Free Fires of Winter by Johanna Lindsey

he had been given explicit instructions from Anselm’s wife. The journey was a short one. Soon high cliffs bordered the fjord again, casting the water and the entire valley into murky gloom. Then she saw it; Ulric Haardrad’s stone house, perched high up on the cliff, appeared like nature’s own extension of the gray rock.
    The Viking accompanying Brenna was not pleased with his task. As they approached the wooden landing, he rowed the small craft with increasing speed. He would have preferred, and thought briefly on it, to slit the girl’s throat and toss her into the bottomless depths of the fjord; for hadn’t she wounded his brother and so caused him untold shame? But then Ogden would have Anselm to answer to—not to mention Garrick, who owned the girl now. And to be honest, there was no honor in killing a woman, let alone one who was bound and helpless. Now she was nothing like the black fox who fought with such cunning against his brother. Still Ogden hated her, this woman who dressed and acted like a man and looked at him with the eyes of a tigress, hot and venomous.

    The landing was not directly below the stone house, but further up the coast, where the cliff began its craggy decline. Here Ogden roughly yanked Brenna from the boat and dragged her up a steep, rocky path. The trail was a narrow one made by the slaves who hauled the great stones up to the site Ulric had chosen for his house. At the top was a huge boulder pushed to one side. If need be it could be used to block the way from the fjord. Ogden noted that Ulric’s house would make an ideal fortress in case of war.
    The house resembled the wooden domiciles of Norway only in one respect: it was windowless. Otherwise it was like the huge stone manors Ogden had seen on the Scottish coast; it had chimneys through which smoke could escape, and a second floor to live in. Rather than facing the sea or the fields behind it, the entrance to the house was on the side, where old, gnarled trees grew. A storage house and livestock sheds, as well as the stable, were behind the house; all were made of wood.
    Before he died, Ulric had given this house and a few acres of fertile land to Garrick in Anselm’s presence, so there would be no dispute afterward. Anselm had not wanted the house anyway, for its stone walls made it so cold in winter. For Garrick, however, it was an inheritance. Though but small, it was the only one he would receive, since by tradition all Anselm owned would go to his first born, Hugh.
    Garrick was not a farmer like Ogden and other free men who had fertile land here, nor was he a fisherman, as most were. He was a hunter, skilled with the arrow and spear, his hunting ground the dense forests bordering his land. He liked to trek to the unpopulated lands further inland, where the lynx and elk abounded. In winter, he was not opposed to sailing north through the warm coastal waters as far as the North Cape, in search of polar bears. As proof of his hunting skill, he had a large cargo of furs gathered over two winters, which he took to trade in the East.
    Although Garrick was not a farmer, he allowed his slaves to grow small quantities of produce; thence the onions and peas that graced his table, rye for bread, and barley for the honey mead consumed nightly.
    Ogden had stayed a week at Garrick’s house the winter before he sailed east. His hospitality was as generous as his father’s. Lavish in supplying food and drink, he even gave Ogden a pretty slave girl to warm his bed, which sorely needed it in that cold house.
    Ogden liked Garrick, and decided thoughtfully that the young man did not need this gift from his father. This girl would be a thorn in Garrick’s side, a veritable she-devil who would like as not slit his throat some night while he slept. Still, she was Garrick’s problem, and, for the moment, his housekeeper’s.
    The entrance to the house was open to let in the breath of summer. The weather was already turning cooler, a sign that