Free By Love Enslaved by Phoebe Conn Page B

gotten the last word for the moment, she wasn’t ready to concede the fight.
    That the conversation about the slave had become so heated only served to whet Freya’s curiosity about him. “Soren, you’ve not said a word. Don’t you have an opinion about Brendan?”
    Soren looked up then, his blue eyes smoldering with fury. “I despise the bastard!” he shouted, and shoving aside the small table upon which his dishes sat, he leapt to his feet and stormed out of the hall.
    A deathly silence descended upon the long room, for the servants tidying up the kitchen had also heard Soren’s curse and were as deeply stunned by it as his family. They all knew Erik’s heritage and Soren’s outburst was an insult and a shocking breach of manners.
    “I’m going to kill him!” Dana swore as she rose from her seat, but Erik reached out to catch her wrist.
    “Soren has been in a disagreeable mood ever since Haakon left. He didn’t mean anything by that,” the persuasive young man insisted as he coaxed the volatile redhead back down into her place.
    Freya sighed sadly, fearing she had caused a regrettable scene when it should have been obvious to her by his dejected pose that Soren was in no mood to contribute anything positive to the evening. What little appetite she had had was now gone, and she wanted only to go to her room and rest for the coming day.
    “I really must speak with Brendan in the morning, Erik,” Freya insisted as she rose from her place. “If he has stirred up such deep resentment after only one day with us, I don’t dare let another go by without meeting him.”
    Feeling utterly defeated, Dana sank back against the thickly padded bench as she watched her mother move away. Freya had always been graceful, but now she was so thin that her flowing garments floated about her as though borne by an unseen breeze rather than being suspended from her narrow shoulders.
    “I don’t know whom I dislike most at this moment, Soren or that despicable Celt!” Dana whispered under her breath.
    “Soren,” Thora spit out the name, as always ready to offer her opinion.
    Erik and Soren had never shared the closeness he and Svien did. Indeed, Soren admired neither his elder brother nor his half brother. He was simply jealous of them and envied the independence their advantage in years had given them. Since each had his own work, Erik seldom spent any time with Soren, which he was certain only added to the strain that existed between them. Still, he knew the boy had not meant to insult him as well as Brendan.
    “Soren’s moodiness is a minor problem, Dana. Forget him. In the morning I’ll see Brendan behaves himself so you needn’t worry about him either. Now let’s finish this stew. It’s quite the best meal we’ve had all week.”
    Dana watched Erik and Thora finish the tasty dish down to the last drop of gravy in the bottom of their bowls, but she didn’t take another bite. All she could think of was Brendan’s mocking grin, and the prospect of facing him again so soon was almost more than she could bear.
     
     
    As Erik approached the fur storehouse, he could hear Brendan singing to himself. While the words of the song were in the slave’s own tongue, it was obvious from the lighthearted nature of the tune that the Celt was having no difficulty keeping himself amused. He had not expected the man would be weeping over being confined, but still Erik was not pleased to find him distracting himself with so pleasant a diversion.
    When Brendan heard the key being turned in the lock, he sprang to his feet and took a firm grasp on the bearskin he had wrapped around his waist. Thinking it must be Dana returning to bid him good night, a surge of exhilaration coursed down his spine and he let himself hope she had realized his bargain would be beneficial to them both. He broke into a wide grin at the delicious nature of that possibility, but when he saw Erik standing at the door, his expression became a disappointed