Johanna Lindsey - Viking Family Tree 01 by Fires Of Winter

Author:Fires Of Winter [Winter, Fires Of]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2012-02-05T14:11:52+00:00

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

She did not think twice before she ran for the table and grabbed the long knife she had used earlier to butcher the rabbit. In her blind rage she was careless. She turned to attack, only to find Anselm behind her. He grabbed her wrist, and with his other hand, pried open her fingers until the knife dropped to the floor. He then swung her away and she fell back against the chair by the hearth, nearly knocking it over.

She stayed there, breathing heavily, and watched him pick up the knife, then look about for any others before he closed the door. When he faced her, their eyes locked, mellow blue with stormy gray, and it seemed like hours before he finally moved again. Undaunted, he walked over to the table, pulled the long bench out, and straddled it.

"I mean you no harm, girl," Anselm's words came out gruffly, and he cleared his throat before he continued in a softer tone. "Can you understand me? Have you learned to speak my language yet?"

Brenna did not blink an eye at his question, but remained perfectly still. She watched him suspiciously.

What reason did he have to be here when Garrick was away?

Anselm fiddled with the knife in his hands, his head bent as he watched the long blade gleam in the firelight. "I expected no less from you," he said in a soft whisper.

Brenna frowned. What was he talking about? She had to strain to hear him as he continued. "I should not have come, I suppose. 'Tis too soon for you to forget what I did, or to understand why. I hated your people, girl, for what they did to my son. When you have a son of your own, you will understand.

Garrick could forgive them, for he learned compassion from his mother, but I could not. We are a proud and vengeful people, but I was wrong to exact my vengeance from you and your family, who were not to blame.

" 'Twas your northern Celts who held my son prisoner in a murky dungeon for nigh onto a year, and he only a youth of ten and seven then. They denied him nourishment, except for gruel not fit for dogs. They tortured him for sport, but were careful not to kill him, for 'twas their intention to use him against other Vikings who came to raid them. When Garrick escaped and returned to us, he was but a shell of the boy he was. It took over a year for his full strength to return and the scars to heal."

Anselm finally looked up at Brenna, his blue eyes sad. "I know you do not understand what I am saying, girl. You hear my voice, but do not comprehend my words. 'Tis just as well," he sighed. "I like you, girl. I admire your spirit and I regret that I took you from your land. You will never know this, though, for I am a man with fool pride like any other.

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