Malice Striker (7 page)

She laughed, the sound a joyous delight ’twas so unexpected. “Lady Gráinne trained me to serve the Lord almighty, not for marriage. Decorating the flesh is a sin.”

Brökk felt for her small hand, sniffed her wrist, licked the center of her palm, and then set her warm skin to his chest. “I am a sinner then.”

“How so?” Her fingers trembled.

He moved her hand to his lobe. “’Tis common with the Jomsvikings to wear earbobs. Feel.”

“’Tis a ring.”

Brökk strangled a groan at her tentative tracing of his ear and the gold hoop strung through the edge. “Aye.” He worked on the lacings in the front of her gown.

“I have heard of the Jomsvikings. Did you serve with them?”

“For a time.” He nuzzled the crook of her neck. “Apples again, wife. Why do you smell of apples?”

“The cider we made today necessitates the pressing of many apples. Does the scent offend you?”

“Nay. ’Tis enticing. I am partial to the taste of apples.” He lifted her hair and suckled her nape. Delighted when she let out a small whimper, he sank his teeth gently on the moistened flesh and traced a path to her ear.

“How come you to taste of the fruit, here, and here?” He bit her lobe, nibbled the tip, and tongued the whorls.

She leaned into his caresses.

“Like you, this?” He tickled the corner of her mouth.

“Aye.” Her reply came out on a sigh, and she pressed both hands to his arm.

He sipped at her lips and cupped her cheek. “Kiss me.”

“I know not how.”

“Have you not kissed one of your friends? Lady Gráinne?”

“Aye.” She kissed his cheek.

“Nay.” He captured her wrist and set her thumb to his lips. “Here.”

She touched his chin, traced his mouth, and their noses bumped when she pressed her lips to his. A soft, teasing brushing of silky, plump skin. His stones throbbed and his prick burned.

Brökk hungered too much to go slow and swept in to taste her depths, tangling their tongues and luring her into play. At first she tensed and pushed off his ribs, but then she opened fully into him, and her arms crept up his chest to link around his neck.

’Twas Valhalla in Midgard—to her Christian words, heaven on earth. Never had he feasted on any flesh so entrancing. He lost himself in her heat, her moistness, her eagerness to return his passionate gorging. His loins were afire. He bunched her skirts.

Her pleasure must come first.

Ali’s words thundered in his head.

His balls slammed hard and fast against the base of his cock, his seed on the verge of erupting, and he broke away from her seductive mouth.

“Nay. ’Tis wrong?” She rubbed her cheeks on his.

ThMrr’s ballocks, ’twas the most righteous torture he had ever endured. He sucked in a deep breath and fought to temper his greedy desires. “I must see to your pleasure.”

“But ’tis pleasure, much pleasure.” Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

She would crucify him with her ardent response. “Nay. ’Twill be now.”

He pushed the cyrtel up and bared her lower body. Hot, fevered lust had him in its grip. The urge to taste her cream had him salivating. He wedged his shoulder between her slender thighs. Her woman’s arousal swamped him, the blossoming of her spice headier than any poppy seed wine, and he closed his eyes and buried his nose between her folds.

Slick and wet, and by Odin, she tasted of apples even here. Now he wished for light, for a blazing sun to see clearly the budded nub hidden beneath the hood he knew would be red and flushed. He set his mouth to that spot and thrust a finger inside her clenching sheath, and she arched off the bed. But he held her fast, his arm on her sweet belly as he bit down. She purred her pleasure and moaned. Around his finger, her walls tightened, clenching and clamping in violent spasms.

He could wait no longer. He tore open her gown and chemise, cupped her firm bottom cheeks, and drove into her. She came apart again, her puss fisting his prick, and he roared his climax, pounding into her contracting walls.

Ne’er had his desire been so carnal and magikal. Ne’er had his seed spewed for such an excruciating eternity. Ne’er had a peak so overwhelmed him.

Though he strove to remain on his forearms, his elbows wobbled under the strain. He collapsed on her, his face nestled between her breasts, but struggled to wrench one last store of energy from his reserve. He grunted and rolled over, clasping her to him, not wanting to forgo the bliss of her sheath until his prick went flaccid. His rasped breathing refused to subside. Ne’er had he been so well used and satisfied.

But had he gained strength and wisdom? He knew not and cared not. Her sweet puss hadn’t stopped milking his cock. E’en now her walls squeezed him. He dropped a kiss on her hair and stroked her spine, fingering the small bones, learning the shape of each tiny node.

She stirred, rubbed her nose in his chest hair, and her lips dusted his skin. She sneezed, and by ThMrr’s hammer, her sheath drew on his prick, a fierce clenching ’twas nigh on painful to his still engorged shaft. Much time passed before his lust-drunken stupor lifted.

“You found your pleasure this eve, wife.”

“’Tis an apt word.” Her voice was husky and low.

“On the morrow I will take you to the ship of the Eastern trader, Ali H’malik, who toasted our vows at the náttverðr. He is a friend of Konáll and mine and has many fine silks, spices, combs, and jewels. We will choose your morning gift. By rights, you should have had it this morn.”

“I need no gift, my lord. Lord Konáll’s dowry chest is generosity enough—”

He stopped her words with two fingers to her mouth. “Nay. ’Tis my pleasure and duty to provide you with a bridal gift so all will know you are valued. I will have none doubt I am well pleased with my bride.”

“I thank you, my lord.”

“Brökk.”

“Brökk.”

He heard her hesitation. “You have a query, wife?”

“The crofter’s hut you have deeded for use by Lady Gráinne and the others—’tis some distance from this lodge?” She had stiffened again.

“Nay. In the morn, I will take you there. I wouldst not separate you and your lady friends.” His prick went limp, and he slipped from her sheath with a sigh. “But now I will cleanse us.”

“Cleanse?” Her voice squeaked.

“Aye.” He lifted her to the side and kissed the tip of her nose. “I will heat the water.”

Brökk quickly warmed the water in the cauldron hanging o’er the fire, ladled a goodly amount into a basin, gathered linen squares, and returned to the bed. “Spread your legs, Skatha.”

The light from the two wall sconces he had left burning allowed him a shadowed view of her face. She bit her bottom lip while he gently wiped her sex clean and dried the tight curls leading to his Valhalla. She flicked her elbow over her eyes, and a grin chased his lips. She was shy and embarrassed, but ’twould take no time for her to grow accustomed to his loving if this eve were any evidence of her passionate nature.

“Come.” He threw the cloths aside, scooped her into his arms, and carried her over to the fire. “Is the gown ruined? No matter. We will ask Ali to find silk of this hue for you and commission another one. Slip off the cyrtel and then I will wrap you in these furs and we will partake of the food I ordered earlier.”

He sighed, for she had the guarded expression of earlier, spine in a severe straight line, lips pressed together, and once more, she avoided his gaze. “Wish you a slice of cheese, apple, bread? Tell me what you desire, wife mine.”

“Apple, my lord.”

He cut a thin morsel and fed it to her. “’Tis said you are the product of the union of the jötunn goddess Skaði and King Kenneth. True or false?”

Chapter Four

She stiffened and her nostrils flared. “True or false, my lord? I know not. I know only ’tis what has been said of me over and over. Yet the king has ne’er claimed me before the court or any audience, and I have never met the woman who birthed me. Lady Gráinne has been my only guide since I can remember.”

“Yet, when I asked who was Kenneth’s daughter you came forward.”

Gritting her teeth, she sought to explain what she meant. “All say I am his daughter, but I have yet to meet him or be claimed by him.”

“You have ne’er been to court?”

“Nay.”

“Were you not ordered to Sumbarten by the king of the Scots?”

“’Tis not unusual for the king to send his wards for training.” The bite of temper clipped her words and heat warmed her cheeks. All her life the gossips had claimed her a goddess and a sorcerer, yet she lived as but a simple, blind female with not a magikal hair on her head. “I am one of many females sent by him to the abbey.”

“’Tis said your goddess pleasure increases a warrior’s strength and wisdom tenfold.” His voice held a twinge of amusement and her ire surged. The scoundrel had pleasured her for his own gain. She was sore tempted to pummel him with her fists, scream at him until her throat was raw, or brew and feed him the emetic tea used by the abbey to treat those suspected of poisoning.

“I have no magikal powers, sir. You will have gained naught by bringing me to pleasure this eve—”

He cupped a hand over her mouth. “Stay your wrath. I gained all by pleasuring you. Ne’er have I known the ecstasy I found with you this eve, Skatha. Goddess or no, you took me to Valhalla, wife.”

Valhalla, the Viking’s version of heaven. Skatha bit the insides of her cheeks so hard she tasted blood. “’Tis the purpose for which you stole me from all that I have known? To increase your strength and wisdom? For what reason? To wage war on an enemy? To raid and pillage Scottish—”

He stopped her words with a kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, and she cuffed him again and again, until he teased the roof. A delicious shiver of fire and ice washed her from head to toe. He gentled his invasion, and her rage fizzled under the sweetness of his caresses. His fingers slipped under the furs, and he rubbed his thumb over her nipple. A low purr rumbled up her throat.

She kneaded his shoulders.

He groaned and lifted his lips from hers. “I naysay you, wife. Your tongue is pure sorcery. By ThMrr’s hammer, you purr your pleasure. ’Tis not akin to any kiss I have ever experienced.”

“You confuse me, sir.” In more ways than she could name, his touch inflamed her, and his tongue disarmed the defenses she’d built over the unseeing years.

“You dismay me, wife. I have gone from your voice husky with desire, moaning my given name, to your abbess-prim sir. I knew you would have the temper to go with your passion, but ’twill serve me well to put a table or bed ’tween us should I see the tips of your ears turn rosy as they did a moment afore.”

Heat flushed her entire body, and she clenched her hands into fists to halt the need to touch an ear. None at Sumbarten had ever spoken of her ears showing her ire. What other signs did she show unknownst to her?

“I stole you to ransom for my sister, Hjørdis, who was taken by King Kenneth’s cousin, Baron Loudon, in midsummer.”

What news this? She shook her head. More confused and determined than a swarm of fleas attempting to cling to the last strand of fur on a mangy dog, she tried to sort truth from lie. “I understand you not, my lord. I am not of value as a hostage.”

“I intercepted a missive from King Kenneth which says otherwise. He ordered Hjørdis taken to Sumbarten to be trained alongside you. Know you any of this?”

A sudden draft iced her toes and fingers. Tears welled, but she blinked the weakness back. “Nay. Lady Gráinne would not have allowed such to happen. To accept a child
stolen
from her family for training? You know not the abbess. She obeys God’s commands above all others. Nay.”

He snagged his arms tight around her, kissed her forehead, temple, and nose. “Cry not, Skatha. Mayhap ’tis not true. Forsooth, for these last two seasons I have been unable to tell who plays me false and who not.”

Had she the wherewithal, Skatha would’ve dashed from the lodge to find Lady Gráinne and confront her. Her voice shook as she responded. “How train us? To what purpose?”

“None is stated in the missive. ’Twas an order from your king to take Hjørdis by means foul or fair to Sumbarten at first opportunity to be instructed by Lady Gráinne in your company.”

She gritted her teeth. “Nay. I do not believe Lady Gráinne knows of this dastardly command. I have lived nine summers with her, slept in the same chamber, and been her boon companion. She has trusted me with the running of the abbey these last three summers. On occasion, she has relied on my opinion.”

“I had thought you would have knowledge of this in some magikal way. Have you no goddess powers at all, Skatha?” He thumbed the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Rage at the womanly frailty filled her veins. She swatted his hand away, scrubbed the moisture, and lifted her chin. “Naught. Nary a single one. And I have hidden a grievous flaw which negates all you have said. I am blind, sir. I was sent to Sumbarten when the blindness descended in my tenth and first summer.”

He held her away from him, and she jutted her jaw, giving him full view of her face. “Nay.”

“Aye.” A deep weariness weighted her shoulders.

“You were born sighted?”

“Aye.”

“The loss of your vision—’twas the result of a fall? A blow to the head?”

She snorted. “Nay. I fell asleep one eve with sight and awoke on the morn with none.”

“I have ne’er heard of such. You see naught? Can you discern light and shadows?”

“’Tis an absolute blackness. I have naught of value. You can cast me aside. Send us all back to the abbey. I am sorry for your sister, but none will trade me for her.” All at once she realized the depths of her position. “Why? Why take me to wife if all you wanted was a hostage? ’Tis revenge for Hjørdis?”

“When an emperor and your liege lord orders a wedding, ’tis not a command a warrior can disobey without facing cert death and destruction.”

“I do not follow.” Her head swam, too many thoughts whirling all at once to contain a sudden wave of dizziness. She twisted her fingers together and fought to remain calm.

“Afore I journeyed to Sumbarten, I sent word of my plan to King Harald. Harald Bluetooth seeks an alliance with King Kenneth. He has of a mind to control the sea trading routes between the lands. All know Kenneth of Scots has a special interest in you, and I dared not make my move without informing King Harald. ”