain no one would notice his departure, he followed Erik into the woods.

The inquisitive Celt heard a woman’s laughter floating through the trees, but it was too high-pitched to be Dana’s so he didn’t pursue the sound. Instead, he scanned the patches of sunlight dotting the forest floor and luckily caught sight of a rose-hued blur moving off to his right. Certain that had to be the young woman he sought, he summoned the stealth of a born hunter and silently began to close the distance separating them. He had not gone far when it occurred to him that not only Erik, but also his desirable half sister might be meeting a lover, and he quickened his pace. If there was a man who claimed ownership of Dana’s heart, then he was eager to get a look at him.

Unaware she was being followed, Dana wandered aimlessly through the woods. She stopped occasionally to pluck a wildflower or a deep red berry, but she was merely out for an enjoyable stroll and had no destination in mind. When she came to the stream that flowed into the meadow and would provide water for Erik’s farm, she knelt down beside it to take a drink. Cupping the cool water in her hands, she sipped her fill before noticing Brendan’s reflection hovering above hers in the sparkling water.

Certain his image was a trick played by her imagination, she turned around expecting to find herself alone, but Brendan stood right behind her. Water dripped off his curls and slid down the smooth planes of his bare chest, making it obvious he had stopped to wash off the dirt and sweat of the morning before confronting her. Such concern for his appearance struck Dana as absurd when she knew what he thought of her, so she decided he must have merely been trying to refresh himself, not impress her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with a poise that belied her dismay.

Bending down beside her, Brendan scooped up a drink of his own. “I was thirsty too,” he explained with a mocking grin.

Because he was already dripping wet, Dana thought his response unlikely. She tried to look away, to focus her attention on the bubbling stream, on the canopy of leaves overhead, or the carpet of new grass cushioning her knees, but her traitorous gaze swiftly returned to the sarcastic curve of Brendan’s smile. She wondered again how he had gotten the thin scar that crossed his lip, but knew he would not reply to so personal a question and refrained from asking it. Looking at Brendan was like facing her worst nightmare fully awake, and silence seemed to be her only weapon when he twisted each word she spoke into an insult.

Brendan watched a shadow of apprehension fill Dana’s glance, but he had not meant to frighten her. She had not reached for her knife, though. Her hands were resting lightly on her knees, and he considered that a good sign. “I know Erik is meeting Berit. Are you meeting someone too?”

“How could you know?”

Her question shocked Brendan as badly as his sudden appearance had startled her. He looked around quickly to make certain her lover was not approaching with sword in hand. When he found the surrounding woods still deserted, he turned back to face her. “You are very beautiful. Why shouldn’t you have a dozen lovers if you want them?”

Exasperated that he would again mention the subject of lovers, Dana replied flippantly, “Whether or not I take lovers is no concern of yours.”

“What do you mean, ‘whether or not’? You just said you were meeting someone. Isn’t he your lover?”

Thoroughly confused, Brendan couldn’t recall exactly what she had said, but he found her outraged expression so charming he began to smile. “If no one is coming, then I’ll stay with you so you don’t become lonely.”

“No, that’s not a good idea,” Dana responded immediately. “You should go back to the others.”

Thinking their argument might prove to be a lengthy one, Brendan made himself more comfortable by assuming a cross-legged pose by her side. “They’re having something to eat and I doubt they’ll get back to work before Erik returns. You need me far more than they do.”

“Is there no end to your conceit?” Dana asked as she started to rise.

Brendan reached out to encircle her wrist with a firm grasp so she could neither escape him nor reach for her knife. “Is it conceit that makes me prefer to spend my time with you rather than them?” The wily Celt realized he had revealed more than he wished to with that question, but it was too late to take back his words.

His hand formed too confining a restraint for her to shake him off, so Dana made no attempt to struggle. Instead, she recited the speech her mother had instructed her to give. “You mustn’t touch me, Brendan. It’s not only disrespectful, but dangerous as well. My father will not tolerate even the slightest hint of gossip about us, and—”

As Brendan listened, he saw an intensity of emotion in Dana’s violet gaze that was far different from that conveyed by her words. Being apart had done nothing to lessen his fascination with the stunning redhead, and her threats of a gruesome death at Haakon’s hands failed to faze him. Although he doubted she would ever admit that she cared for him, her concern for his safety proved that she did. That was not nearly enough to please him, but it was a sign something more was possible. Impatient for that day to arrive, he offered what he considered a fine suggestion.

“If you were to meet me each time Erik meets Berit, how would there be any gossip for your father to hear?”

As Dana finally succeeded in wrenching her gaze from his, she wondered if all young men were such reckless fools. “Did you hear nothing I said? The thrill of an affair isn’t worth your life, Brendan. Now let me go and hurry back to work.”

Rather than being angered that she was again ordering him about like the slave he would never accept being, Brendan chose to comment on her first remark. “I’m glad to hear you already know that having an affair with me would be thrilling. It will save me the trouble of having to convince you of that.” When Dana turned a truly murderous stare on him, Brendan broke out in hearty laughter.

“You must not think of me as a thrall, Dana, for I never do. I wasn’t born one, and I won’t die one either.” Before she could point out that his opinion mattered not at all as long as Jørn’s claim of ownership was considered valid, he had pulled her across his lap and covered her lips with his own. Caught off guard, she lacked the leverage to push him away.

While Brendan’s embrace was a confining one, his kiss was feather-light. He longed to take her swiftly, to give free rein to the savage passion she always aroused within him, but he fought that impulse in hopes of winning a far more valuable surrender. He longed to tame the wildness of her spirit, to make her admit that accepting his affection would be worth risking any danger, even death. That was his goal, but Dana’s heart was not a prize so easily won. Wise enough to realize this, Brendan finally had to admit defeat and bring his lingering kiss to an end.

Keeping her cradled in his arms, he kissed her delicately arched brows, her flushed cheeks, and then brushed her lips softly with his own. “The choice has always been yours, Dana. I cannot force you to take me for your lover. You must want me as badly as I want you.”

Snuggled against his bare chest, Dana was certain she already did, but that was not something she dared admit. “You regard me with contempt one day, and then attempt to seduce me the next. You are the one who has no idea what he wants.”

As Brendan looked down at her, reveling in the uniqueness of her rare beauty, he wanted to laugh again at the absurdity of her words, for he knew precisely what he wanted from her. The attraction that existed between them was too powerful a force to mistake for anything other than the obsession it was rapidly becoming.

“I know what I want,” he vowed confidently as he regarded the lush curves of her figure with a boldly appreciative glance.

No stranger to the lustful admiration of young men, Dana rebelled as she had so often in the past. “It is not a lover I want,” she explained with the same cool disdain she had frequently received from him, “but merely an obedient thrall.”

For the first time Brendan began to suspect Dana might be more her father’s daughter than her mother’s. A woman with such fierce pride would never accept the domination of any man unless it was by her own choice. In her case, he thought only a king would possess the strength of will necessary to subdue her wildly independent nature. That thought brought a slow smile to his lips, for a king was exactly what he had been raised to be.

Despite her defiant words, Dana had made no effort to move off his lap, and he was pleased that even after he began to stroke her bright red curls she remained nestled contentedly in his arms. Like her concern for his welfare, her behavior now told him her feelings for him were far warmer than she would admit. The challenge was to fan that warmth into flames, however, and he was not a patient man.

“Jarald must be a clumsy brute,” he whispered seductively, “if he has made you afraid of making love.”

Dana risked peering up at him, then wished that she hadn’t, for his expression was one of sympathetic concern rather than sarcasm. “Do you really expect me to reply to such a ridiculous comment?”

“Why not? Women often confide secrets to a lover that they would never share with a husband.”

Dana sighed softly, then closed her eyes for a moment. “You are neither my lover nor my husband, so I’ll share no secrets of any kind with you.”

Brendan wound his fingers in her curls, and when his palm brushed her cheek he forced her to look up at him. “What am I then, Dana? What am I to you?”

Her gaze again captured by the stirring intensity of his, Dana stared up at the man who continually provoked an emotional turmoil the likes of which she had never known. What was he to her? What, indeed, for there seemed to be no word to describe the longing that filled her heart each time they were together.

“Why would you care what a pagan bitch thinks?” she finally asked, her taunt a deliberately hostile one.

That she would recall an insult he had hurled during a heated argument gave him a moment’s pause, but Brendan was far too determined to possess her to give up his quest now. After releasing her hair, he reached for her hand, and bringing it to his lips, he kissed each of her fingertips tenderly before tickling her palm with the tip of his tongue.

“I thought you had taken me into the woods to make love. Surely you can understand how disappointed I was to discover what you truly wanted. I had every right to be furious then, for Moira is no substitute for you. You have both beauty and spirit, while, sadly, she has neither.” The timbre of his voice deepened as he grew more bold. “It was you I wanted that day, and I want you even more desperately now.”

His lips parted slightly as he lowered his head, and Dana knew she should flee as though her very life were in danger, but his arms encircled her with such a tender embrace she wanted only to stay. Such a desire was impossible, of course, for more reasons than she could count, but as his mouth covered hers she could recall none of them. She raised her hand to his shoulder, then wove her fingers in the tawny curls at his nape to hold him close as she welcomed his kiss with a graceful abandon. His response was a low moan from the back of his throat, and without ending the kiss he pulled her down onto the lush grass that blanketed the soil at the edge of the stream.

Brendan drew her so close his right hip and leg were resting on hers. Dana was dimly aware that he was cleverly blocking her access to her knife, but such a precaution was unnecessary, for the last thing she would ever do was harm him. His kisses were slow and deep, flavored with an adoring sweetness she readily returned. She would have been content to float forever on the cloud of desire that surrounded them, but Brendan had made it plain that he wanted far more.

The Celt’s touch was light as he began to trace the luscious swells of Dana’s figure. He soon slid his hand beneath her woolen tunic but swiftly grew impatient that her silk chemise and linen shift separated them still. He knew her flesh would be as smooth and flavorful as rich cream, and he longed to strip her bare so he could taste as well as feel her beauty. Moving away for an instant, he succeeded in lifting her tunic off over her head. The ribbon securing the neckline of her chemise came untied easily, and when he pushed the silken garment off her shoulder, the linen shift slipped out of his way to expose one perfectly formed breast.

Just as he had imagined, the tip was a delicate pink that flushed with a hint of rose as his fingertips teased it into a firm bud. Eager to deepen the thrill of his discovery, he bent down to draw that tantalizing morsel into his mouth, where his tongue could encircle the silken flesh with sensuous rings of praise. His joy increased as he felt Dana respond with a shudder of delight. Her hands moved over his shoulders, then down his back, gently tracing the raised patterns left by the whip before moving through the coarse curls covering his chest.