Fires of Winter by Johanna Lindsey Read Free Book Online Page A

the ship before nightfall.
    The Viking longship was a horror to the prisoners, all of whom were women. It was a sleek sixty-foot-long vessel, at least fifteen wide in the middle. On the prow was an intricately carved, hideous monster from Hell. This ship would take them from their land and sever all ties with the world they knew.
    The proud Viking ship was beached in a little cove, hidden by tall trees. Two men had been left behind to guard it. They had been instructed to put it out to sea in case of trouble. But there had been no trouble, and the two men greeted the returning warriors with whoops and bellows.
    Usually the Vikings spent the night on land, but because of the number of enemy who had escaped into the woods during the attack (possibly to run for help), and because of the wide trail the Vikings had left behind in transporting the livestock, Anselm the Eager hoisted the square purple sail that night.
    A handful of men made the sacrifice to Thor to insure a safe journey while the others loaded the cargo. The women were put in the stern, where a crude tent was erected for them. Other than that, they were left alone. The men had satisfied their blood lust and their carnal lust, and would not need to do so again until the ship reached land once more.
    All of the women had been raped, some many times, save for Brenna, who remained unconscious from the blow Anselm dealt her until after the ship sailed. There were seven prisoners in all; Linnet and Cordella, along with Enid and three other young girls from the village. Most of the men had been killed, except for those who managed to flee into the woods or those left gravely wounded who were not expected to last the night.
    Brenna knew this, and it was an additional torture to her. She had failed to protect her people and she had failed to protect herself. Her defeat at the hands of the Viking chieftain, a man past his youthful prime, was the shameful blow she could not bear. Her hate for this one man surpassed all reason. He had rendered her helpless; he had struck her down. He had shown one and all that she was just a woman after all. He would pay for that, and for everything else.
    The ship glided over the waves like a sleek monster, leaving Wales behind. The women were fed twice a day on dry codfish, ham or pickled meats, flat bread and butter. It was cold, dry food, which many could not keep down. Cordella frequently dashed to the side of the ship to empty her stomach. The men found this amusing, and their laughter added to the women’s shame.
    Brenna ate only to sustain her strength for the goal she had set for herself: to kill Anselm the Eager. She would not speak to her companions or listen to their fearful wailings. Linnet tried to comfort her, but she could not tolerate any kindness and would not even speak to her. Her shame was too great, her bitterness too new. Wisely, Linnet gave up for the time being.
    Anselm the Eager came occasionally to look at Brenna. He was a huge man with the girth of a bear. His hair was tawny-colored, as was the beard that covered his face, and he had piercing blue eyes. He was a man to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies—but not into Brenna’s. When he looked at her curiously—almost admiringly, it seemed—she would meet his look with a venomous one, such open hostility and hatred in her eyes that he would walk away disgruntled.
    Anselm almost regretted what he had done, but he would never admit it aloud. He had given his word of honor to the enemy. Yet there was no dishonor in breaking his word to his enemy—to a friend, yea, but not to the enemy.
    He who had arranged the marriage had promised much wealth would accompany the bride, and, unsuspecting, had told where it was to be found. There would be no bride for Anselm’s son, but the gold was there for the taking. The chieftain was returning home a wealthier man, and his men had their share and were happy.
    When Anselm looked at the young beauty, he was amused by her