Fires of Winter Read Free Page A

chamber around the corner. Alane was past her prime, but it did not show overly much. Her red hair bespoke her Scots forebears. It had been carrot-colored at one time, but now was a dull yellow-orange. Still, her dark blue eyes twinkled youthfully. She was not as sprightly as she used to be, however, and was given to frequent, long illnesses during the winter months, when Brenna became the servant and waited on Alane.
    “Oh, Brenna, my girl!” Alane said breathlessly, holding a slim hand to her chest. “’Tis glad I am to see you back in time. You know your father would have his fits if you missed your lesson with Wyndham. So ’tis through dressing like the son for now; time to dress like the daughter you are. I did fear, when Boyd came with news of the boar, that you would not return in time.”
    “Curse Wyndham and his kinsmen!” Brenna snapped tiredly. “And curse that bloody boar too!”
    “My, but we’re in a fine mood this day,” Alane clucked.
    “We’re not—I am!”
    “What brought on this bit of temper?”
    Brenna moved to sit up, winced, and lay down again. “Willow, that pregnant cow! As well as I’ve trained that nag, she had the effrontery to be spooked by a rabbit. A rabbit! I will never forgive her for that.”
    Alane chuckled. “I take it you lost your perch on that spirited filly, and your pride is a wee bit bruised.”
    “Oh, hush up, woman! I don’t need your prattling. I need a bath—a hot one to soak these sore bones.”
    “’Twill have to be a quick one, my dear,” Alane replied, unoffended. She was quite used to her lady’s blustering ways. “Wyndham is expecting you soon.”
    “Wyndham can wait!”
     
    The large receiving chamber on the lower floor was where Brenna met Wyndham every afternoon. It had been thus for almost a year now, since the bloodthirsty heathens came from the north and raided Holyhead Island in A.D . 850. Brenna endured the hated lessons because she had no choice. She learned what she was taught, but for her own purpose, not because Angus ordered it.
    Wyndham stood up when she entered the room, a dark scowl across his fair features. “You are late, Lady Brenna.”
    Gowned in sea-green silk, which went well with the raven black hair that flowed freely down her trim back, Brenna smiled sweetly. “You must forgive me, Wyndham. It grieves me that I have kept you waiting, when I am sure you have more important things to do.”
    The tall Norseman’s features softened and his eyes darted about the room, looking everywhere except at Brenna. “Nonsense. There is naught more important than preparing you for your new life and home.”
    “Then we must begin immediately, to make up for the time we have lost.”
    To give credit where credit was due, Brenna could be a lady when the situation warranted it. Her Aunt Linnet had seen to that. She could be gracious, charming, and use her wiles to suit her purpose. It was not often that she called on these female ploys, but when she did, all men were lost to her.
    The bath had helped, but not enough to allow her easy movement. Brenna crossed slowly to one of the four thronelike chairs that faced the huge fireplace and joined Wyndham. He started the lesson where they had left off the day before, with Norse mythology. He spoke in Norwegian now, which Brenna clearly understood, for that language was the first thing Wyndham had taught her.
    Was it really less than a year since they received the news of Holyhead Island? It seemed like so much longer. The story had been a shock and put the fear of death into them all. It was two days later that Augus sent for Brenna and told her of the solution to their predicament. Brenna had not even been aware that they were in one.

    She saw the meeting clearly in her mind. It was a scene that haunted many of her dreams. Her father, sitting across from her in this very room, was appropriately wearing black. Black, the color of doom. A black tunic as dark as his shoulder-length hair and as