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could be this very night or on the morrow. And then came the wedding night—and the terror. Cordella almost laughed aloud. There would be pain that first night, and Brenna would think it would always be thus, thanks to her. What sweet revenge. If only she could be there to see it.
    Brenna was thinking exactly that. She was not ready for marriage, and never would be. She was not geared to suffer pain without retaliation. She would fight! Lord in Heaven, what if she killed her husband for claiming his rights? It would be her own death sentence.
    These wild thoughts were tumbling through her mind when the first large boulder struck the manor door. Startled exclamations came from one and all. Questioning glances met confused looks, but when a choked cry came from the yard, followed by yet another boulder against the door, Brenna dashed to the window to take in the scene with disbelieving eyes.
    “Holy God, they are attacking!”
    A servant lay decapitated by the path from the stables, and the yard was crawling with Vikings, their swords, axes and spears drawn and ready. A small, crudely constructed catapult was worked by two men. A third boulder hit the door. From down the hill, dark curls of smoke drifted skyward—the village was afire.
    Brenna turned to the group behind her. Wyndham was among them, and her eyes met his accusingly. “Is this the way your kinsmen come for a bride?”
    Wyndham had no answer, but Fergus spoke with uncertainty. “These Vikings cannot be the ones I sought out.”
    “Look, then, and see if you know them!” she ordered harshly.
    “Brenna, calm yourself,” Linnet said, though her own voice betrayed her anxiety.
    Fergus went to the window, and it took only a second for him to recognize the tall chieftain of the Haardrad clan. Anselm the Eager stood before his men shouting orders.
    “’Tis not possible!” Fergus cried, facing the small, terrified group in the room. “He gave his word!”
    Another boulder against the door prompted Brenna to action. “Wyndham, are you with us or with your treacherous kinsmen? I would know before I turn my back on you.”
    He looked sorely affronted. “With you, my lady. I do not claim kinship with these Norsemen who do not honor their word.”
    “So be it,” she replied. “Those fools have given us time to prepare by bombarding an unlocked door. Dunstan, go bolt it now before more damage is done.”
    Dunstan drew back from her, his eyes filled with horror. “Brenna, they are thirty or more to our three!”
    “Four, curse you!” she snapped. “Do you think I will sit back and watch?”

    “Brenna, be reasonable. We have no chance!”
    “Do you suggest we surrender? Fool, have you forgotten Holyhead Island? Those who did not fight, as well as those who did, all met the bloody axe. Now bolt the door! Fergus, gather the servants and arm them. Wyndham, secure the rear of the manor, then meet me in the hall. We will be ready for the bloody bastards when the door finally gives way.”
    All left to do her bidding without further question. Cordella sat huddled in the corner, weeping hysterically. Linnet was also near tears when she grabbed Brenna’s arm to stay her.
    “You cannot fight them, Brenna! They will kill you the same as a man!”
    “They would kill me anyway, Aunt. My father trained me for this. I will die fighting with honor, rather than weeping in self-pity as Della is wont to do!”
    “They would not kill you, Brenna, if you do not resist them,” Linnet persisted. “They take women—”
    “Never!” Brenna cut her short. “I would rather die than be a Viking captive!”
    With that, Brenna stalked from the room, leaving Linnet and Cordella to their prayers. But before all the servants were roused and armed, the barrier was broken and a blood-curdling war cry sounded from the yard. A moment later, a dozen men lusting for blood burst through the demolished door and stormed into the hall.
    Brenna stood by the foot of the stairs, legs astride,