Death Blow (14 page)

“Aye.” He yawned as a wave of tiredness sank deep into him. “I wonder you are nay weary. I can scarce keep my eyes open.”

“Sleep then, husband, and rest your weary eyes. I should like you to know that you are all that I have e’er dreamed of. I am the most fortunate of women to have you to husband.” She outlined his mouth. “I thank you for all that you have done for my people and the keep. Would that the castle and our people see naught but peace and prosperity in the coming years.”

He struggled to stay awake but exhaustion had him yawning yet again. He sent her a bleary smile and snuggled into the sheets and bed cushions. The straw mattress had been packed well and not a single tick poked through the linens. His last thought as he drifted into a languorous slumber was an image of Hjørdis laughing aloud while skipping down the path leading to the village. He could not wait for his wife to meet their bright star. Nyssa and Hjørdis were cert to be fast friends.

Konáll awoke to an empty bed and a headache of enormous proportions. He shifted to the left and nigh groaned from the pain racking his brain. A quick scan of the room revealed the chamber empty. A clay wine pitcher and two goblets littered the table next to the bed. Two trays were scattered on the stone floor, one held the remnants of raspberry pie and cream, while the other held a stale loaf, a couple of bruised apples, and a few chunks of venison.

He glanced to the mantle and frowned when he caught sight of a folded scrap of paper. Groaning, Konáll rolled to the edge of the mattress. His mouth was dry, his throat parched, and a wave of nausea welled up his gullet. He had not consumed enough wine to warrant the pain throbbing at his temples.

It took a considerable effort to sit up on the bed. Waves of giddiness assaulted him. He cradled his head in his hands. Gathering all his energy, he listed to his feet, and locked out his knees when they wobbled. He staggered to the fireplace and grabbed the note from the mantle.

Sheer terror crept a chilling path across his nape.

He flipped open the missive and blinked. The undulating script bobbled and weaved. Konáll squinted and finally read the few lines she’d scribbled.

I am not fit to be anyone’s wife, far less one as noble and as wonderful as you. I thank you for everything and I leave my people and my keep in your capable hands.

Nyssa.

Chapter Eleven

Nyssa hugged her arms. The morn had dawned with the chill of winter. She grabbed the reins, mounted the mare, and then patted the horse’s smooth flanks.

“I did not name you, girl. For you are not to be mine. I pray Konáll finds you a kind mistress.” She set her heels to the chestnut’s sides and urged her into a canter.

The ferry ran from the west coast of the isle to the mainland. One of Dermid’s cousins operated the ship that departed at midmorn. She spurred the horse into a gallop and refused to think of Konáll. She would mourn his loss later when safely ensconced at Circe Fearn Abbey.

She tugged on the reins and slowed to a trot when they approached the highest peak on the isle, Mount Nèamh, named for Christ’s heaven by the priest who had served her grandfather. The dense forest of pines that coated the mountain perfumed the frosty air cresting the narrow trail she followed. The news of her Da and Mama’s betrayal by Gudrun had hit her hard, but she’d had no time to grieve. Had treason been knit into the keep from the very start? She bit her lips until the flinty taste of blood swarmed around her tongue.

Nyssa rounded a sharp bend and jerked on the reins when Mús’s blue coat came into view. She swallowed the well of emotions racing up her throat.

“Ciárrán. I thought I would ne’er see you again.” She transferred the reins to one hand and hopped to the ground. A sudden gust iced her nape and bare forearms. She had once again chosen warrior garb over those of a woman.

“Why do you do this foolish thing, sister? I went to great trouble to bring Konáll to you. You and he are fated. And yet, you turn coward and run.”

Mús prowled a circle around Nyssa and the mare.

She followed his powerful strides. “You cannot quarrel with me, Ciárrán. I did what I had to.”

He snorted, roared, and pawed the layer of thick leaves and needles.

The dense, thick, scent of moist mud wafted to her nose.

Nyssa wanted to howl and rail and throw stones at Mús. “I cannot give him heirs, Ciárrán. I am not fit to be his wife. ’Twas the reason I insisted on the handfasting. He is a good man, a fine warrior. He will lead our people and hold Castle Caerleah against our enemies. But he needs have sons. And I cannot give him those.”

Mús sat on his haunches. “You are foolish, sister. E’en now you carry his son.”

The thunder of hooves drowned her anguished whimper. Nyssa stifled a groan and knew in her heart that Konáll, Dráddør, Thōrfin, and Grelod had somehow followed her trail.

Nyssa fisted her hands. She spun around and blew out a defeated sight when the four riders came into view. If she’d had any energy left, Nyssa would have chuckled at the jaw-dropped expressions Dráddør, Thōrfin, and Grelod wore.

“They see you, Ciárrán?” She did not shift her focus from the riders, but avoided looking at her husband.

“Aye. They hear me as well.”

“How? Why?” She chewed her lower lip. A flood of tears and sobs strangled her voice.

“I know not sister. My enchantment deepens. I am not sure I can return to warrior form. I am not sure I e’en want to do so. The beast in me grows strong and powerful.” Sorrow cast a black hue on Mús’s blue mane.

“To me, wife. Now.”

She hung her head to avoid her husband’s fierce stare. Knew she would have to tell all to do what was right. She lifted her head and met Konáll’s gaze. “I am not fit to be any man’s wife. For I have never had a woman’s courses and therefore cannot carry a child.”

“Afore the new year you will deliver Konáll a fine son.”

“The lion speaks?” The hissed whisper came from Grelod.

Nyssa nodded. “Mús who is also Ciárrán, and the new Earl of Rurari, is my half brother and cursed to lion form by Aegir.”

Grelod dismounted and fisted her hands on her hips. “I am a Christian woman and do not believe in curses. Albeit I have ne’er met a lion who can speak. ’Tis perhaps one of the miracles I have heard banded about. Lion, why are you so cert Nyssa is with child?”

Thōrfin jumped off his stallion and snagged Grelod to his side. “Are you mad, woman? ’Tis a lion, not a peasant you berate.”

“Mús is Nyssa’s half brother and the curse she speaks of is true.” Konáll leapt off his horse and tossed the reins to one side. He stalked to Nyssa, and she shrank back against the fury etched in his pinched brows and hunched shoulders.

“I would nay have believed my half-goddess jötunn wife a simpering coward. You sneak off at dawn like a thief and steal across the isle because you have never had a woman’s courses. What care I of this?” Konáll shouted.

Nyssa lifted her head to meet his stare full on. “Are you deaf, Viking? Did you not hear what I said? I cannot give you sons. Sons! I am no coward and merely left afore you cast me aside.”

Grelod covered her ears and stamped a foot. “Can none of you speak without shouting?”

“Mayhap ’twould be beneficial if we all agreed to lower our voices.” Dráddør maneuvered his stallion into the middle of the four of them. He raked a glance o’er Mús. “Konáll has told me of you. I repeat Grelod’s query. Why are you cert Nyssa is with child?”

“Her mother is cert.” Mús’s chest rose and fell when he exhaled loudly.

“Mama?” Nyssa shook her head. “Mean you Rán?”

“Aye.”

“You converse with my goddess mother?” Nyssa couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.

“Nyssa, she cannot see you nor speak to you on pain of death. Your death. ’Tis the reason she has done all she has. To keep you safe she gave you into Lady Gráinne’s care. The abbess is the guardian for all female half immortals. When our uncle and aunt and cousin wreaked their spells on you, Rán sent you to the sirens.”

Nyssa did not realize she cried until a tear dripped onto her hand. “Ánáton and Maura and Monette are sorcerers?”

“Aye. Sent by Aegir to wreak havoc on Rán’s plans for you.”

A bitter taste flooded Nyssa’s mouth. “Pray tell, what are my goddess mother’s plans for me?”

“Joy and happiness. You and Konáll will rule this isle and have many sons and daughters.”

Konáll hugged her from behind. She twisted to meet his gaze. “I know not what to believe any longer. I tell you truly husband. I have ne’er had a woman’s courses.”

“Nyssa, I am well content with you and will ne’er cast you aside. I will mayhap tar your backside again for this morn’s escapade, but you are mine. If we have no sons or daughters, we will deed the castle and keep to another. Mayhap Hjørdis or one of Dráddør’s sons.”

She turned in his embrace. “I am not the woman you expected or wanted.”

“Ah, but there you err, Nyssa. For you are mit hiärta, the woman of my heart.”

* * *

Summer and fall had come and gone and during those fertile months of plowing and harvesting, Nyssa’s belly had rounded and her tits had doubled in size, much to Konáll’s delight.

Nyssa set down her eating knife and took stock of the great hall. Peace had settled o’er the isle. The castle bustled in much the way it had under her Da’s rule.

“What troubles you, wife?” Konáll nudged her.

She sighed and gazed into the deep blue of his eyes. “Naught. I am content.”

“Does Haakon’s visit cause you pain?”

“’Twas hard to have the memories spring forth, but I am now able to set the matter to rest.” She fiddled with a ribbon on her sleeve.

“You must be at ease to know you had naught to do with Braggi’s death.” Konáll gave her hand a little squeeze.

Forsooth, Nyssa could scarce believe the new region’s skald, Haakon, when he had spoken of Braggi and told them Ánáton, Maura, and Monette had poisoned Caerleah’s former story teller. That they had drugged Nyssa and made it appear she had bashed Braggi’s skull and killed him. All in an attempt to have her deemed a witch and burnt at the stake.

Nyssa glanced at the short, plump, skald. Lady Grainne had sent Haakon to Castle Caerleah, and Nyssa knew his sole purpose was to cleanse her conscience on Braggi’s death. “I cannot help but wonder at the ease with which Ánáton, Maura, and Monette deceived me. How stupid I was to fall into their plans so quickly.”

“You cannot berate yourself on this, mìlseachd. You were a green girl who was uncert of herself. Fresh with the innocence of Circe Fearn Abbey. You could not compete with their spells and sorcery, e’en if you had come into your goddess powers.” Konáll carved a thin slice of boar and offered the meat to her.

Nyssa chewed and considered her husband’s words. Yes, she had been ripe for the plucking and had taken her relatives taunts of meager titties and lack of courses to heart. She had fallen right into their plans, but ’twas in the past, and she had no regrets, save for Braggi’s death.

From this point she would let go of all the pain, of all she had lost, and concentrate on the new life blossoming in her womb. She stared at her husband’s profile and prayed their child would have his proud nose and strong jaw. Or mayhap her Da’s green eyes or Ciárrán’s sense of humor.

“I miss Ciárrán.” Her stepbrother had left the day after he confronted her on Mount Nèamh. He had gone with Nyssa’s blessing to seek out Odin and appeal to the god for the lifting of his curse.

“I know.” Konáll curled an arm around her shoulder. “I am cert he will appear once the babe is born.”

“Mayhap we will see Dráddør then too.” She had grown to adore her brother in marriage.

“Dráddør will not rest until he has his vengeance on Niketas.” Konáll drained an ale horn. “Nor will I.”

Wazir Niketas had managed to evade the warriors. Thōrfin, Dráddør, and Konáll had continued the hunt for the Saracen to no avail. But with the onset of the winter months, Thōrfin and Grelod had returned to Moray and Dráddør to his brother’s Brökk’s holding in the Norse lands.

“I am grateful for the onset of winter. ’Tis means you can no longer prowl the seas hunting Niketas.” She flashed him a grin. “Grelod sent me a missive on the preparation of raspberry jam and clotted cream. Guess you what we have in our chamber this eve?”

“As overfond as I am of raspberries, Nyssa, they are no match for your nipples. Naught can compare to the feel of you in my arms. For many moons I have feared loving a woman, but I can no longer fight what how I feel about you, mit hiärta. I am a warrior who no longer fears to love.

“You are my heart and the love of my life.” Nyssa tried, but failed to hide a lusty grin. “I must admit I may ne’er speak with the smithy again.”

Konáll bent his head so they were nose to nose. “You tell me you love me and then speak of the smithy? I am cert to tar your backside this eve, wife.”

“Mayhap you should ask me why I will no longer be able to meet the smithy’s gaze?” She thrust her breasts forward.

“Nay. You will not use your milk-engorged titties to distract me. The smithy?”

“’Tis my Christmas gift to you. Metal raspberries in different sizes.” She brushed his lips with hers. “Weights, if you will.”

“Weights? Raspberries?” Konáll frowned. “Methinks you are addled, wife.”

“Nay, husband. Truly, Konáll, you love raspberries, no? And your Saracen ring has not seen a weight in some time. A raspberry weight.” She rolled her eyes. “Nay, more like five different raspberry weights.”

He swore. “And the smithy knows of this?”

“He knows not what I want them for. I told him they were for a
grydel.
” Konall’s cheeks wore a deep beet hue. She stroked his thigh under the high table. “I cannot bear the notion that the Saracen ring that saved me caused you such pain. I only thought to replace those horrendous memories with better ones. “

Konáll made a strangled noise. He cupped her chin and stared at her. “Once I believed love of a woman a weakness a warrior must avoid at all costs. Now, I know that the love I bear for you has made me a better man and a stronger warrior. I love you, Nyssa.”