Vengeance Hammer (Viking Vengeance) (13 page)

Dráddør and Konáll lost interest in the gift and turned their attention to Godfraid.

“You take a sizeable force to court, Earl Godfraid. Expect you trouble on the way?” Konáll and Dráddør blocked Xára and Nyssa from Godfraid and Magnhildur’s view.

“What has you so pale?” Nyssa leaned down to hiss the question.

Xára averted her eyes and ground her jaw. She had naught to fear. Naught. She was married. Her maidenhead gone. Any value she had for Magnhildur and her devil schemes had been negated. But her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and no matter how much she inhaled the ache in her chest grew worse. Xára bit the insides of her cheeks and pretended a calm she did not feel.

Nyssa squeezed Xára’s shoulder.

“’Tis, Magnhildur, is it not?” Nyssa guided Xára in the direction of the head table. “She is the one who took away your voice.”

Xára stumbled.

Dráddør was at her side in an instant. “See you to your husband, Nyssa. This eve you cling to his side. Xára, if you do not take my arm this moment, I will carry you to the high table.”

She glared at him.

“Be angry. Find your courage in fury.” He winked at her and offered his escort with a crooked arm. “This eve I will pleasure you well, wife. How feels your puss? I hope you are healed for I intend to sheath myself in your heat the moment I bar our door.”

The long walk to the dais passed in a blur, for Dráddør’s murmured words had her in a riot of confusion. The wicked, wicked Viking told her how beautiful and irresistible he found her puss. He had names for every part of her womanhood. The secret nub he called her clitty, the folds around her sex he termed her lips of pleasure, and her center, her throbbing center, he referred to as her sheath, her hot channel, her quim.

She had never heard such words and the way he spoke had her cheeks heating and icing from one moment to another. By the time she took her seat at the high table, Xára had forgotten Magnhildur, Godfraid, and all the others in the chamber. Dráddør had become her focus, her center, and he kept touching her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears, smoothing a frown, thumbing her mouth.

Only when Magnhildur slid onto the high table’s bench, did she falter. Xára focused on the teasing circle Dráddør drew on her thigh. She stared at his thumb and forefinger, concentrated on the warmth and moistness he fueled in her hot channel, and mentally recited the wicked words he’d taught her on the way to the dais.

How she wished to speak to him. To murmur in his ear the way he did hers. Xára’s chest swelled with pride when he didn’t deign to glance at Magnhildur’s bosom, magnificently revealed by her low-cut gown.

Xára reveled in the attention paid her by him; the way he selected treats from the trencher they shared. A litany of caresses—he outlined her ear, and mother Mary have mercy, did his touch make her weak at the knees. Always, he had a hand on her, from a quick, brief squeeze of her leg, to a lingering stroke of her back, and when he massaged her nape, she could’ve swooned from the sheer pleasure of the caress.

Dráddør captured her hand and linked their fingers together. “Trust in me, mit sváss.”

She would. She would give him her trust. But what of Evie? Would he protect Evie too?

“What?” Dráddør’s finger forced her to turn to him. “’Tis Evie you look for? She is with Ulna, guarded by my men. Two inside her chamber. Two on either side of the door.”

How she loved this man. Her eyes brimmed with grateful tears. She caressed his jaw.

“I guard all that is mine. You. Evie. Lady Jennie. All of you are under my protection. I will not waver in my guard. Are you assured of my protection?” His fierce scowl and intense scrutiny made her heart lose a beat. He did not know her secrets, could not guess at what she hid, and she didn’t want him to.

Would he protect her when all was revealed? Nay. She dug her fingernails into her palm. Pasted a smile on her face. Met him look for look. Kept her chin elevated and prayed for strength.

A bevy of maids and kitchen boys threaded their way around the hall dropping loaves and jugs on tables. The yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread spiraled around the chamber.

Magnhildur, who had been silent since they sat on the dais, spoke. “’Tis new for King Kenneth, this alliance with the Norse?”

“You are sadly misinformed,
Lady
Magnhildur.” Nyssa’s smile was anything but friendly. “King Harald and King Kenneth forged the alliance more than three winters before this coming one. But, Lady Jennie explains that this part of the isle is so remote ’tis not oft visited. Mayhap this explains your ignorance.”

The roses in Magnhildur’s cheeks vanished. She froze in the act of breaking a loaf in two.

“Xára tells me she has never met you, my lord Godfraid.” Nyssa winked at Xára.

“’Tis true. Arnfinn sent the girl to an abbey many winters past.” He frowned and directed a hard stare at Magnhildur. “Lady Jennie? We had news of her death. She and Arnfinn drowned in a storm.”

“Arnfinn is dead. Lady Jennie is recovering from a recent illness.” Dráddør sent Nyssa a quelling glance.

“I am known for my healing skills. I would examine Lady Jennie if it pleases you,” Magnhildur declared.

A sudden rage sparked brilliant and red, Xára could scarce see for the mist blurring her vision. She half-rose from the bench.

Nyssa grabbed Xára’s hand. “Nay. Take a sip of wine.”

“My wife,
Queen
Nyssa, is a healer. We have no need of your skills.” Konáll carved a chunk of cheese and offered it to Nyssa.

A marked quiet fell over the high table. Those seated on the lower benches took no notice and the normal conversation of a meal in the great hall continued unabated.

Nyssa murmured her thanks when a page set a pitcher and two loaves on the table. She pulled one jug close, sniffed, and shuddered. “Since the babe, I cannot abide mead. Husband, will you share your ale with me?”

Xára swept her glance around the hall and spied Ívarr entering from the kitchens. Her pulse skittered and a bead of perspiration trailed down between her breasts. To keep busy, she broke the loaf and offered Dráddør one half.

“My thanks, wife. I know not why this woman inspires such fear in you. But I will not have it.”

Tears formed in Xára’s eyes and she stared at her shaking hands. She had shamed him. Vikings fear naught. She must strive to be like Nyssa, tall, proud, and brave.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Ívarr pouring wine into Magnhildur’s goblet. She dug her nails into her palms and tried not to stare in that direction, but could not resist peeking at the two of them.

Her gaze intersected with Magnhildur’s. The evil menace in Magnhildur’s black stare bit Xára to the core. She had to grind her teeth and clench her jaw to not see stars. Mother Mary, help her to find a way to protect Evie and herself from Magnhildur’s malevolent intent.

“How long you do grace us with your presence?” Dráddør asked Godfraid.

Xára winced at the sarcasm in his tone, but Godfraid seemed not to notice for he answered in a pleasant tone. “We are awaiting the gifts ordered from a trader for King Kenneth and his queen. The trader sent a message of his arrival in Myrtle Harbor within the sennight.”

A sennight? Nay. They would be here that long? Her insides quailed. Xára set her hand to Dráddør’s thigh needing to draw strength from him. His leg muscles quivered under her palm and set her breathing to high and uncontrolled.

He shot her a hot glance and covered her hand with his. “I need no distractions, mit sváss. You are entrancing enough to break my concentration. I need my head clear this eve.”

She bit her lip and stared at the floor. How lucky she was that King Kenneth had commanded their vow saying. He was a warrior forged in duty, honor, and the protection of those with in his command. Xára couldn’t stop the smile spreading her lips.

Yearning to yell, “I am yours to command.” Xára fisted her hands and drew herself up straight. Though she longed to write on his chest, Xára forced herself to sit by his side and chew the morsels he fed her. The food tasted like dirt.

The kitchen boys and the maids served course after course. The meal was interminable. Godfraid drank wine copiously, but Magnhildur had a mere sip, mayhap two.

As soon as the sweet pudding was brought to the table, Nyssa kneaded the small of her back and rose. “Pray excuse me Lord Godfraid, Lady Magnhildur. The babe has me weary. Xára, will you help me to my chamber?”

Xára could have howled in relief. She nodded and wiped her eating knife.

Dráddør cupped her chin. “Ghazi will guard you until I arrive.”

When she rose to accompany Nyssa, Xára spied Ghazi standing behind the high table’s bench. She wanted to kiss the warrior for saving her from facing Godfraid and Magnhildur.

Once they were out of hearing, Nyssa spoke, her voice low, “You show your fear, Xára. Magnhildur can do naught while our husbands are in the hall.”

Xára met the other woman’s gaze and slowly shook her head. ’Twas in this very hall, at this very table, that Magnhildur had poisoned Jennie.

Chapter Seven

When Dráddør entered the master chamber later, he spied Xára in the large bed well-tucked under the blankets. The flame on the oil lamps beside the wooden posts fluttered in the draft from the hallway. He bid the guards goodnight, closed and barred the door, and walked to her side.

Her lashes cast crescent shadows on her creamy skin. She slept curled onto one side, knees ‘neath her chin, and both palms folded under her cheeks. He smiled. Odin had done him right. Mayhap Xára couldn’t speak, but more and more he admired her quick mind, determination, and innocent passion.

She had not the voluptuous figure he’d always favored, yet the mere memory of her beguiling smile, pink-tipped breasts, and pretty puss thickened his cock. He had been hard pressed to concentrate on any goal other than ensuring her safety the moment they learned of Godfraid’s arrival. He had sensed her revulsion and terror when Godfraid brushed his mouth across her knuckles. It had taken considerable restraint not to split the earl’s lips.

The notion of any other man touching her fired his rage and a possessiveness he’d never experienced afore.

His. All his. None would ever harm a hair on her head.

A sudden draught whispered over his neck. Dráddør rubbed his palms together, frowned, and glanced at the hearth. The sparse glow of the charcoaled logs explained the chill in the room, but the flames bent toward the shutters instead of away from them. He scanned the length of the wall near a wooden privacy screen, but found no obvious cracks or spaces 2tween the uneven mortaring. On the morrow he would order a mason to see to sealing the windows properly.

He sat on the wooden chest used for storing his weapons at sea, unlaced his boots, yanked them off and stacked them side by side at the foot of the trunk. After unhooking his hammer, he placed the heavy metal on one end of the chest. Next to that went his sword, axe, and daggers, all aligned with hilts to the lid’s edge. He pulled his tunic over his head, removed his breeches and laid the garments on the chest. Long years of battle had taught him to have all his clothes and weapons at the ready in case he had to dress in haste.

Xára shifted on the mattress, and he stole over to study his sleeping wife. Unable to resist he tested the silkiness of one long ringlet. He squatted, and the fresh scent of her surrounded him. If ’twere not for the fine breasts mounding her nightgown, she could have been a mere girl tired out from a day of hard play in the sun.

The curl of her lashes held some strange fascination for him. He had a vague memory of a harem woman’s boast of pleasuring a man with only her eyelashes. Dráddør grinned, mayhap ’twas possible, and most cert ’twould be a wonderful way to while away a long winter’s night.

When Nyssa used the coming babe as an excuse for her and Xára to retire early, Magnhildur could do naught but follow suit, and the tension at the high table had nigh vanished with her removal.

Dráddør had known many a woman like Magnhildur, beautiful on the outside, but rotten and ugly on the inside. He had no interest or time for the females who could wear a brilliant smile while stabbing a man in the heart. What had Magnhildur done to make Xára so afraid of her?

He and Konáll had stayed with Godfraid in the great hall long after most had retired for the eve. They had encouraged Godfraid to drink and directed the conversation to the Pict camps in the region, his relationship with Arnfinn, and the frequency of his visits to Lathairn over the years.

If Godfraid spoke even a glimmer of the truth, then while he and Arnfinn served the same man, Kenneth of Scotland, neither had lived in each other’s pockets. Néill had not been discussed, though both Dráddør and Konáll brought up his name oft.

Toward the end of the evening, Godfraid had started favoring his side and grimacing. ’Twas the perfect time to question the man about his sudden wedding, and Dráddør had managed a few questions before Godfraid expressed a need for the garderobe and departed with much haste.

What they gleamed from Godfraid had not amounted to much and contradicted all they had been led to believe. First, Godfraid and Arnfinn had met on only two occasions over the last ten winters. Once, right after Arnfinn had invaded Lathairn, murdered Lady Jennie’s father, mother, and sons, and then married Lady Jennie to secure the title. The second time when they had both been summoned to Harald Bluetooth’s Danish court after the king’s conversion to Christianity. Both men had followed their liege lord’s suit and proclaimed their conversion.

Xára’s eyelids fluttered, she twisted to the left, and sleep-dazed eyes blinked sweetly at him. His past experiences had taught him that all, even the most disciplined warriors, showed their true emotions on first awakening. He studied her reactions. Her wonderful lips curved in a genuine smile. The skin at the corners of her eyes creased and he caught the yellow of the flickering lamp above reflected in the blue-green hue that never failed to heat his groin. She stretched her arms wide.