Vengeance Hammer (Viking Vengeance)

by Jianne Carlo

  “And you will put them to good use when you wrap them around my head.” He nuzzled her ear. She smelled so good, so alive, and warm. He had a dire need to sheathe his cock in her heat. Taste her sweet nectar. Imprint the feel of her in his arms. How had she become so precious to him in a mere few days?

  His. His. His.

  She was all his and he would slay any who tried to harm her. He nipped her lobe.

  “Oh,” she mewled, drew back, and sent a swift glance at the bed.

  Dráddør followed the direction of her gaze and grinned when he saw Nyssa sprawled on the covers. He stepped into the room and shoved the door open to allow the maid following him entry.

  Nyssa sat up. She sniffed and eyed the tray the maid carried with the gaze of a bear just awakening from long hibernation. “Bread and honey. Is there cheese? Or mayhap berries? I have a craving for big, fat blueberries.”

  Konáll pushed past the two of them. “A tray of berries and cream is in our chamber. Come wife. Let us leave these two alone. We depart on the noon tide and you and I have much to discuss.”

  “You are leaving?”

  Xára had the most magikal voice he had ever heard. ’Twas like liquid honey pouring all over him, thick, sweet, and warm. He’d been erect since she’d first said his name, but now his balls blued and jammed up tight.

  She waved a hand in his face. “Do you leave?”

  The panic in her tone could not be mistaken. “Be at ease, wife. Godfraid and Magnhildur left on the morning tide.”

  Her eyes widened. Then she frowned. “’Tis too good to believe. Are you cert?”

  “Aye,” Konáll answered. “His ships are gone and the chamber in the south tower is empty. Brökk has gone to Myrtle Harbor to question the villagers.”

  “Does Skatha know of this?” Nyssa motioned for the maid to set the tray on the table by the bed. “She went to give Jorunn into the care of his nurse.”

  Konáll appropriated a bowl of berries from the tray and handed them to Nyssa. “Here. ’Twill stave off your hunger until we reach our room. We will find Skatha and let her know what has happened.”

  With that he scooped Nyssa into his arms.

  The maid set the tray down and curtsied to Dráddør.

  “Wait,” Nyssa called. She pointed to the dirty cloths and the stained dress and underclothes heaped next to the door. “Take those outside the bailey and burn them. Have the spice chest burned too.”

  “Aye, my lady.” The maid gathered the materials into her skirts and marched to the hallway.

  Nyssa juggled the bowl from one hand to the other. “Xára, tell Dráddør of Heimdallr. ’Tis of import he knows all.”

  “Heimdallr?” Dráddør frowned. “What has the watchman of the gods to do with aught?”

  “Xára is his daughter,” Nyssa replied as she and Konáll vanished into the hallway.

  “’Tis true?” Shifting Xára in his hold, he closed and barred the door.

  When Xára related what had happened on the night she lost her voice, his fury surged. Though his rage was directed at Magnhildur and Néill, he could not help but be angered with Jennie for not protecting Xára the way a mother should. “Why did your mother not tell you of your sire?”

  Xára focused on a spot above his shoulder. She shook her head. “Jennie feared for our lives, if Arnfinn discovered we were not his get.”

  Yet Evie knew of her real father. Had Jennie felt it safe to tell the sprite after Arnfinn’s death? More so, did she feel the need to assuage her guilt, for she had killed her husband? Then he recalled Xára’s claim Jennie had not poisoned Arnfinn.

  “Do you leave Earl Tighe in charge of Lathairn?”

  The worry in her voice distracted him. He sought to appease her concerns. “Aye. Tighe will remain, as will his warriors. Brökk, Konáll, and I will split our forces as we have no notion of Wazir Niketas’s direction. I will go east, Konáll west, and Brökk north. I will take only a skeleton crew. Egron will remain here. There is no need to worry, sváss. All will be well.”

  “I will use the time to prepare the castle for the coming winter.” She gave him a shaky smile.

  Dráddør’s focus shifted to the bed. He winked at her. “I seek now to give you a swiving memory to fill the long nights while I am gone.”

  Color rioted all over her face and throat. His gaze strayed to the spot where the scar had been. He laid her down on the covers and sat on the mattress. While unlacing her cyrtel, he inspected her collarbone, and then smoothed his thumb over the pulse leaping in the hollow of her throat. “’Tis as if it ne’er were. Do you recall aught of what happened in the hall?”

  “I remember Nyssa setting her fingers there. Then naught, but the dream of what happened the night Magnhildur pierced my neck and stole my voice.” She shuddered.

  “She will ne’er harm any again.” Dráddør had chosen to go east as he knew that Godfraid must take that route to travel to Kenneth’s court. ’Twould be a simple detour and the perfect vengeance. ’Twas the time of year when storms frequented the channel and all he had to do was wait for a squall, separate Godfraid’s main boat from the two others, and sink the vessel.

  But ’twas not the moment for dwelling on vengeance. Nay, ’twas the time to give Xára a babe. He grinned. And if his seed didn’t bear fruit on this joining, he had many a long winter’s night to correct that.

  Xára peeked at him when he stood and disarmed. After he pulled off his tunic she stared at his chest with such fervor in her eyes that he preened. ’Twas quick work to shed his boots and breeches.

  Her gaze dropped to his jutting erection and she licked her lips.

  Dráddør groaned. “What think you right now?”

  Twin splashes of color dusted her cheekbones. “’Tis wet.”

  He fingered the seed leaking from his slit and spread the liquid all over the crown of his cock. “Aye. It means that I want you, Xára. Sit up and take off your gown.”

  She gave him an uncertain sidelong glance, but obeyed his command.

  The sight of her in the transparent chemise nigh did him in. He stroked his pecker and slid the foreskin up over the head and then back down.

  Her eyes followed his hand’s motion. “Come closer.”

  She lifted onto her knees and scooted to the edge of the bed.

  “Put your hand o’er mine,” he ordered. “Aye. Like that. Now stroke me.”

  When she gave his cock a tentative rub, he let his hand fall away.

  Unable to do anything but stare at her lithe fingers on his shaft, he said, his voice hoarse with need, “Stroke. Up and down.”

  She shifted closer and added her other hand. Her curls tumbled about her shoulders and tickled his groin. He fisted his hands when she adjusted her grip. She worried her lower lip and peeped up at him. “’Tis the right way?”

  “Aye,” he grunted and sucked in a breath when she cupped his balls. “Nay.”

  He captured her wrists. “Enough. ’Tis the sweetest torture, but I want to spill my seed inside you, not on the sheets.”

  Grinning when her eyes widened, he kissed the center of her palm. “Ask. I can see the question forming on your lips.”

  “’Tis possible?” Their gazes met.

  “’Tis a certainty. My stones are aching.”

  “Stones?” She glanced down, tugged her hands out of his hold, and cupped his balls again. “These are stones?”

  “Stones, balls, sac, testicles, nuts,” As he spoke each word, she weighed his testicles and squeezed each one lightly.

  His desire flamed. He fumbled with her chemise and when the garment refused to cooperate simply tore it down the middle. He palmed her arse and growled, “Wrap your legs around me when I lift you.”

  She gasped when he fitted his cock to her sex, but arched to accommodate him.

  ’Twas Valhalla, watching his cock push into her heat. He rested one of her legs on his shoulder and angled her hips to better see her puss. Her folds glistened in the morning sunlight, all dewed and
swollen and ready. “Play with your clitty.”

  “Nay,” she said and fell back onto her elbows.

  “It aroused you when I stroked my pecker, did it not?”

  “Aye.” She worried her lips. “’Tis wicked and forbidden.”

  “Nay, ’tis simple bedsport.” He could hold back no longer and drove into her throbbing channel, climbed onto the bed and bent over to capture a pouting nipple with his mouth. He drew the tip in hard and laved the bud.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair and urged him on. He found her other breast and fondled the exquisite roundness. Cupping both breasts together, he moved from one to the other, suckling and licking, rolling and tugging on both nipples, until she cried out his name.

  He fought to contain the need to thrust, lifted his head, caught sight of her glazed eyes, and shuddered. Not giving her a chance to resist, he seized her hand and used one of her fingers to play with her nub.

  “’Tis torture,” she moaned.

  “Aye.” He toyed with her clitty and bit his tongue when her walls clamped around his cock. Her breasts rose and fell quicker and quicker. She grabbed fistfuls of the linen sheets.

  “You are ready, sváss. Find your pleasure.” He drew back the hood guarding her reddened nub and pinched the slick flesh.

  She rocked on his cock, her hips surged off the bed, and he feasted on the bounty of her climax; head thrown back, neck arched, her curls tumbled in wonderful disorder. Ruby lips parted in silent ecstasy when she fractured for him. Her puss squeezed his cock.

  He could hold back no longer and plunged in to the hilt. His balls contracted. Gripping her hips, he held her still for his invasion, but she met him thrust for thrust.

  “Mercy. Mercy.”

  He had none to give and pounded into her convulsing channel. His seed exploded from his throbbing pecker in hot bursts. A red haze of bliss blurred his vision, and he collapsed and rested his head next to hers on the bed cushion.

  It took long moments ‘til his reason returned and his breathing became even.

  Dráddør opened one eye and smiled when he glimpsed her pink nipple standing at ready. He tweaked the fat bud.

  “Oh,” she squealed and swatted his shoulder. “Nay.”

  “Aye.” He disagreed and rose on his forearms to meet her dazed stare. “’Tis mine and I can play with it whenever I want.”

  She narrowed her eyes and a gleam of mischief twinkled. “If ’tis yours then are yours mine?”

  “Aye.” He waggled his brows. “And you have my permission to play with any part of me you like.”

  She blushed.

  “What think you now?” He fingered the whorls of one ear and studied her features.

  “That ’twill take a long time to become accustomed to the many ways of bedsport.”

  Dráddør grinned. He clasped one arm around her back and crawled fully onto the bed, coming close to losing his balance before righting himself.

  “’Twould’ve been easier if we moved separately,” she murmured.

  “Mayhap, but I need to draw out the feel of your sweet puss milking my cock.” He rolled them over and tilted her chin. “’Tis my duty to show you all the ways of joining that I have learned, and then we will make new ones as we go along.”

  “Make new ones?” Her eyes widened.

  “Aye. For cert, ’tween the two of us, we can think of new ways to swive.” He buried his nose in her tousled curls and inhaled some flowery fragrance. “It pleases me that we can now talk together of such intimacies. Though I had enjoyed the notion of you using my pecker as velum and writing long tales all o’er it.”

  She hadn’t stopped blushing for a moment and dropped her gaze to his chest.

  “What think you now, wife?”

  He loved the way she wrinkled her nose and peeked up from under at him, her beautiful eyes a pool of turquoise and amber in the morning sunlight. “Methinks you are a wicked man.”

  The smile accompanying her playful tone delighted him. He flexed his half-erect cock inside her and she opened her eyes wide. “And methinks, you enjoy my wickedness. Tell me true, Xára mine—did you not find pleasure in our swiving?”

  She fixed him with an exasperated stare, nostrils flaring ever so slightly. “You know I did.”

  “What concerns you, mit sváss?” He studied the delectable curve of her brows and couldn’t resist tucking a wayward damp tendril back into place. His pecker went flaccid and he reluctantly withdrew from her heat.

  Her nose grazed his chin when she bent her head. “I cannot help but wonder if bedsport needs be confessed.”

  “Confessed?” A vague memory of the Christian need to spill their wrongdoings to Monks and such mushroomed. “Tell me, what must you confess to your priest?”

  “My sins, a’course. If I have broken one of the Ten Commandments. I have thought and thought on bedsport. We do not lie, covet another, kill another, or bear false witness.” She didn’t appear happy about her conclusion.

  “If we break none of your God’s rules, what troubles you?” ’Twould take some time to grow accustomed to her Christianity, but Dráddør had no doubt he would. After all, his older brothers had with their wives.

  “It feels like a delicious sin, all that we do. Yet I am loath to confess what we do to Monk Herbert. Think you Skatha and Nyssa confess such?” Her voice wavered on the question.

  Dráddør didn’t hesitate. “Nay. Does the church not say what happens ’tween husband and wife is sacred?”

  She cupped her chin and pursed her mouth before answering, “Aye. You have the right of it. I needs not confess our bedsport to Monk Herbert. ’Tis a relief, I vow. He will stay to become our priest?”

  Stifling a groan, Dráddør searched for a way to send the holy man away less Xára ask him to assume the duty. “Mayhap. We will speak of it when I return.”

  At once her relaxed posture changed, she moved onto her side, clasped a bed cushion to her breasts, and looked at the windows. “The sun is high in the sky. We make haste?”

  Dráddør glanced at the cloudless sky revealed by the open shutters. His mind turned to the coming journey and the numerous tasks to be done. “Aye. We will need the noon tide if we are to catch up to Niketas.”

  “Who is this man?”

  Dropping a quick kiss on her nose, he eyed the floor and his scattered garments. “I have ne’er shed my clothes and weapons in such haste. You fracture my warrior discipline, woman. Wazir Niketas is an Arab trader who tried to take Skatha and Hjørdis some time ago. He has been a thorn in our side for many seasons. I do not have the time for detailed explanations, Xára. I must meet with Haakon. ’Twill be of great help if you will pack a few of the tunics in my chest.”

  “I will see to it and get the food stores ready for you.” She scrambled off the other side of the bed. “May I take the time to see Jennie first? She will be overjoyed to learn that I can speak again.”

  “’Tis more than enough time.” Dráddør had automatically dressed by the time Xára had retrieved a new chemise and donned it and her gown. He kissed her forehead. “I will meet you in the hall.”

  * * *

  Xára decided to check on Evie before heading to Jennie’s room. She poked her head in the open doorway of her sister’s door and frowned. Where were Evie and Ulna?

  Mayhap they visited Jennie. Xára grinned and bustled down the hallway. Jennie would be so pleased at the news. After all Jennie had done for her, mayhap now she could give back, and nurse Jennie to health. Xára had no doubt Dráddør would allow them both to live at Lathairn. She had married a man of consideration and honor.

  So many happy thoughts crowded her mind that Xára actually found herself at the end of the east end corridor near the servants’ stairs and she had to retrace her steps to Jennie’s chamber. Fool she was to be dreaming of her handsome husband and sighing about his departure. He cared for her, he must, and mayhap ’twas no need for him to know the all of her secrets.

  He already knew of her father, Hei
mdallr, and appeared accepting of her half-immortal status. In truth, his brothers’ wives were also like her, the daughters of immortals. Mayhap all would work out. Xára would breach the whole of it with Nyssa and Skatha while Dráddør and his brothers were gone. For cert ’tween the three women, they could find a solution to her plight.

  Xára took a deep breath and stared at the grained wood of Jennie’s door. ’Twould all work out as Dráddør had said afore. Her mind clear and more at ease since leaving Touft Abbey, she turned the handle and pushed, but the door refused to open.

  Had Lara barred the door?

  She knocked on the wood. “Lara, ’tis me, Xára. Open the door.”

  Silence.

  Xára tried again. “Lara, open the door.”

  She listened but could hear naught. Something was wrong. All at once she realized the guards were missing.

  Her alarm spiraled. What had Dráddør said? Two guards without and two within.

  Resting her cheek flat against the wood, she listened. Normally, even through the thick wood, she could hear the snap of the fire, and the rustling sounds when Lara mixed her medicines as the healer was wont to do constantly. Naught. She heard naught.

  “Lara! Open the door at once!” Xára bellowed and the sound of her roar thundered around the hallway.

  Mother Mary. Something terrible had happened.

  She ran, and with each stride her panic ratcheted. Magnhildur. Godfraid. Néill. The three names kept repeating in her head, over and over, until ’twas a litany, a prayer. She prayed they’d really departed on the dawn tide. But deep in her heart, she knew. Knew that the villains were responsible for the closed door.

  Panting, she raced down the stairs, and sprinted to the kitchens. A quick glance showed Evie and Ulna weren’t in the room. She dashed to the hall, spied Konáll speaking with Brökk, and rushed to them. “Jennie’s door is barred from within and her guards gone. I cannot find Evie or Ulna. Something is wrong.”

  “Wait here,” Brökk ordered Konáll. “Stay with her. Send someone to find Nyssa and Skatha and Jorunn.”

  “Nay. The door is solid and reinforced with iron. ’Twas made to withstand invasion. There is a way to that room from ours. ’Tis a secret passage.”