Malice Striker (8 page)

He sighed. Hot air from his exhale tickled her damp cheeks.

“When did he command our vow-saying?” Naught made sense. From hostage to wife on the whim of a monarch?

“I received the order last morn. ’Twas delivered by Olaf Longface, and in it both Harald Bluetooth and Emperor Tzimiskes bid me take you to wife.”

Skatha remembered him speaking of King Harald’s law reader the day before. A stream of questions peppered her mind, but she pressed her lips together afore they burst forth. To what end did the king and the emperor order their marriage?

“What happens now?”

“I needs rescue Hjørdis.”

His concern for his sister dimmed the despair soaring in her veins. “Is she full grown?”

“Nay. She is a sprite of seven summers, but wise beyond her years, and she too, is born of a union between a mortal and a god. My mother was taken captive the summer my father was killed. She was returned to us by Ali, the Eastern trader, full with child, and died giving birth to Hjørdis. Afore she drew her last breath, she told us that she had been held in Asgard at ThMrr’s hall,
Bilskirnir
, and that Hjørdis was his get.”

“You believe your Norse God, ThMrr, sired Hjørdis?”

“Aye. I am cert of it. Hjørdis can see death writ on a warrior’s face. She can tell the outcome of a battle. She has ne’er erred in her soothsaying. Etta came to know of my sister’s powers. I am cert she was the one who schemed to take Hjørdis.” The bitter fury in his voice made her shiver.

What den of iniquity and deceit had they landed in? Etta must be the wife who Lady Gráinne had spoken of, Skatha realized, but she feigned ignorance. “Etta?”

“My first wife. She died midsummer after attempting to poison me.”

“Poison? Her own husband?” Skatha could scarce believe her ears.

“Aye. ’Tis better you hear the tale from me than from another.”

The tale he told her had her mind churning like a whirlpool. Her husband must have a grave mistrust of females after Etta’s vicious deception. Why did he bare his bald truths to her? Why now?

“I am sorry for all you have suffered. ’Tis the most grievous mortal sin for one person to plot the death of another, but for a wife to plot her husband’s demise is unforgiveable.”

She sought his hand but encountered the hard ridge of his chest, and her fingers tangled in the swirls of hair matting his skin. How she longed to explore his face, trace the line of his nose, discover if his jaw was square or no. Offer him the comfort of touch as he had her earlier.

“’Twas a lesson well learned. I will ne’er wed a woman from the courts. Your abbey training was the only reason we did not all sail to Harald’s court to protest the marriage order. That and the proof of your purity, for Etta had none. She claimed rape and I believed her.”

Aye. ’Twould be many moons afore he trusted a woman again. And he had been forced to take her as wife. Their union was twice cursed. Despair wracked a shudder through her.

“What was cannot be changed. I must tend to the needs of my sister and my holding.”

The Viking spoke truly. Dwell not on the past, but look to the future, and fix the now. The now was this eve. The future, the morrow.

“I ask again, sir, what happens now?”

“We speak with your Lady Gráinne in the morn. Much relies upon her reaction.”

“And what of me? My lack of sight?” Exhaustion lay heavy on her, body and soul.

“I am a man of honor. We have said the vows, and I abide by them.” He chuckled.

She flinched. “’Tis amusing to you, my lord?”

“Aye. I recall my scheme to put you at ease by dousing the lights. It must have had you chortling.”

A grin she could not repress chased her lips. “’Twas hard not to laugh aloud. But the scheme worked. My fear abated, knowing you would not so easily discern when I erred.”

He guffawed. “’Tis not possible for
you
to err in bedsport, wife. Not with the passionate ardor you try to hide with folded hands and rigid spine.”

The hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and she could not repress the growing suspicion that he had planned to charm and seduce her this eve with some dire intent in mind. “What want you of me, my lord?”

“I would have us as allies, Skatha. We have much to lose if we do not watch each other’s back. There are many who would see us embroiled in their nefarious plans. Many will suspect your goddess lineage and many would seek to steal you for their own. You and your ladies must not leave the holding.”

He framed her face, his large rough palms heating her cheeks, and a peculiar tranquility soothed her mind. For the first time since leaving the abbey she felt safe. Mayhap not safe precisely, but no longer bubbling over with anxiety and trepidation.

“I give you my word I will not leave Bita Veðr. As will the others.”

“You are so cert of them?”

“We are all that we have. And have had for many summers.” She smiled. “I have been blessed with the company of Elspeth, Muíríne, Dagrún, and the teachings of Lady Gráinne.”

“I will ask your ladies and you to swear fealty to me at the náttverðr on the morrow. The penalty for breaking a fealty oath is immediate death.”

His tone brokered no mercy, but spoke of a ruthless determination. If she betrayed him, she died, mayhap by his hand. What choice had she?

“I have wed you. Does that not suffice?”

“We wed in the Christian way. All who accept my protection swear fealty to me in the Norse way.”

“Then I will swear the oath. I cannot speak for the rest on so serious a matter. I must warn you, sir, that Lady Gráinne is a devout Christian and may scoff at the notion of your sister being sired by ThMrr in his hall. She may not agree to swear fealty to one who worships the pagan gods.”

“Though I was born and raised in the Norse way, King Harald has seen fit to convert to your Christianity and has bid his warriors to take Christian instruction. I care not whether there be one or many gods. I married you in the Christian way, and I will vow to pay honor to your god as well as those of the Norse. Think you your Lady Gráinne will consent if I so swear?”

“Mayhap.” In truth, Skatha knew the abbess would acquiesce simply to ensure her charge’s well-being.

As would Brökk for his sister.

How dire it must have been for a girl of such tender years to suffer the pain of being torn from the only home she had ever known. And how terrified she must feel being held captive. At least when the same had happened to her, Skatha had her friends and Lady Gráinne for comfort. Hjørdis had no one. “Think you Baron Loudon treats Hjørdis gently?”

“She is of considerable value to him alive and well. He would be a rank fool not to treat her with care. Howbeit, I have watched Hjørdis’s sadness when she sees death stalking a man or knows that many will die in battle on the morrow. The sorrow is so great she has to take to her bed and does naught but cry for days. She is inconsolable. Konáll and I have sought to protect her by keeping her apart from the warriors.”

Her husband’s voice had grown hoarse with pain and anger as he spoke.

“I know not if she will be able to disguise her feelings if the death or battle knowledge comes upon her in his care. I know not how Loudon will react, but he ne’er failed to clout any who annoyed him whilst he was at Bita Veðr.”

Hope blossomed in her chest at Brökk and his brother’s open affection for their little half-sister. Surely men who held a mere girl in such regard would be honorable and true to their vows.

“Is she a child accustomed to good health otherwise?”

“Aye. Our
Bjartr Stjarna
is strong and lithe and full of good cheer.”

Skatha heard the smile he wore and she marveled at the endearment he used to refer to his sister, Bright Star. “’Tis the custom for Vikings to value their females?”

For ’twas cert not the ways of the courts or the monks.

“’Tis the custom for Konáll, Dráddør, and I, and our forefathers. Honor drives us. How can honor not apply to both men and women?”

Skatha frowned. Dare she believe his words? Dare she not? For had she not given him her trust by spilling all her secrets and revealing her weaknesses? Had she not given this warrior, this stranger, this Viking she’d been taught to fear and abhor, her passion?

“Dráddør?”

“Our youngest brother.”

“He lives not at Bita Veðr?” She had not heard any refer to a warrior so named.

“He is in hiding in Scotland, watching o’er Hjørdis.” He pressed his mouth to hers. “’Tis pleased I am we have come to terms on these matters. Shall we seek the comfort of the bed? Or do you care for more food or wine?”

“I am replete, my lord.” Skatha hid a smile. He had fed her but one apple slice and he had eaten naught. She pulled the furs closer.

“Nay, you have no need of the pelts. I will keep you warm for I find I am wont to have you find your pleasure again this eve.” He stood, shifting her to lie high against his chest.

He valued her and needed her to rescue his sister. ’Twas not in the manner a true husband should treasure a wife, but ’twas a start. And he must enjoy their bedsport to repeat the act twice in one night. Another notion made her frown, then grin. Her blindness mattered naught to him. She liked him more and more, this husband. He loved his sister, treated all fairly, and his touch sent her to an ecstatic realm she had never dreamed existed.

* * *

Brökk lay awake long after his wife had collapsed into a deep slumber. He had become too at ease with playing the games of royal courts. Too adept at speaking sweet words while he plotted destruction. Too suspicious of innocence not to watch and wait for evil to surface. He had brought Skatha to pleasure thrice more and swived her with abandon each time.

Not once had he noticed a dubious reaction from his new bride.

Yet sleep eluded him.

Her mouth had been magik all eve. He had been loath to stop kissing her and when she had finally been coaxed into returning his caresses ’twas as if her tongue had coarsened and the cavern of her mouth vibrated. And now she curled into him and her entire body contracted and undulated in an intoxicating rhythm.

His prick engorged when he tried to imagine how her rough tongue and humming mouth would feel around his length. If ’twas what Ali had referred to when he spoke of never wanting another female once a goddess had sucked his prick, then Brökk had found Valhalla indeed. He had not allowed her much liberty of touch, too enflamed with desire to retain control of his climax once sheathed within her puss.

She rubbed her nose on his ribs, mumbled words he did not comprehend and then two he did: bjartr stjarna. Brökk and Konáll’s fond endearment for their beloved sister.

The two brothers had oft tested the women on the journey from Sumbarten using Norse to alarm them, but none of the females had reacted. He had assessed her again in the great hall, and she had not understood the name for his holding.

Had she and the other ladies played them the fools? The Viking language was not an easy dialect to mimic, yet she had spoken like a true Norsewoman. He could not trust Skatha fully, fealty oath or not, until he felt cert she had played no part in Hjørdis’s kidnapping.

He dozed on and off, the light slumber of a warrior in an unknown encampment, waking oft to listen and be reassured all was well. Afore the first light of dawn streaked through the gaps in the hide covering the window, the fire surrendered its last heat. In no time at all, Skatha’s skin grew chill even though he tucked the furs and his body around hers.

After he eased off the mattress, Brökk built the fire back to a roaring and snapping blaze, untied a hide, and surveyed the view of Bita Veðr’s rolling hills, the village, and the fjord in the distance. Naught appeared amiss, yet unease coated his nape and shoulders. A movement from the bed drew his attention. He had left the drapes drawn, and he watched bemused as Skatha stretched and the purring noise she made grew louder.

His balls fattened, the hairs there pulling taut as blood and seed pooled, and his groin tightened. He had taken her four times in all, and his lust should be well sated, yet her slightest move inflamed him. But the same had happened in the past with new lovers, and after the first flush of a new coupling, desire had faded to a controllable ache. Pray Freya ’twould be the same with Skatha for he liked not this fever to mount her.

Long, slender arms poked up from the furs, and her fingers flexed in a kneading action. She had massaged him oft during their love play and purred and mewled the most delicate sounds. She emitted one of those throaty seductive noises right then, and he hastened to the bed, greedy for her kisses and her puss, his mouth salivating with the need to suckle her breasts, and lick and nibble the pretty, pouting buds.

He slipped onto the mattress, covered her slender body, and captured both wrists high above her head with one hand. “I bid you good morn, bride.”

She worried her bottom lip with a pearl-white tooth. “Good morn, my lord.”

“Did we not agree to my given name in our lodge?”

Color washed her throat and face, the black pelts making her flesh a succulent shade of rose. He could not resist nuzzling the pulse leaping at the center of her collarbone.

“Brökk.”

“You must still pay the penalty. Kiss me, Skatha.”

She tipped her chin up, and he brought his lips to hers. In a bold, unexpected move, she licked the seam of his mouth and nipped the fullness in the middle.

“
Sváss fróðleikr, minn smár köttr.”

Brökk deliberately spoke Norse and studied her reactions to each word. Her brows did not pinch as they were wont to if he used a word to which she objected in describing her, and he had said sweet magik, my small cat. She liked not being compared to a cat, but her arched stretches and purring reminded him of the sleek black panthers Emperor Tzimiskes kept as pets.

“What means those words?” She lapped at his chin.

Her tongue lingered on the cleft, and the rough surface tossed the two days’ worth of stubble back and forth, the sensation akin to a spark dusting his flesh. He swallowed and surrendered to his cock’s demand to thrust. Loosening his hold on her hands, he rolled to one side, whipped the furs away, nudged her thighs apart, and drove into her.