Free Fires of Winter by Johanna Lindsey Page A

the season of the midnight sun was drawing to a close and making ready for the long winter night, when the sun deserted her northern peoples completely.
    “Ho! Mistress Yarmille!” Ogden bellowed as he stamped into the hall, tugging Brenna behind him as he would a roped cow.
    “Ogden!” The surprised greeting came from the opening at the end of the hall.
    This area had been closed off years earlier with a makeshift wall, for Ulric in his old age could not tolerate smoke from the cooking fires, and had ordered the cooking done behind this wall. Others had tried to do this, too, but not for long, for the warmth of the cooking fires was more desirable than the absence of smoke.
    Yarmille stood by the opening, gowned in soft blue linen, a gold band securing her straw-colored hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, “I did not know Anselm had returned.”
    “Just this day,” Ogden replied. “The feast is in progress now.”
    “Really?” Yarmille raised a tawny brow. This woman had been a beauty in her day, but no traces remained now that she neared two score and ten years. It was a wonder that this was so, since she had not led an overly hard life. “I trust the raid went well?”
    Ogden grunted and released his hold on Brenna. “As well as any. There was treasure for all, and seven captives returned with us. One man went to Valhalla, praise his luck! My brother was wounded, though not badly.” Ogden did not say how. “I believe Anselm will give him one of the captives, and one will go to the widow of the dead warrior.”
    “And this one?” Yarmile nodded toward Brenna, who stood erect, her raven locks falling about her shoulders in disarray. “He gave her to you?”
    Ogden shook his head. “To Garrick. She was the one offered to him as bride.”
    That story had traveled far. “The Lady Brenna? Well, well. So Anselm kept his promise.” At the Viking’s questioning look, she explained, “I was there after that fool arranger left. I believe Anselm’s words were, ‘A bride is offered, a bride Garrick will get, though no wedding will take place.’”
    Ogden laughed, for he knew of Anselm’s hatred for the Celts, and that he would never allow such an alliance. “A bride with no wedding vows—I like that. But I doubt Garrick will.”
    “How so? She looks pretty enough. In something other than those awful leggings, she should be quite beautiful.”
    “Mayhaps, mistress. But her beauty does not disguise her loathing.”
    Yarmille moved to the girl and turned her face toward the door to see better in the light, but Brenna snapped her head away, not even deigning to meet the woman’s eyes.
    Yarmille frowned disapprovingly. “A stubborn one, eh?”
    “To be sure,” Ogden answered sourly. “She has the look of a runaway, and will no doubt try to bolt at first chance. She is a fighter too, this one; in truth, she is trained in warfare. So be careful, mistress.”

    “What am I supposed to do with her?”
    Ogden shrugged. “I have done as instructed by Mistress Heloise. I have delivered the girl to you. She is in your care now, since you run Garrick’s house in his absence.”
    “This I do not need,” Yarmille snapped irritably. “When Garrick left he took almost all of his slaves to sell, leaving me with only a few to care for this iceberg of a house. And now I have this one who will have to be closely watched.”
    “Mistress Heloise suggested you leave the girl be until Garrick returns and decides how he will handle her. She will come herself in a week’s time to see if the lady has accepted her lot.”
    “Heloise come here? Ha!” Yarmille laughed. “She must be most concerned about the girl if she will venture here when Garrick is not home.”
    Ogden knew of the dislike the two women had for each other. Both had given Anselm a son. “My task is completed. Will you return with me to the feast, mistress? You have been invited by Anselm.”
    Yarmile’s light blue eyes lit up with pleasure.