Vengeance Hammer (Viking Vengeance)

by Jianne Carlo

  Konáll yawned again and lurched to his feet. “’Twill get us nowhere to go on and on. Go to Xára. Swive her, and time your questions for those sweet moments when she is dazed from pleasure.”

  Dráddør grinned. He slapped his brother’s broad back. “By Freya, your swiving recommendation is a sound one, and one I intend to pursue anon. My thanks, you have eased my mind.”

  “Think you on one other thing. ’Tis obvious how much Xára adores her mother and Evie, a half-sister she met first less than five days ago. I cannot believe her capable of killing in cold blood. I have found those who murder with impunity have no regard for the young of any kind, be it a kitten, a pup, or a child.”

  “’Tis the truth, though I have ne’er put the two together afore.”

  They strode out of the room together.

  “I will not slumber deeply whilst Godfraid and that witch is under your roof.”

  “Magnhildur cannot go unpunished.” Dráddør grasped the rail and took the stairs alongside Konáll.

  “She is an Earl’s wife. I know you have not spent the rage you’ve built o’er the years since our father was killed, but you cannot risk all you have gained by silencing her for all eternity. Train until you cannot stand. Take your hammer and crush a boulder. Swive your wife oft, but do not allow your fury to reign. Leave Magnhildur be this visit.”

  “Could you let one who poisoned your wife’s mother live?” Dráddør hissed the words.

  “Nay. But I would do the deed so my enemy took the blame.”

  Dráddør halted. Once again, Konáll had arrowed in on the strategy that would appease his honor-bound duty of vengeance and avoid the penalty to be paid by killing the wife of an Earl. “I will think on it and speak with you on the morrow.”

  They had arrived at the fork in the hallway.

  “I will consider the situation as well. We train if the weather is fair on the morrow?”

  “You delay your departure? I do not ask that of you. Nyssa—”

  “Refuses to leave. I have no doubt if I force her onto the langskip, she will find some way to distract me, and swim back to shore. You know how stubborn she can be. There is naught I can do until my wife decides she is ready to return to Rurari.”

  “Aye.” Thank Odin Xára had not an iota of Nyssa’s willfulness. “It matters not how the day dawns. Fair or foul weather we shall spend the day in swordplay.”

  “Invite Godfraid to pit his warriors against ours. I am of a mind to inflict a few wounds on his captains.”

  “I am of a similar inclination. ’Twill be done.”

  “On the morrow.”

  “Aye.”

  The brothers parted, Konáll taking the left path, Dráddør the right.

  He did not notice his surroundings too deep in sifting tactics on how to deal with Magnhildur. Who to fix her death on? Godfraid or Néill? Mayhap both? But Néill had no title and ’twould be an easy task to have Olaf Longface oversee the case of her death. By Harald Bluetooth’s command, any sudden death must be sent to the lawsayer and judged natural, accident, or murder. Therefore the deed had to be done before Olaf’s planned departure, not three morns from the morrow.

  He massaged the taut muscles at the base of his neck. Aye, ’twould take out two foes with one blow if Magnhildur died before she and Godfraid departed. He would tell none of his plans, not even Konáll.

  By the time he arrived at the door his resolve had hardened and taken the edge off his anger. Other body parts hardened too and he fought the need to adjust his aching ballocks.

  Ghazi and another warrior he didn’t recognize stood guard. “Aught to report?”

  “Naught amiss, my lord,” Ghazi answered.

  Dráddør gave the new soldier a once-over. He was one of Ghazi’s new recruits and had served the same Arab caliph during the same period he had. But hundreds had fought on the caliph’s behalf. Yet, this man’s face seemed familiar.

  “You are both excused from the training grounds on the morn.” Both men had served long hours and deserved a reward.

  Ghazi relaxed his stiff spine. “My thanks, my lord.”

  Jerking his head in a nod of dismissal, Dráddør opened the heavy oak door, and stepped into his chamber. The flame from the oil lamps had dimmed but he found Xára easily.

  She slept as before, curled into a ball, but one bare shoulder peeked above the covers. A small pink circle remained from his ardent suckling of the spot. His mark on her flesh. Grinning like a foolish youth, he stripped, his movements rough and jumpy. Unable to take his gaze from her features Dráddør bumped his big toe on the edge of the chest and choked back an oath.

  The sharp lance of pain did naught to temper his surging desire. His cock throbbed and he yearned to thrust into her channel. Sliding onto the sheets warmed by her body, the scent of their earlier joining wafted to his nose. Saliva coated his tongue as he fitted his chest to her back. In his haste to discuss the many questions plaguing him, he had not washed her sex. What did their union taste like? His seed, her juices mingled together. He intended to imprint the flavor on his tongue many times over this night.

  Working with the stealth of a hunter, he smoothed her tresses to one side and nuzzled the sensitive curve ’tween neck and shoulder.

  She nudged at him and wriggled her arse.

  He shuddered when his crown grazed the divide of her bottom cheeks. His testicles burned with need. ’Twould be swift the first time, but he vowed to take her in a slow, lingering loving when the morn dawned.

  Feathering moist kisses on each dainty spine bone, he drank in her woman’s essence, the unique combination of salty flesh, buttery softness, and the lingering flowery smell from a recent bath. He tented the sheets and peered at skin that had never seen the sun. A creamy white expanse of flesh for his pleasure.

  He licked the hollow where arse and back met and rimmed the twin dimples above her firm rump. She arched and he guessed her to be ’twixt dreaming and awareness. He didn’t want to startle her into full alertness, but to spike her passion and let her natural instincts drive away her abbey-instilled shyness.

  He fondled her arse, massaging the round globes, and spread her cheeks to tickle the seam.

  She gasped and her hands batted at his ear.

  Tightening his hold, he trailed a wet path up her crease using a side-to-side motion and glided his hand between her folds. He groaned. She was drenched and when he toyed with her clitty her legs parted in irresistible invitation.

  Her spice blossomed and he inhaled deeply. The heady aroma fueled his greed and fractured his planned slow exploration of her womanhood. He scooted down the sheets, slid his hands under her belly, angled her puss and rear off the mattress, and fit his mouth to her center.

  She rose onto her knees and elbows.

  ’Twas his own exquisite banquet and he feasted. He barely checked his insatiable gluttony. He tongued her channel and played with her nub, rolling back the hood, and pinching lightly.

  She shuddered and her walls contracted in fast, furious clenches.

  He moved to the delicate area ’tween her swollen puss and her arse. Nibbling and biting the flesh, he thrust two fingers into her hot, slick channel.

  Dráddør’s sac drew up high, but he forced aside his need and worked her with merciless intent, bent on her release, knowing once he was within her sheath all was lost.

  She mewled, the sound distinct and more intoxicating than the mead of the gods, and ground her mound into his hand, matching his rhythmic thrusts. Her puss clamped his fingers. She threw her head back, and fractured into an intense, convulsing climax.

  Throwing off the sheets, he continued finger-swiving her, knelt ’tween her legs, one hand positioned her rump for his cock, the other rubbed the crown between her folds. When her quivering walls relaxed, he grasped her waist and maneuvered the head of his pecker just inside her core.

  Sweat dripped from his brow, he locked his jaw, and forced himself to pause and savor the way her puss stretched to accommodate hi
s girth.

  His. His.

  A rapacious greed he had never known before annihilated the last remnants of rationality. He hammered into her, his testicles snapped tight to the base of his cock. The climax bolted from his toes, flared across his groin, and he spent his seed in violent eruptions that bowed his back.

  * * *

  Xára collapsed onto the bed and, for a moment, Dráddør’s full weight bore down on her. Her nose squashed into the packed feathers and straw and she couldn’t breathe. His penetration was so deep and so complete ’twas too much bliss to bear. She squirmed and tried to adjust to an ecstasy that bordered on pain.

  At once, he levered onto his elbows.

  His scent engulfed her. She inhaled the exciting tang of manly sweat and their coupling and tried to memorize the aroma. For the time would soon come when the truth must be told, and her Viking husband would be honor-bound to dissolve their union.

  Damp tendrils clung to her forehead and cheeks, but she hadn’t the strength to brush the locks away. The drumming of her frenetic heartbeat receded, and his harsh rasps rented the quiet of the room.

  He brushed his lips over the cusp of her shoulder.

  Delicious shivers frolicked up her spine.

  He nipped her there, and her puss fisted his cock.

  The magik of him bewildered her. She had known him for but a short time and he had become the center of her waking moments and the clandestine figure in her new-formed carnal imaginings.

  He withdrew from her puss and her walls protested, sucking at him, and releasing him with a loud, moist plop. Heat flashed across her face. She didn’t want to meet his gaze, too embarrassed by her wanton abandonment of any glimmer of modesty, and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “To me, sváss.” He nudged her onto her back.

  Knowing her color had deepened she peeked at him. Why was he wearing such a fierce scowl? Was he displeased with her?

  “’Twas a rough loving. Did I bruise your sweet puss?”

  The oil lamps flickered shadows over his features, but she read the concern in the worry lines creasing his forehead. A deep contentment stole over her and an overwhelming, poignant tenderness banded her chest.

  Why had the Lord chosen to tease her with the promise of all she had dreamed of during the long years at the abbey? Her new husband had wormed his way into her heart, first with his gentle treatment of Evie and Jennie, and with the care with which he had taken her maidenhead.

  He stroked the line of her jaw and asked, “Are you in pain, Xára?”

  She wrote on his chest. Nay. Nay.

  His crooked grin brought tears to her eyes.

  Willing them back, she smiled up at him, and tucked a lock of damp hair behind his ears. The ring in his lobe winked in the glimmering light. Fascinated, she traced the inner whorl, and fingered the golden earbob. The nuns frowned on the decoration of body parts save for wooden rosaries and crosses hung on leather strips.

  “You please me, wife, with your passion and abandon.” As always, the deep rumble of his voice seemed to vibrate inside of her. “Taste us. Taste our joining.”

  He kissed her. A slow, thorough exploration of her mouth that teased her into suckling his tongue with quick flicks, and then when she looped her arms around his neck, he sipped at her lips.

  When he broke away, she pouted.

  “I neglected your lips and titties in my haste to sheathe my pecker in your puss.”

  Pecker. Titties. Puss. The delectable, naughty words made her nipples tingle and her nub—nay—clitty ache.

  “Look at these buds.” He licked one peak. “Methinks mine abbey-raised wife enjoys learning the different ways of coupling. You found your pleasure many times with this joining. ’Tis a favorite position of mine. But there are so many others.”

  He was a wicked, wicked man, and she found his boyish grin and the way his eyes seemed to twinkle endearing. There must be a way to save Evie and keep her secret. She would not let Magnhildur, Godfraid, and Néill win. Nay. ’Twas time to gather her courage and attack instead of trembling and cringing.

  She felt him stiffen, and he jerked to the stare at the door.

  Footsteps. A heavy tread of boots hitting the floor at a rapid pace.

  “Ye must let me speak with milady.”

  Xára flinched.

  The desperate urgency in Ulna’s plea meant only one thing.

  Evie had disappeared. How?

  Bemused, shaken, and confused she felt separated from her body, and unable to move. She could not drag her eyes away from her husband and force her frozen limbs to function.

  “I will see to this.” He kissed the tip of her nose and slipped off the mattress.

  Xára watched him dress in the same manner as afore. She had barred both priests’ holes, hadn’t she? That to Jennie’s room, and the other to Evie’s? Magnhildur knew one of the secret passageways, the one leading from the stable to the open field by Myrtle Harbor. Had she found out about the others?

  Panic sluiced through Xára. She clambered off the bed, darted to the wooden privacy screen, and scrambled on the first gown she found. Praying her sister had not come to harm, she scuffed into her slippers, and rushed to the center of the chamber to find Dráddør barking a question at Ulna.

  Poor Ulna shook with fear, stumbled, and flung an elbow up to protect her face.

  Xára understood her actions having witnessed both Arnfinn and Néill swing wildly at the nurse on many occasions. She jumped between the two of them and twisted to face Dráddør.

  He stiffened and a muscle under his eye jumped.

  Setting her palm to his chest, Xára mouthed, Ulna is afraid.

  He snorted. “Have at her then, but make haste.”

  She noticed that four guards now occupied the chamber and guessed that the two she didn’t recognize had been assigned to Evie and Ulna. One of the new soldiers addressed Dráddør in Norse and a lively exchange began ’tween the warriors.

  Taking advantage of her husband’s momentary distraction, Xára tugged Ulna to into a corner hallway, and signaled for the nurse to speak.

  “The priest’s hole is barred and she isna in her mam’s room. I checked with Lara,” Ulna’s hoarse whisper carried, but she rushed the words out and her brogue had thickened to the point where even Xára struggled to understand what she meant.

  Luckily the men were still conversing in low murmurs and paid them no heed.

  How had the wicked sprite escaped? And where had she gone?

  Ívarr.

  She pivoted and rushed back to her husband, made a walking motion with two fingers, and pointed to the hallway.

  “You want me to follow you. Where to?”

  Stables, she mouthed.

  The tick under his eye accelerated.

  She paid scant attention when he ordered, his tone terse and laced with tension, “One of you find Egron and determine if Earl Godfraid or his wife have left their chamber. Report to me in the stables posthaste.”

  The tallest of the three departed at a sprint.

  Xára debated grabbing a cloak and decided ’twasn’t worth it for the short walk outside. Knowing that some of Godfraid’s men slept in the great hall, she chose to take the servant’s stairs to the stables. That meant passing Evie’s chamber. Her steps slowed when she spied the room’s open shutters.

  Her sister had a nigh cat-like ability to scale a tree. Could Evie have climbed down from the window to the spreading oak? Nay. ’Twas too great a distance between the nearest branch and the window.

  She couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder to check Dráddør’s temper, and halted at once when she realized he was backtracking to the open doorway to Evie’s room.

  Xára pivoted uncert how to proceed, but when a glower darkened his expression and knitted his brow, she hurried to his side. Following the direction of his fierce gaze, her jaw dropped at the sight that met her eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  “Good eve—nay, ’tis closer to dawn, so good morn to
you, Dráddør. I believe I have found someone you seem to have misplaced.”

  Dráddør snapped his jaw shut. He squinted.

  She looked like his brother’s wife, Skatha.

  Her voice had the same musical tinkle.

  But ’twas not possible. Skatha was in the Norse lands at Bita Veðr, his brother Brökk’s holding. Yet she appeared to be standing in the middle of Evie’s chamber holding a cringing Evie by one ear.

  “Skatha!” The bellow could’ve shaken the timber from the castle roof and ’twas no mistaking Brökk’s thunderous roar.

  Xára pinched Dráddør’s bicep.

  He glanced at her for a moment.

  She pointed to… Skatha?

  The female had Skatha’s unique violet eyes and long blue-black curls.

  Had the witch Magnhildur somehow poisoned their ale or wine? Was he seeing visions?

  “Dráddør!” Tighe’s shout nigh matched Brökk’s thunderous growl and came from behind him.

  He spun around and blinked. Was Tighe running? His eyes had stopped functioning. So had his ears. For only in battle or on the training field did Tighe ever move at anything but a lazy swagger.

  Tighe’s leather boots screeched on the stone as he came to a complete stop in front of Dráddør. “Hjørdis has been taken by Wazir Niketas. Brökk arrived on the morn tide. Skatha was with him, but she—”

  “Is right here.” Skatha stepped into the hallway and dusted her hands on her tunic. “Good morn to you, Tighe. It has been an age since I last saw you.”

  For a moment, Tighe appeared nonplussed. His mouth hung open and his brows climbed to his hairline. Then a grin split his lips apart and he assumed his normal, bored mien.

  “My fair Skatha.” Tighe sketched a courtier’s bow. “I believe your husband seeks you urgently.”

  Hot color dusted Skatha’s face and throat. “Aye. He may be a wee bit upset.”

  Dráddør managed to gather his scattered wits. “Niketas has Hjørdis? How did this happen? Brökk would ne’er allow him near Bita Veðr. Did Niketas sack the holding?”