Malice Striker

by Jianne Carlo

  “I am sore, but ’tis only to be expected. I have many questions, my lady.”

  “Stay them until the men have come and gone.”

  “He can set me aside once he knows of my blindness.” She knew that a husband could reject a bride who was not whole. “Will the abbey accept a female who is no longer pure?”

  “Chase any dreams of returning to Sumbarten from your mind. If what your Viking says is truth, then emperors and kings have ordered this alliance. Accept your fate. ’Twill only cause you grievous pain should you not.”

  “But he can set me aside.” She had been clinging to the hope the minute she spoke the words.

  “Aye, he can. But only if he negotiates such with an emperor and a king. Howbeit, we will ensure he does not.”

  “How?”

  “Consider, Skatha. You have been charged with the abbey’s running for three summers. The planting, the food, the weaving, the harvest. All this you have done for three summers. Your husband’s holding is not half the size of Sumbarten. You will make yourself priceless to him. In all ways.”

  “I know Sumbarten. Every hall, every room, every chamber pot.”

  “And you will know this holding in the same way. You have us for the winter-fyllep. We will be your eyes and your allies. Come, child. We must plan your every move this day and all the coming days.”

  “Lady Gráinne, we are here.”

  Skatha hadn’t even heard the door open, far less Muíríne’s entry into the chamber.

  “The men are coming,” Elspeth called.

  “Stay here. I will draw the bed drapes.” Lady Gráinne squeezed Skatha’s shoulder and gave her a little push. Skatha clambered back into the middle of the mattress and clutched the sheets tightly around her.

  The swish of the curtains being pulled preceded the bang of the door opening. She waited. The tips of her ears tingled, and after a while she picked out three male voices before booted footsteps pounded the wooden floor.

  Lady Gráinne rapped out orders to the men who entered the room.

  Elspeth, Muíríne, and Dagrún conversed amid much noise before a brief silence settled. Moments later the door closed with a thud.

  Skatha lifted her chin and listened, but heard naught.

  “They are well and truly gone my lady and have turned to the path up the hill to the stables.”

  “My thanks for telling me what my eyes can plainly see, Elspeth.”

  Skatha grinned at the irritation in Lady Gráinne’s curt remark.

  “Dagrún, Muíríne, see to the fire and heat a pail of water. Elspeth, open those bed drapes and assist Skatha.” Lady Gráinne’s brisk tone spoke of a day filled running from one chore to another.

  After crawling to the edge of the bed, Skatha fumbled with the curtains, and her hand bumped into another’s.

  “There you are. Let me see you, Skatha.” Elspeth caught her fingers. “You are well. No bruising.”

  “’Tis custom to be bruised after…” Skatha hesitated then said, “mating?”

  “I have heard tell of such when I fostered in Mercia.” She helped Skatha off the mattress. “Can you walk?”

  “My legs took little part in the act.” Skatha grinned. “Forsooth his had the work of it.”

  “Skatha, curb your wicked humor. Muíríne, can you find a serviceable gown for Skatha in that chest? And Elspeth do not fill Skatha’s head with gossip. She needs not tales of bruises.”

  Yet, that had been the first remark from Lady Gráinne earlier. But ’twas over and she had survived. Mayhap ’twould be best to heed the abbess’s advice and accept her fate.

  Muíríne’s squeal jostled Skatha out of her musings. “What? Have you seen a spider?”

  Muíríne had a rabid fear of the creatures, while Skatha much relished the feel of their spindly legs on her arms, even after losing her sight. She had oft slipped one onto Muíríne’s pallet and then laughed till tears fell at her friend’s furious screeches and yelps.

  “You are a wicked lass. Nay. No spiders, but cyrtel fit for a queen. ’Tis filled with treasure. Never have I seen such jewels. And such colors. See you this purple, Elspeth? ’Tis the shade of heather in full bloom and will match your eyes, Skatha. You will have no rival in this gown.”

  “What is filled with treasure?”

  “The dowry trunk Lord Konáll provided,” Muíríne answered, her voice taking on that dreamy cant Skatha recognized only too well. She once more swooned over a handsome knight.

  “He is fair of face?”

  Lady Gráinne sighed. “Set your sights not on that one, Muíríne, you are fated for another. We need a service gown, not one fit for a coronation. Bring me that brown one. ’Twill do for the long day’s work we have ahead.” She tapped Skatha’s cheek. “Raise your arms. We have many mouths to feed this eve.”

  “Aye, ye have the right of that one, my lady. I have ne’er seen a holding with so many about,” Dagrún said, her tone grouchy.

  Lady Gráinne pulled first a chemise, then a gown over Skatha’s head.

  “How many live here?” Skatha tugged the garments into place.

  “Two garrisons of warriors. A score of women, most not in their first youth. There are three stables. One for cattle, one for horses, and one for pigs.”

  “My lady, you said ’twas a smaller holding than Sumbarten.” Skatha bit back the myriad queries wreaking havoc with her belly. Three stables? Sumbarten had one small building for all the animals.

  “Dagrún, stopper your ramblings. Biting Wind occupies half the land of Sumbarten and there is but one village nearby on the edge of the coast.”

  The persistent, painful buzzing in Skatha’s head abated somewhat. The abbey was responsible for five villages and vast farms. “How many warriors in a garrison?”

  “Set those thoughts aside, child. This day, we have but two goals—to prepare the feast, and to pry the keys to the spices and salt from the crone who guards them.”

  Skatha well knew the edge to Lady Gráinne’s voice. She had decided this crone would need handling. “Crone?”

  “Lady Hilda is the jarl’s housekeeper and a distant maiden aunt. She had a liking for his dead wife.”

  Skatha stubbed her toe on what felt like the bed’s leg. Brökk had been wed afore? She held her breath and prayed he had been betrothed as a lad. “Long dead?”

  “Nay. Midsummer. There. Did you find slippers, Muíríne?”

  “Aye. Here.” Muíríne handed Skatha the leather shoes and whispered, “The captain’s wife, Dóta, has no liking for Lady Hilda. She offered to help Lady Gráinne in any way possible.”

  Skatha gripped the worn hide hard as her mind raced. Midsummer? No wonder he had been so angered by King Harald’s decree. Had his wife been fair of face? A Viking woman? Cert his deceased spouse had been sighted. How was a blind female to compete? Skatha laced the soft shoes, gritted her teeth, and set aside yet another reason for despair. She must concentrate on naught but this day. “Will I not need my half boots? If we are to inspect the stables—”

  “This day we right the kitchens and prepare the food. And put some order to the sleeping arrangements. I will not spend another eve listening to rodents scurrying about.” Lady Gráinne worked on Skatha’s laces.

  “Rats?” Skatha hated the feral smell of vermin.

  “Aye. And of a size to battle and defeat the few scrawny cats mewling about.” Lady Gráinne cupped Skatha’s shoulders and turned her around. “Dagrún has scraped groves in the floor’s planks. There is one near your left foot. Feel for it.”

  Skatha drew a small circle on the floor with her foot. “There. I have found it.”

  “The path will lead you straight to the door. We will link arms and walk to the longhouse, slowly, and I will describe all to you. Afore we leave, I charge each and every one of you—Skatha is never to be left unattended this day.”

  Skatha realized Lady Gráinne had decided none in the holding were to know of her blindness. Not until the people of the keep earned the abb
ess’s trust and mayhap not even then.

  “What if we are ordered to leave her?”

  “Then, Elspeth, find me and I will deal with the situation. We go now.” Lady Gráinne linked her elbow through Skatha’s, and they began the journey to Biting Wind’s great hall.

  The sun hadn’t taken the chill off the morn, and Skatha’s cheeks iced in the brisk wind. She inhaled and wrinkled her nose. “Manure. The cattle pens are near?”

  Elspeth grasped her free hand. “They sit on a ridge behind the longhouse, but the breeze blows from that direction.”

  All at once Skatha’s shoulders slumped and the enormity of her situation brought tears to her eyes. She blinked and clenched her jaw. “My lady. How will I do this? Why does he want me for a wife? What will I do when you all leave?”

  “Where is my stouthearted, fearless girl? The one who defied all and mastered a wild stallion?” Lady Gráinne squeezed Skatha’s hand. “All will be well. Focus your attentions on this day. The rest will come.”

  If only ’twere possible to halt the questions popping into her head with every step. She chewed the inside of her cheeks and focused on her surroundings. “’Tis not noisy. I hear none milling about, and we have walked thirty paces.”

  “The Lady Hilda left to visit a neighbor at dawn, and the maids were twiddling their thumbs, so I suggested to them that the lord might look more favorably on them if they used the good hands he gave them to launder the linens of the keep.”

  Skatha repressed a smile. When Lady Gráinne gave a ‘suggestion,’ one obeyed without delay. Prisoner though the abbess may be, she wore her God-given authority with such confidence that none would defy her direction.

  Elspeth leaned closer and whispered, “They cowered like mice and sped to the river.”

  “Stop that whispering, Elspeth, and go help Dagrún up the steep part of the hill.”

  “At once, my lady.” After giving her hand one last squeeze, Elspeth hurried away.

  “Are there children in the keep my lady?”

  “I suggested the maids take the children to the river. Most of the men have gone to the mountains to hunt. We approach the main entrance to the longhouse. ’Tis a double door similar to that of Sumbarten. But these are made of oak and of a height and width so as to be managed only by a large warrior. The longhouse is made of stone. To be cert, ’tis a formidable fortress. The jarl has spared no coin building his holding.”

  Muíríne caught up with them and twined her fingers with Skatha’s.

  “Who opens the door if no warriors are about?”

  “The holding is guarded. Four men, fully armed, are at the door, two on either side.”

  Skatha kept quiet as they entered the great hall, not speaking until their shuffled footsteps echoed in the chamber. “’Tis warm. More than one hearth?”

  “Aye, three. Six men are in the great hall. All are older with missing teeth. They are hunkered at a bench and table close to the entrance to the kitchens.” Lady Gráinne slowed her pace, and Skatha adjusted hers.

  “I have not heard a dog bark. And only the occasional cat’s meow.”

  “Why ’tis the truth of it.” Muíríne caught Skatha by the forearm. “I have seen nary a one. ’Tis most peculiar. And mayhap why the rats have the run of the place. For the only cats Lady Gráinne saw last eve were moth-eaten creatures in their dotage.”

  “Our words and footsteps echo. The chamber is bare?”

  “Bare of rushes. There are no tapestries; instead weapons cover the walls. Axes, swords, daggers, bows and arrows, all gleaming and polished and ready to be used. Mayhap while we are here, your jarl will consent to make Bita Veðr more of a home than an armory. The floors here are stone and whitewashed. The roof is timbered, high, and arched.”

  “It smells clean and fresh, and I can feel the sun beating upon my back. There are windows?”

  Lady Gráinne answered Skatha’s question. “Aye, seven on the right wall, six on the left, and arrow slits twixt and tween. The dais is opposite the largest hearth. Elspeth and Murine will walk you up and down the chamber. They will lead you to your seat at the high table. When you are comfortable walking around and seating yourself, then they will bring you to the kitchens and to me.”

  “Yes my lady.” Skatha dipped a curtsey and waited until she could no longer hear Lady Gráinne’s half boots slapping the stone. She turned to Muíríne. “Why is she angry? Who has spurred her ire?”

  The silence that greeted her questions made her heart thump like a rabbit facing a pack of wolves. “What? Tell me true. And be quick. I am cert you have naught but dire news to impart.”

  “’Tis said the Lady Hilda sleeps in the master’s chamber.”

  Skatha frowned, tipped her head to one side. “Nay. I slept in his chamber last eve.”

  “Nay. Skatha. He has a chamber adjacent to the Great Hall. ’Tis where he normally sleeps.”

  She stumbled into a table and gripped the rough wood so hard a sliver pricked her thumb. Skatha collapsed onto a bench. “Tell me ’tis not true. He left me and went to…her?”

  * * *

  Brökk, Konáll, and their ally and friend, the Eastern trader Ali H’malik, pushed their way to the back bench of the village alehouse, known far and wide as Gufa Fiskr, Smoke Fish, for the delicious smoked fish ’twas the specialty of the tavern.

  Ali sniffed the air. “Ah, the alewife is smoking the salmon. By Allah, even if there were no trading to be had here, I would make the journey for her fare.”

  Throngs of fishermen returned from their last run of the fading day packed Gufa Fiskr. ’Twas Brökk and Konáll’s custom when Ali visited to partake of the alewife’s salmon as oft as possible, for the trader ate neither meat nor pork.

  Brökk took a seat against the wall, as did Konáll, and Ali sat opposite the brothers. The din in the chamber soared when a group of men, rank with the stink of their catch and wearing their share of shiny scales, weaved through the milling crowd. Friendly curses and shouts followed in their wake.

  Konáll signaled a serving wench.

  “So, it is true, Brökk? You have finally taken a wife? The bastard daughter of the King of Scots?” Ali leaned on the rough wooden table.

  “Gossip travels on the wind.” Brökk shrugged. “She is my second wife.”

  Ali lifted a brow. “Second? I know not of the first, and we met last in Miklagard in the spring. By Allah. How, how is this possible? Have you decided to turn to the Eastern religion and take many wives?”

  Brökk snorted. “Nay. ’Tis worse than battle, having a wife. Having two at once would send me to Valhalla.”

  Konáll finished speaking with the wench and she sidled away. “I have ordered for all of us. Tea for you. Ale for us. The salmon and loaves for all. My brother tells you of his wives and our sister?”

  “Your sister, the sweet Hjørdis, the soothsayer? And two wives? I am all agog. In truth, you have my total attention.” Ali leaned on the table and propped his bearded chin with one palm.

  “My new wife was to be held to ransom Hjørdis from the Scots Baron who took her at midsummer.”

  “Your sweet sister was taken? That is terrible. How?”

  Brökk cursed. “Through the error of a man made fool of by lust. He sits before you.”

  Ali lifted a scraggy brow. “Continue.”

  “I have not the stomach to recount the tale. Pray tell Ali of all, Konáll, but be not wordy.” Brökk folded his arms and leaned back against the wall.

  Ali glanced from one brother to the other.

  Konáll rolled his eyes and sighed. “We journeyed to the English courts this spring. There Brökk met a Mercian princess, Etta, a woman with land but no coin. He lusted after her, and she appeared to return his affections.”

  “Hah!” Brökk slammed his fist into the table.

  “Unbeknownst to either of us, Etta had a lover, Baron Loudon, a commander under the king of the Scots. They came up with the notion of her becoming a rich widow.” Konáll folded his arms an
d sighed.

  Ali shook his head. “I have known such women. Setting out to trap a warrior to wed and then plot his demise.”

  The serving wench approached their table, and by unspoken mutual consent the men fell silent. She served the drinks, the bread, and the salmon, and left.

  “Ah.” Ali stroked his goatee. “Etta played the virgin hand, and you offered marriage to gain her sweet puss. It is a situation many a man finds himself in.”

  “A fool finds himself in.” Brökk sneered at his former idiocy.

  “Ali, friend, you will find my brother soured on wives and women. He blames himself for Hjørdis’s capture. Forsooth, his alliance with Etta was not a bad one had there not been a lover and a plot to kill my brother. Etta would gain coin and Brökk a new holding in Mercia.” Konáll stretched his feet and crossed one boot over the other. “I am at fault as well. I encouraged the marriage. Etta deceived the both of us.”

  “A woman of great beauty, I am certain.” Ali speared a slice of smoked salmon.

  “Striking. Lush. ’Twas not a man at court who didn’t lust after her, but she had eyes only for Brökk, or so she led us to believe.”

  “You wed her and brought her here?” Ali asked around a mouthful.

  “Aye.”

  Konáll tore a small loaf of bread in two. “He will not speak of that time. But for many moons Bita Veðr improved under Etta’s management. The woman’s deceit unmans even me when I think back, but we had no reason not to trust her. The only person who did not take to her was Hjørdis. She charmed all else.”

  Brökk hated the memories of the besotted fool he had been with Etta. If only he had listened to Hjørdis. If only he had not believed Hjørdis’s dislike of Etta due to jealousy at no longer being the sole center of his attention.

  “I know of no man who has not been led by his cock at least once in his life.” Ali knifed a chunk of fish. “How did Hjørdis come to be taken?”

  “Baron Loudon arrived in midsummer claiming he had been commanded to bring a missive from King Kenneth’s queen for Etta. Neither Konáll nor I had ever heard of the man and we accepted his tale as truth.” Brökk sipped his ale. “Etta had fostered at the king’s court under his queen, and when we were in Mercia, she received many missives from Queen Lorna.”