Malice Striker (21 page)

“Aye. He had skin the color of a walnut trunk, and black eyes, and wore rings on all his fingers.”

Skatha had not seen the Arab, but Elspeth had heard from Dóta that the Wazir Niketas sported twinkling jewels on his fingers. “How long have you been here?”

The girl grunted. “I am not cert. They kept going from one dwelling to another. I could not keep track.”

They reached the clearing. The huts—Skatha counted the remains of five—had been razed to the ground. Here and there the fire attempted resurrection and a plume spouted and fizzled. Smoke, thick and grainy, hung in the air. Warriors brandishing swords, daggers, and the odd bow, picked their way through the carnage and prodded inert bodies.

Skatha led Hjørdis to the perimeter, not wanting the girl to come face to face with the gore of battle. Every so oft a warrior glanced their way, but none hailed them or interrupted their progress.

The first person they encountered was Raki.

Hjørdis hurled herself into his arms. “Beloved Raki. What has happened? Who broke your nose?”

Skatha studied the warrior. A dark patch of blood had congealed at the corner of his very swollen nose.

“’Tis not broken, sweetling, just mangled. Lady Skatha. The jarl is frantic to find you.”

“You are injured, Captain.”

“’Tis of no consequence, my lady. I must get you to the jarl.”

“Where is Lord Brökk?”

“He and Konáll are scouring the woods. I will send a boy to find him.” Raki signaled and a thin, reedy boy ran forward. “Óttarr, find the jarl. Tell him his wife is safe and bring him here.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Bring you boys into battle, Captain?” Elspeth was sure to have a fit when she found out her newest project had been thrown into danger.

“Nay. The boy brought us to battle. ’Twas Óttarr who saw Hilda carry you into the woods and hand you over to Loudon.” Raki adjusted Hjørdis so her little legs could wrap around his waist.

“He is a hero then.” Skatha grinned. The news would likely send Elspeth into euphoria.

“Aye, lady. ’Twere not for Óttarr, we would be on the open seas chasing the Arab and we would ne’er have known where he had imprisoned the warriors commanded to guard you and the other ladies.”

“Know I this Óttarr, Raki?” Hjørdis yawned. “Beg pardon. I am all of a sudden sleepy.”

Raki kissed Hjørdis’s forehead. “Sleep if you like, little one. Your eyes are swollen. Have you been crying?”

She cuffed him. “I am the warrior daughter of ThMrr. Warriors do not cry.”

“Pray excuse me for a moment, Captain.”

“My lady, the jarl will have my head should I let you out of sight.”

Heat scaled Skatha’s throat and face. “I must have a minute, Captain. I will but find a tall bush to attend to…”

The patches of Captain Raki’s face not purpled or scratched colored to a beet red. “Of course, my lady. Pray, stay close.”

Skatha hurried to a thick copse of birches and wound her way into the middle of the trees. She stumbled on something, looked down, and nigh retched. For there on the ground lay a woman. The jewels in the hilt of the dagger imbedded in her chest winked in the glow from the smoldering fire. Her eyes were wide open and staring up at the trees.

Etta.

Brökk’s first wife.

Nay. Only wife. For if Etta had lived, then their marriage was null and void.

Skatha ran back to the captain, the need to empty her bladder superseded by sheer panic. She found Raki issuing orders to his men in much the same place she had left him.

“Lady Skatha, what is wrong?” The captain still carried Hjørdis, who dozed in his arms.

“There is a woman. In the trees.” She pointed. “I must know—who is she?”

His face paled. “My apologies, my lady. Had I known you meant to go in that direction—”

“Who
is
she, Captain?” Skatha near stamped her foot in frustration.

“The jarl’s wife. Beg pardon. First wife.” He glanced about, looking all the world like a jackrabbit cornered by a pack of foxes.

Skatha hung her head.

“My lady. Are you well?”

She lifted her chin. “Aye, Captain. I will seek a refuge beyond yonder bush.”

The hedge she indicated was nigh a foot to the left and shadowed enough to grant her the privacy she needed. Skatha hastened to complete nature’s call and returned to Raki’s side just as Hjørdis yawned noisily and shook herself awake.

Across the clearing two horses galloped toward them. Only as they passed the smoldering remains of a hut did Skatha confirm what her heart knew. ’Twas Brökk and Konáll.

She had eyes only for Brökk.

He reined the horse to an abrupt halt, bounded over the stallion’s head, and landed not a foot in front of her. His gaze swept her face. “You are unhurt?”

“Aye.”

He turned to Raki and opened his arms wide. “Bjartr Stjarna.”

Hjørdis tumbled into his embrace. “I told you Etta was an evil witch.”

“Aye. You did, sweet sister. I promise to listen to your counsel from now on.”

* * *

Within moments of setting out on the return journey to Bita Veðr, Hjørdis had fallen asleep in Konáll’s arms and Skatha in Brökk’s.

The brothers rode side by side and held their horses at a brisk walk. They had ridden their mounts hard to get to the other side of the fjord. The battle had been short but fierce, and the horses needed a respite. So too did the brothers.

“She is unharmed. No bruises and her spirit has not been damaged.” Konáll tucked a lock of hair behind Hjørdis’s ear.

“Aye. Believe you her tale of Skatha flying through the air?” Brökk glanced down at his sleeping wife. She purred into his chest and the tiny vibrations warmed him to the core.

“Your wife’s ears turned pink when our sister related that story. Methinks ’tis true.”

“If what the goddess told Lady Gráinne holds true, then Skatha will soon come to learn her own powers.” He spread his hand over her belly. “She is with child, Konáll.”

“The child will be part immortal, will it not?”

Brökk shrugged. “It matters not to me, once he has the requisite fingers and toes. Think you he might be born blind?”

“Say not those words aloud. ’Tis one thing for a female to be blind, but a man.” He shook his head. “Nay. ’Twill not do.”

They rode in silence for some time. “The whelp, Óttarr, shows great promise. He has a sharp wit and misses naught of what happens around him.”

“Aye. I will elevate Óttarr to page, and we will train him for the Jomsvikings.” Brökk kneed his steed to the left when the path divided into two. “And I will grant Moldof honored status at Bita Veðr.”

Konáll rolled his eyes. “I dread the many nights we will have to spend listening to his mangled skald tales. But ’twere not for him, we would never have found Loudon and Etta before they departed for the East.”

“I still cannot reconcile the spy Moldof with the skald Moldof. Who would have thought him Harald’s man? And that he bested Niketas? ’Tis astounding.”

“Moldof plays the fool well. We both believed him harmless. ’Twas no wonder he lulled Niketas into boasting too much.”

Brökk’s hands tightened on the reins. “Aye. By Loki’s toes, the taste of deceit sours my belly. ’Tis only knowing you were played false too that halts the need to pummel Moldof. Had he but shared his suspicions with us, Skatha would ne’er have been taken.”

Konáll met Brökk’s gaze. “Methinks Moldof did not know the all of it and sought to draw out the play to discover who else was behind the plots. You cannot fault him on his secrecy and when he knew the all, Moldof did not hesitate to raise the alarm and call Sigrid to battle to aid us.”

“Forsooth, we had need of Sigrid, and our other neighbors this eve.”

“And Kenneth, King of Scots, who sent the bishop to annul your marriage?”

“’Tis matters not now. Etta still lived when Skatha and I said our vows. None can annul a marriage which did not take place.” Brökk shrugged. “I will give Lady Gráinne free rein to arrange for the re-saying of our oaths. A grand ceremony with both Christian and Norse vows.”

The sun’s light streaked across the sky. Bold strokes of red, orange, gold, and silver dusted the horizon. Swallows played with the dawn’s brilliant canvas, swooping and dipping black smudges through the vivid hues.

In the distance the whitewashed walls of Bita Veðr came into view. Brökk’s mount pranced in place when he drew on the reins. Pride swelled his chest to bursting. With Skatha at his side, his holding would become the home and harbor he’d always dreamed of. They would have sons and daughters who would grow to adulthood without fearing annihilation from one moment to the next, as he and his brothers had. His children would never know hunger, would never be forced into labor, and would be surrounded by naught but loving parents.

When they reached the great hall, the round globe of the sun hung low in the sky.

Lady Gráinne and her charges awaited them in the open doorway.

The second he set foot on the ground, the abbess spewed orders. She insisted that Skatha and Hjørdis be taken to his lodge to be checked for injuries.

Brökk argued but was soon worn down. ’Twas only for the day, and Skatha and Hjørdis both needed rest, so he surrendered to the abbess’s wishes. The wounded from Tighe’s ship had been carted to the hall, and a makeshift hospital had been established. Half of the benches and tables had been carried to the barn and replaced by a neat line of pallets. Lady Muíríne and Lady Elspeth acted as commanders and secured a few kitchen wenches to assist with tending to the injured.

Brökk, Konáll, and Raki rode to the hot pools. They soaked in the bubbling, heated waters until their muscles no longer ached.

“Were you not suspicious when Hilda offered you sustenance? ’Tis not as if she ever had afore.”

Raki rolled his eyes. “I thought you had commanded her to do so, Brökk. Dóta will ne’er let me hear the end of this. She is always complaining I am too fond of my stomach and would pick a delicacy o’er her.”

“It matters not, now all are safe and the enemy defeated. ’Tis time you had your own lodge, Raki. Pick your land and build on my coin.”

The warrior had been leaning against a rock. He straightened. “My thanks, my lord.”

“’Tis time you had a title, as well. I petitioned Harald on your behalf, Squire.”

Raki flushed. “I cannot thank you enough, my lord.”

“You have served well, Raki, and deserve the reward. Had it not been for you and Óttarr, we may not have caught up with Loudon and Etta afore they set sail with Skatha and Hjørdis.” The soothing hot pool had abated the edge of Brökk’s rage, but he clenched his fists anew at the evil his wife had planned.

Konáll blew out a long sigh. “’Twas fortunate Árne plunged the dagger into Etta’s heart.”

“Aye, and even better fortune Moldof witnessed the whole of it. None can accuse me of the deed.” Brökk repressed a shudder. Etta was dead and gone and he would think on her treachery no more. “My great regret is Niketas’s escape. I will have my revenge on him, but ’twill wait until the babe is born and Skatha is recovered from the birthing.”

At dusk they returned to the holding. Brökk walked to his lodge wearing a huge smile. He yearned to hold Skatha in his arms, to fall asleep to the sound of her even breathing, to wake up and look into her seeing eyes.

Knowing all the ladies were in the dwelling, he knocked on his own door out of consideration.

To his surprise, Lady Gráinne opened the door. “Jarl.”

Jarl? He had come to realize when the abbess retreated into formality some sort of pronouncement followed.

“Lady Gráinne.” She did not move to one side so he could enter. “I have come for my wife.”

“Ah, therein lies the rub, for truth be speaking, Skatha is not your wife, is she?”

“You witnessed the consummation.” ’Twas the only argument he managed to formulate.

“But the vows were not valid.”

“We will have the priest say them again.”

“The priest is visiting other holdings. He is due to return in a sennight. But King Kenneth’s bishop can perform the ceremony.”

“The bishop and his monks departed on the tide.” On pain of death by Brökk’s hand. He had no intention of even informing the women about King Kenneth’s order of annulment until after the babe sprung from Skatha’s womb.

“Then we must wait for the priest’s return.”

Brökk shrugged. “Aye. We will say the vows the day he arrives.”

“I have had your belongings moved to your brother’s lodge.”

He straightened. “What? Why?”

“You and Skatha are not wed. Ere, you cannot live as husband and wife.”

“Nay. What mean you by this, abbess?” Brökk bent low and stuck his nose in her face. “I will not be separated from my wife.”

“Stop bellowing, Viking. I am standing in front of you and can hear you well enough. Of course you will not be separated from your wife. When she becomes your wife. Until then she sleeps here with us. You sleep at your brother’s lodge. Howbeit, you are welcome to court her o’er the next sennight.”

“What did you say?” Brökk gaped at Lady Gráinne.

“The marriage takes place in a sennight. Until the vow-saying, Skatha will reside with us. You can use the time to court her.”

“A man doesn’t court his wife,” he roared.

“Of course not. He courts the woman he hopes to take to wife.”

The abbess would not budge. By ThMrr’s hammer, he had never met a more stubborn female. Loath to leave Lady Gráinne commanding his wife, but needing to attend to urgent, dire responsibilities, Brökk stamped his way to the crofter’s hut where the bodies of Etta and Loudon were stored and awaiting disposal.

Konáll met up with him outside the hut and they entered together. The two corpses lay on pallets aligned to the far wall.

“We will have to give Loudon his due as a baron.” Konáll folded his arms. “An honorable burial for a man most foul and dishonorable.”

Brökk curled a lip. “’Tis bilious, but we must honor the station if not the man.”

“And what of Etta? Would that she had in truth drowned in the fjord as we had thought.”

“Aye. ’Twould’ve been better all around. Howbeit, she was my wife.”