by Jianne Carlo
“Think you the caliph knows of both Skatha and Hjørdis’s lineage?”
“He must.” Brökk shrugged. “As must others. But who else?”
Konáll snorted. “Harald Bluetooth, and mayhap the emperor, for they commanded your marriage. Lady Gráinne. Think you others at Sumbarten know?”
“’Tis of no import. Any news of Niketas’s movements?”
“Aye. He took his ship down the coast after the náttverðr. I set a troop to follow him.”
Brökk knuckled his temple. “Niketas has ne’er graced us with his presence afore. Methinks ’tis no coincidence he appears soon after the women’s hut was fired.”
“And the other raids and fires—think you Niketas and the caliph are behind them?”
“Nay. ’Tis not possible. I have been considering the matter. I fear one of our neighbors covets Bita Veðr. For that purpose did I invite Sigrid the Red, Árne the Rooster, and Jarl Eldar the Learned to stay on for a promised feast. Their holdings surround Bita Veðr.” Brökk fingered the stubble on his jaw.
“Loath I am to believe them our enemies. I fostered with Sigrid. What of Moldof? His holding borders yours.”
Brökk knew Konáll honored Sigrid as a warrior, but neither brother thought much of Moldof. “Think you that fool capable of such treachery? He would betray his own schemes with his ramblings. Nay, brother, it must be one of those three, and only Sigrid has warrior training.”
Árne and Eldar farmed vast lands and had a contingent of mercenaries for protection, but neither kept troops on permanent retainer. Sigrid the Red commanded nigh as many warriors as Brökk.
“I will watch them like a hawk. If what you suspect is the right of it, then we face enemies on two fronts, Loudon and one of our neighbors.”
“Aye. Methinks Loudon knows of Hjørdis’s soothsaying. Mayhap he plans to sell her to one of the jarls seeking to purge Harald Bluetooth from his throne. A battle soothsayer could weigh the odds in favor of an army.”
“True. Mayhap we should consider sharing knowledge of Hjørdis’s talents with Olaf Longface. Olaf knows the politics of Harald’s court and discerns well who shows a loyal face, but harbors envy and venom in his soul.” Konáll leaned a shoulder on the huts wall. “You surprise me brother. I thought to find you foaming at the mouth with the news of the caliph’s petition for Skatha’s hand? And this tale of the caliph’s son conversion to Christianity?”
“A ruse. Know you any who cleave to the Koran to deviate from Allah? Nay. I wager the caliph heard of my marriage to Skatha and uses the knowledge to draw my attention from Hjørdis, his ultimate goal. What use would Skatha be to an Arab monarch?”
“Ali said as much when I accompanied him to the pier after the náttverðr.” Konáll eased away from the wall. “He also said that you can only be assured of Skatha’s loyalty after your seed has taken root in her womb. Shall I escort the women to Dráddør’s lodge and give you time to plant your seed?”
Brökk scowled when his brother’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight, the temptation to clip him on the jaw nigh irresistible. He fisted his hands and let them hang loosely at his sides. “Aye. Have Raki double the guards. I like not this feeling of unease that dogs me. I will send the Lady Gráinne to you.”
“Worry not, brother. I will guard your back and the Sumbarten ladies well.” Konáll spun around and headed in the direction of the ladies Elspeth and Muíríne and the nurse, Dagrún.
Brökk considered alerting the women to his presence before entering the lodge, but decided against the notion. He entered the lodge to find Lady Gráinne combing Skatha’s glossy curls. She sat in his chair with Skatha before her on the stool. His wife’s eyes were shuttered and she nigh purred with each draw of the comb.
He met the abbess’s gaze. An awareness centered on Skatha, and their dual roles as protectors flickered ’tween them.
Brökk nodded in the direction of his wife and Lady Gráinne returned the gesture, then touched Skatha on the shoulder and bent to whisper in his wife’s ear.
“Good eve, Jarl. I pray the náttverðr was without any disturbance.”
“The fare was outstanding. The men on their best conduct,” he replied, his focus on Skatha, who neither smiled nor frowned, but listened intently.
“You have many new visitors?”
“Three ships arrived this aft. One of Ali’s trading fleet, one under the flag of the caliph of Persia, and my younger brother’s langskip, Vengeance Hammer.”
Lady Gráinne set aside the carved ivory comb, dusted her habit, and stood. “Your brother has arrived?”
“Nay.” He explained how Vengeance Hammer came to be in the fjord.
“Your sister and brother are safe then, for the time being.” Skatha rearranged her skirts and twined her fingers together, back straight, chin lifted.
“For the moment, wife. Lady Gráinne, Konáll awaits you. He will escort you and your charges to Dráddør’s lodge. I have doubled the guards this eve. All of you remain confined to his dwelling until midmorn. I cannot risk the Arab commander hearing of your presence at Bita Veðr, not after what we learned during the náttverðr.” Brökk told them of the petition for Skatha’s hand.
Skatha lurched to her feet. “Nay. ’Tis too much. For three summers nary a suitor has come forward to court me. Now I am wed, some pagan king wishes me to marry his son? Methinks not. ’Tis a ruse of some sort.”
Brökk could not stop the smile claiming his lips. He had not wed an empty-headed, giggling female. “Agreed, wife. The question is to what purpose is the ruse played.”
Cupping a hand over a small yawn, Lady Gráinne gathered her cloak from where it lay on the table. “Have you a notion of how long this Arab will be at Bita Veðr?”
“Nay. But I intend to hasten him on his journey. If all goes as planned, he will be gone on the morn. Why do you ask?”
“Skatha needs plan how to manage the kitchens and the daily chores.”
“I will have Hilda command the kitchens while your movements are restricted. By the time the sun is o’er head you will have the freedom of Bita Veðr once more.”
His wife gifted him with a wide smile and those amethyst eyes of hers sparkled like the grass dew under a brilliant morning sun. It pained him to drown in those brilliant orbs and know she saw him not. Brökk shook his head.
“Lord Tighe has injured warriors who are sore in need of a healer’s attention. Should you agree, I will have him bring the wounded to the great hall after the Arab ship has departed.”
“We are healers, Lord Brökk, and refuse no injured.” The abbess fair snapped her reply.
“Allow me escort you to Konáll, Lady Gráinne.” Brökk offered his arm to the abbess. “Skatha, I will be but a moment. I trust you were all fed this eve.”
“We were.” Lady Gráinne set her hand atop Brökk’s. “Sleep well, Skatha. I will see you on the morrow.”
“Good eve, my lady. God be with you.” Skatha dipped a curtsey.
Brökk closed the door behind them.
Neither he nor the abbess spoke for some time.
“Lady Gráinne, as I chanced upon my lodge this eve, I overheard you and my wife conversing. I know of your role as guardian.”
The abbess nodded. “I suspected as much the moment you entered the lodge. Ask of me what you will.”
“Does the goddess object to Skatha wedding a mortal?”
“The goddess does not favor me with explanations or wishes. Her concern is centered on Skatha’s lack of powers. She has several other children, all of whom are immortal. I sense she both knows and knows not what the future holds for Skatha. When Skatha lost her vision, the goddess was most distraught.” Lady Gráinne halted. She turned to face him.
“Skaði did not expect such happenstance then?” Like most mortals, until his mother’s capture by ThMrr, Brökk had assumed the gods and goddesses to be all-knowing.
“Nay. She did not. Of that I am cert.” The abbess folded her hands and met his gaze. “Aught else troubles you,
Jarl?”
From the position of the stars in the onyx curtain above them, Brökk estimated half the eve had passed. ’Twas the ’twixt and ’tween time of night when the winds died, no flowers broadcast their alluring aromas, and even the nocturnal creatures slumbered.
“I would speak with you of my sister Hjørdis at a later time. Her soothsaying causes her to take to bed for days. Mayhap you can help her learn to cope.”
“I am a guardian. Of course I will aid your sister, Jarl. Seek you her rescue afore the snow and ice traps us here?”
“Aye.” Brökk heard Konáll’s low laugh afore they rounded the corner in the path leading to Dráddør’s lodge. “Greetings ladies, brother. I give the Lady Gráinne into your keeping for the rest of this eve.”
“Is all well with Skatha?” the red-tressed Lady Elspeth asked.
“Aye. Skatha will stay at her husband’s lodge. Good eve, Lord Brökk. We will see you on the morn.” Lady Gráinne inclined her head.
“On the morn,” Brökk replied.
The nurse and ladies murmured their farewells, and Brökk retreated to his lodge. He spoke with the guards and had them take their distance before entering the dwelling.
His loins fired at the sight that met his eyes. Skatha, dressed in naught but a thin, transparent chemise, sat on the stool by the fire struggling with a knot in her long curls. “’Tis a fine night, is it not my lord?”
“Aye. And how know you this?” He strode to her and retrieved the comb from her grasp. “You owe me a kiss, Skatha.”
She ducked her head and grinned. “That I do. I can smell the night blossoms, and the nightingale sings a sweet melody.”
He knelt at her side, set down the whale-tooth comb, and retrieved the two lengths of silk he’d purchased from Ali from the corner where he’d tucked them earlier.
“What are you about, husband?” She twisted and ran her fingers over his jaw, and warm, minty breath skipped across his lips.
Capturing her hand, he laid the silks in her palms. “Your bride gifts, wife.”
Her dimples glowed in the soft light from the wall sconces. She brought the fabric to her cheek, rubbed the amethyst material over her cheek, and shot him a brilliant smile. “I will sew you a new tunic.”
A blind woman sewing? Brökk bit his tongue. 2Twas not the time to pursue that topic.
“Nay, sweet cat. For these are two lengths of the same hue as your eyes. One is for you to make a cyrtel for when we visit the courts. The other, I would have you make into a gown for use in our hall.”
“Then you must choose another length the same color as your eyes, and I will sew you a new tunic for the courts.” She lifted her chin, and the stubborn set of her mouth made him chuckle.
“Done, wife.” Settling in the chair, he ordered, “Come sit astride me and pay your penalty.”
Not waiting for her compliance, he bent over and lifted her to straddle his lap. His cock, ever ready for her puss, strained to reach the enticing notch between her thighs. The pesky fellow twitched and wept his frustration.
To his delight, she linked her arms behind his neck, and slid her tongue o’er the seam of his mouth. She had him ensorcelled, the lure of her honey, her mouth, her sheath nigh impossible to resist. Brökk held her waist loosely and let his wife deepen her gentle explorations.
She opened her mouth to his, slid her rough yet dainty tongue o’er his teeth, and licked at him, inviting a dueling dance. Her small hands cupping his cheeks, she kissed her way to his ear and tugged his lobe and the earbob. The exquisite caress shot lightning to his prick and balls.
Her lithe fingers worked on the brooch pinning the neck of his tunic closed. She set her palms to his bare chest. “Hot and hard. The night of the consummation Lady Gráinne bid me hold your sword and stroke it and ’twould all be over in a thrice. But when I touched you here,” she jiggled her hands, “’Twas so confusing. I thought you would set me afire, and I dared not fondle your manhood.”
“Feel what you do to me, Skatha.” He placed her hands on the rigid arousal straining his breeches and groaned when she squeezed the length of him. “Like you this chemise?”
Dark, sooty lashes fluttered like a raven’s wings in furious flight. “My chemise?”
“I am afire, wife, and am close to ripping it from you.”
She laughed aloud and shrugged the chemise from her shoulders. “Pray, have mercy on the rest of the garments your brother gifted me. I have naught else to wear until I make my bride gifts into fine cyrtels.”
He could not resist her pouting nipples and set his mouth to one rosy peak. She purred for him and held him fast to her breast, hissing when he drew hard on the turgid bud. His prick thickened and fought the constraints of his woolen breeches.
Firming his hands under her bottom cheeks, he stood. “Wrap your legs around my waist, Köttrynja.”
Unable to take his gaze from her flushed cheeks and reddened, swollen lips, he feathered kisses o’er her face, tasting the salt of a fine sheen of sweat near her temples, inhaling the slight hint of apple that still lingered in her silky hair.
Loath to let her go, he retained his hold on her wrist ’tween shedding clothes and boots, and then lay beside her on the bed, spooning her from behind.
She arched her neck and twisted to him. “Brökk?”
“Be at ease, wife. ’Tis yet another manner of enjoying bedsport.” He lifted her leg over his. She made to cover the woman parts exposed by the position. Covering her hand with his, he whispered, “’Tis pure bliss to gaze upon you here. To taste you here, to smell you here. Here is the source of your pleasure.”
He caressed her woman’s nub and bit and licked her nape, her lobe, the corner of her mouth. She reached back, tangled a hand in his hair, and thrust her tongue into his mouth.
Brökk grunted when her folds slickened and dewed and coated his fingers with her cream. His stones knitted and the base of his prick throbbed painfully. He could wait no longer, and drove home, closing his eyes and giving over to the berserker in him. The ecstasy struck him blind, deaf, and dumb. Scent, taste, touch, spurred him into a wild hammering.
She met him stroke for stroke, tilting her bottom and arching back into his driving prick. The climax hit them both at the same time. His seed spurted into her fisting puss, hot, furious bursts that seared him to the core.
Chapter Eight
’Twas midmorn and yet no one had come to let them know if the Arab ship had departed the fjord.
“Skatha, stop pacing. ’Twill not make the time pass quicker.” Lady Gráinne had unearthed needle, thread, and torn tunics from a trunk in the Lord Dráddør’s lodge. All save Skatha had been charged with mending the garments whilst waiting for word they could go to the kitchens.
“I like not Lady Hilda having charge of the spices. She is spiteful and likely to spill copious amounts of the precious seasonings during our absence.” Skatha found the iron poker and prodded the logs in the hearth. A stray spark alighted on her wrist. She stifled a curse, sucked the singed spot, and set the metal rod back against the wall.
“’Twas the reason I sent for Raki’s wife, Dóta. She will see to containing Lady Hilda’s venom.”
Someone battered the closed oak door.
Elspeth clapped her hands. “At long last.”
Flattening her twitching lips, Skatha ambled in the direction of the noise. Elspeth hated needlework more than any other duty, whilst Muíríne found sewing restful and calming.
“Shall I answer, milady?” Dagrún asked.
Skatha flinched, startled to hear her old nurse’s voice so close, as she had left Dagrún in the small room off the main one scrubbing a cauldron with sand. “Make haste to do so, Dagrún.”
A blast of cold air laced with the taint of the pigsty swept around the chamber. Skatha sniffed. The aromas came from the right of the lodge. They had tied back the hides from the windows, and the sun’s rays added to the fire blazing in the hearth, giving the chamber the warmth of a midsummer’s day. T
he usual sounds of a holding were absent because, according to Lady Gráinne, the lodge was located at the very periphery of Bita Veðr’s boundaries.
They were all anxious to be away from Dráddør’s lodge for ’twas bare of any but the absolute essentials: a pallet, pitcher, basin, and cauldron. Extra blankets and bedding straw had been added to the room, but none of the women had slept well, bar Skatha, who had slumbered in Brökk’s snug embrace on a plump mattress covered in soft linens and thick furs. ’Twas wondrous how, instead of depleting her energy, the vigorous bedsport of the eve afore increased her stored restlessness threefold. How she longed to find the mare, take her for a pounding gallop along the coast, and then cool her bare feet in the fjord’s icy waters.
Brökk had escorted her to his brother’s abode at the crack of dawn. On the walk to the dwelling, they had spent much time discussing Hjørdis, Lady Gráinne’s guardianship, and his intention to send Lady Hilda to Jutland. His scathing contempt for Hilda had been so obvious, Skatha ne’er bothered to question him about Lady Hilda’s sly suggestion she was or had been his mistress. ’Twas an obvious falsehood.
When Skatha had imparted the news of the housekeeper’s eminent departure to the others, Elspeth had whooped her joy. Lady Hilda made a habit of bullying the kitchen servants. And the morn afore had nigh twisted the ear off one of the spit boys Elspeth had taken a shine to, a runt of a child with no family left living, called Óttarr the orphan.
Skatha followed the sound of Dagrún’s heavy footsteps to the door and winced when the massive oak creaked and groaned a protest at being opened.
“Beg pardon, my lady. I was sent to bring the fare to break your fast.”
Skatha couldn’t repress a grin at the high-pitched squeak. The voice belonged to Óttarr.
“Tsk. We broke our fast at dawn, lad. Set the basket in the other room. Milady, what do we with this food? ’Tis loaves, cheese, and fruit preserves.” Skatha recognized the gruffness in Dagrún’s voice. She, too, had a fondness for the reedy orphan lad.
“Let the boy eat his fill, Dagrún, and cover the rest for later.”