Malice Striker

by Jianne Carlo

  Cursing Loki for his mischief making, Brökk glared at the dead man’s craggy features. “I would give odds he was no baron. Etta, nay, Arianne was behind this scheme.”

  “Nay. They must have been in this together.” Lady Gráinne clasped a hand to her chest. “I cannot even comprehend the villainy of it. The two of them. Plotting this. ’Tis abominable.”

  Brökk shook his head. “I must tell Skatha.”

  “Aye. But how? And what? That her nemesis plotted to kill her husband?” Lady Gráinne chewed her lips. “I do not think you can make this news pleasant.”

  Skatha took the news better than he expected.

  “’Tis a horrid tale. Arianne, Loudon, and Niketas conspiring to sell Hjørdis to the caliph of Persia. Forging the missive from King Kenneth so you would steal me for ransom and then they would have two goddess-born females to sell to the caliph.” Skatha’s lip curled. “I heard Arianne boasting about how much he would pay for Hjørdis’s maidenhead and lamenting the loss of mine as I would not command a richer purse.”

  “’Tis a tangled plot. Your abbess suspects Arianne must have seen your jötunn mother, Skaði, during one of her visits to Sumbarten and then realized all the rumors of your birth were fact.”

  “I knew I had heard her voice afore, but could not think where or when. Witch. She left that bucket at the top of the stairs a-purpose. I am convinced of it. But ’tis done. I want not to think of this anymore.” Skatha lifted her chin. “Arianne is dead and that is enough.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Courting Day One

  “Think you ’tis a fitting present?” Brökk glanced at the bone-enameled mirror in his hand, and then swathed a square of cloth around the oval object. He glanced at his brother and quickened his pace up the steep incline.

  “Aye. We are speaking of a woman who has seen little in her life. And she knows not what she looks like. ’Tis fitting indeed.” Konáll halted at the fork in the dirt path. “I take your leave here. Sigrid, Árne, and Eldar depart on the morn tide and I am to meet them at Gufa Fiskr. I learned last eve Eldar fostered with the Earl of Moray.”

  Brökk blinked. “By Loki’s balls. You have the luck of the Roman goddess Fortuna. Yet, this news makes the hairs on my nape bristle. Olaf Longface receives an edict signed with Harald Bluetooth’s and Kenneth of Scotland’s seal that the marriage between you and Earl Moray’s daughter is confirmed yester morn. And you discover Eldar was raised with the man last eve? I am uneasy at the coincidence.”

  Konáll let out a long sigh. “I, too, find it remarkable. But, I can nay refuse the chance to gain insight into the Earl.”

  “You have the right of it.” Brökk scanned the clear sky and calculated the peak of the tide. “Make haste, brother, for the midday approaches.”

  “Aye.” Konáll adjusted the handle of the axe sheathed on a belt slung low on his hips, gave Brökk a by-your-leave nod, and then marched to the right.

  2Twas a rich alliance both kings had arranged. The marriage contract called for Konáll to donate the gold coin Kenneth of Scotland needed to arm his warriors against the contender, Malcolm.

  Harald Bluetooth added another stronghold to secure the shipping routes he craved.

  And Konáll gained the vast lands and rich estates his betrothed had inherited upon consummation of the vows. All gained, none lost.

  Brökk tramped up the muddied path and greeted the men standing guard over his quarters. He knocked on the door of his own lodge, a fact that caused him grievous irritation.

  When Lady Gráinne, with her placid smile, greeted him, he bared his teeth. “I am here to court my wife.”

  “Your betrothed.”

  Lady Gráinne smiled that smile that made his cock go flaccid in a second. How he hated that serene smile. He fought the need to adjust himself and pasted a grin that spoke of pain on his face.

  “I am here to court my wife.” He refused to admit Skatha wasn’t his wife.

  “Your betrothed. Skatha, the jarl is here.”

  The way the abbess said jarl made him shudder. But then Skatha came to the door, and she curtsied so delicately and so perfectly his cock engorged to boiling and he nigh spilled his seed.

  “My lord.”

  “Brökk.” He wanted her to wrap her mouth around his cock, taste him deeply, and suck him to the core.

  “’Tis for you. A courting gift.” He shoved the parcel into her hands and immediately felt like a fool. She was his wife. No matter what the damned abbess said.

  She unfolded the green velvet that wrapped the gift and frowned. “A mirror?”

  “For you to see yourself.” He pulled at the tunic that felt too close to his neck. “It does not please you?”

  “Aye. ’Tis a fine gift. I should like to see your face in it.” She curled her hands around the mirror but her eyes never left his. “All my life I have wished to see. And now I am so happy because your face fills my mind. I crave every inch of you.”

  “You may join us while we sew and read verses from the bible, Jarl. The day is too wet and too chilly for any other activities.” The abbess sat in his chair and picked up a length of cloth from the floor.

  Brökk nigh choked on his own spit. He was not to be allowed alone with his own wife?

  * * *

  Courting Day Two

  “I am here to court my wife.”

  “Your betrothed.”

  Brökk longed to stuff the two words down the abbess’s throat.

  “Skatha, your betrothed is here.” Lady Gráinne said the words to taunt him, Brökk knew it.

  Skatha came to the door and beamed up at him. “Lady Gráinne has granted us permission to visit Ali H’malik’s ship.”

  His cock twitched. Ali’s empty ship.

  “Think you there will be silks for us to buy?” Lady Muíríne adjusted her wimple to frame the tendrils tickling her fine porcelain complexion.

  Us? Nay. Not all of them. Brökk turned to voice his objections to the abbess.

  “I am cert, Muíríne. Elspeth, Dagrún, are you ready? We would not want to keep Lord Brökk waiting.” Lady Gráinne flashed Brökk the smile that so irked him.

  And he knew then in that single moment how the visit would go.

  No chance of touching Skatha.

  * * *

  Courting Day Three

  “I am here to court my wife.” Perhaps if he said the words oft enough, he might well believe them.

  “Your betrothed.”

  Brökk ground his teeth, bit back a sharp retort, and fisted his hands. “I wish to take my wife to the stables.”

  “Your betrothed. I give you leave to do so. Skatha, the jarl is here to court you.”

  She was a vision. Black curls wild and unbound and sliding around her bare arms, she wore an emerald cyrtel that hugged her form, caressing her firm breasts and spanning her tiny waist. He yearned to have her in his bed, to slide into her heat, to suckle her rosy nipples.

  “I am not fond of the stables.” Lady Muíríne wrinkled her nose. “Can we not visit the trader’s ship again?”

  “Nay.” Brökk had begun to dislike the challenging female. “You can always remain here, Lady Muíríne.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Even you do not believe I can remain behind.”

  “Come, Skatha.” He curled an arm around his wife’s shoulder and sighed. The closeness, the smell of her, had his prick hard in an instant, and he longed to sheathe himself in her tight, hot channel.

  This gift he knew she would welcome.

  Tighe had been impatient to return to Dalriada to secure his holding. The Scottish Earl had departed ere the battle with Loudon was won. Once Stillhaig Castle was returned to Tighe’s holding, Dráddør would depart for Bita Veðr. But Brökk had sent a missive with Tighe commanding Dráddør to the Highlands to fetch Skatha’s wolfhound.

  Upon bounding onto the dock, Lawri had taken an immediate and violent dislike to Brökk, growling and snapping if he so much as dared walk in the hound’s direction. This
morn he had tried bribing the animal with bones and meat, the choicest cuts of pork, and a whole roasted fowl, but though the dog had gnashed every morsel of food, she still would not allow him within an arm’s length.

  Lady Muíríne grouched and complained during the short walk to the stables. Dagrún followed so closely on Brökk and Skatha’s heels she bumped him in the back several times. The abbess walked side by side with them. Though she pointedly glared at his arm around Skatha’s waist, Lady Gráinne did not utter a word of chiding. Halfway there, Lady Elspeth linked elbows with Skatha, which made their gait, the three of them, uneven and awkward. Óttarr, now Lady Elspeth’s faithful lackey, skipped alongside the troupe and bent every so oft to scramble a pebble and pelt the stone across the meadow.

  The wolfhound’s growl sounded afore they even reached the stables’ doors.

  Skatha squeezed his arm. She looked up at him. “I cannot believe my ears. ’Tis like my Lawri’s murmur.”

  Murmur? Nasty, virulent snarl, mayhap, no murmur was that sound.

  He threw open the doors.

  Skatha gasped and froze in midstep.

  “Lawri. And her pups. Oh, ’tis heaven.” Skatha fair flew to the wolfhound lounging on a plump mound of hay and nursing her babes. Eleven in all—he had counted them to ensure they had all survived the journey.

  He had never seen such joy. Skatha buried herself between Lawri and her pups. She covered them, sniffed them, and let their little pink tongues lick her all over. Skatha dropped to the hay-covered dirt floor, sat cross-legged next to Lawri’s nose, and kissed the wolfhound ’tween her massive, erect ears.

  For a breath Brökk would’ve vowed the beast smiled, jaw open, enormous pointed ivory teeth glistening in the early morning sunshine. Lawri lapped her mistress’s chin and turned her colossal head to the furry balls kneading her teats.

  “They are beautiful, Lawri. You have a right to be proud.” She stroked the dog, tickled the bottom of one ear and was rewarded with another long lave. Mistress and dog stared at each other, then the hound snorted and laid her head on Skatha’s thigh. She kissed her pet and rested her cheek on the animal’s neck for a moment before murmuring, “I have missed you so.”

  He had been right to send for the wolfhound. The bond forged between Lawri and Skatha during her unseeing years would never be broken, not while both lived. But by ThMrr’s hammer, he would command the recalcitrant dog afore the end of the winter-fyllep.

  Skatha gathered a wandering pup, sniffed the wriggling creature, and rubbed her nose with its. Soon she was covered in wee beasties, laughing and exclaiming at their antics. Finally she lay full length on the straw and let the pups little pink tongues lick her all over.

  Brökk had never felt such jealousy.

  Three clumsy, fawn-haired whelps attempted to traverse her lap. Glancing at him, she gifted him with a dazzling snow-white smile. “I cannot thank you enough, Brökk. Naught could have pleased me more than having Lawri once more by my side. My lady, will you give me leave to spend the morn with my beloved hound?”

  “I could not deny you this request, child. But we must see to righting the kitchens Hilda nigh destroyed afore escaping with the vermin Wazir Niketas. Elspeth and Muíríne, you will stay with Skatha. Dagrún, accompany me to the hall.” Lady Gráinne, who had crouched to scratch a pup’s belly, stood. She dusted her hands. “Tarry only until the midday. I will expect all of you in the kitchens afore the sun reaches its zenith. We have much to do this day.”

  With that command the abbess swept out of the stables, followed by the limping and grumbling old nurse.

  Brökk eyed Lady Muíríne and Lady Elspeth. How to rid himself and Skatha of their presence?

  “Greetings ladies, brother,” Konáll called out as he and Dráddør strode through the wide-open stable double doors.

  “Ah, I see you are enjoying your courting gift, sister Skatha. Your wolfhound is a most formidable beast. ’Twas some feat persuading her aboard my langskip.” Dráddør halted, swept a flamboyant courtier’s bow, and grinned. “I am Dráddør, your new brother. Glad I am to meet you, sister.”

  Skatha gently set her squirming burdens to the wolfhound’s heavy teats, bounded to her feet, and curtsied. “I will be forever grateful to you, Dráddør, for bringing my Lawri and her pups to me. These are my friends Lady Elspeth and Lady Muíríne.”

  Lady Muíríne rose in a graceful, elegant swirl. She fluttered her thick lashes and dipped a curtsey. “Jarl Dráddør, greetings.”

  Elspeth, sitting on the hay and holding a chubby, yelping pup, did not deign to train her gaze on the men, but stared at some point between them, and said, “Good morn, Lord Dráddør. Lord Konáll. I add my thanks to Skatha’s, Lord Dráddør, for bringing Lawri. I have missed the sweet beastie and these dearling pups. They must all be named and Skatha has given me that honor. Look you at this beauty with her golden fur. What say you to the name, Marglóð? That is the Norse word for gold.”

  Dráddør met Brökk’s stare, raised a brow, and shrugged. “’Tis a fine name, my lady.”

  Elspeth beamed. She made the sign of the cross. “I christen you, Marglóð.”

  Brökk exchanged a glance with Konáll and rolled his eyes in the direction of Muíríne and Elspeth in a silent plea.

  Konáll winked. “Ladies Elspeth and Muíríne, ’tis a fine morn, and the alewife bakes her renowned lefse. Allow Dráddør and me to escort you to Gufa Fiskr, where we can all break our fast.”

  Lady Muíríne’s forehead creased. “Pray tell, Jarl Konáll, what are lefse?”

  “A delicious Norse bread made with cinnamon and lingonberries.” Konáll flashed a wide smile. “Can you not smell the cinnamon in the air?”

  “Aye, 2tis most fragrant and mouthwatering. Alas, though the lefse sound tempting indeed, we cannot accept your kind invitation. For we are charged by Lady Gráinne to chaperone Skatha.

  Brökk narrowed his eyes, but afore he could snarl a response, Elspeth declared, “I will stay, Muíríne. You go. Forsooth, it may take me the rest of the morn to find names for all these dearling pups.”

  Elspeth swiftly picked up another wee creature and began a discourse on whether the pup should be named for its white paws or short stubby tail.

  In less time than it took to fell a thick oak, only the four of them remained: Dráddør, Elspeth, Skatha, and himself. Brökk struggled to find a reason for Elspeth to leave, but she remained entranced by the playful pups.

  Skatha twined her fingers with his, met his gaze, and put a finger to her lips. She released his hand, tiptoed to a barrel in the corner of the stable, bent, and concentrated on the lid, hands outstretched and cupped and hovering over the barrel. She swooped, closed her palms together, and with great stealth walked around the stable to a position behind Elspeth.

  Brökk peered after her, but couldn’t discern her actions as the corner held the only shadows in the room. Skatha hurried back to his side and said, her voice low, “Elspeth fears spiders. You must make Dráddør take her to the stream when she becomes hysterical about cleansing her flesh of the evil insect.”

  Taken aback, Brökk turned to face his wife, and at the same moment a bloodcurdling scream had him reaching for his sword.

  “If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would ne’er have believed you capable of such trickery, wife mine.” Brökk half-growled, half-chortled the words scant moments later after all the hullabaloo and screeching had finally given away to blessed silence and he and his wife were alone.

  “Make haste, Brökk. Bar the door.” Skatha loosened the laces on her gown. “I have been dreaming of having you inside me for five long nights, and I know not if we will have this chance again.”

  Brökk let out a victorious howl and ran to the door. “Methinks you planned this all along. But ’tis no time to waste with words.”

  “Aye. Time for swiving.” Skatha shrugged the gown from her shoulders, paused, and then she frowned at Lawri. “I cannot do this with Lawri looking on.”

 
“Come, wife. Let us to the loft.” Brökk banged the bar in place, reached Skatha in two strides, and hauled her into his embrace. He kissed her hard, jumped to the ladder, and climbed the rungs like a man with a horned deer at his ass.

  Hay thick and soft mounded the loft. He settled Skatha in the middle of a lush pile. Her dark curls glistened like smudges of soot on the golden background. Shedding his sword, boots, and garments took longer than normal, for his fingers shook with anticipation.

  Skatha doffed her half boots and tugged her chemise over her head.

  He groaned when she lay back and threw her arms wide open, rosy nipples taut, gleaming ebony curls framing the plush lips of her sex. She had not removed the transparent stockings held in place by scarlet garters. His cock reared and jerked, and his seed leaked from the slit.

  “Come to me, husband. I am afire for you.”

  “Nay.” He balled his hands into fist. “Your pleasure first.”

  She sat up, mouth pursed. “My pleasure is your pecker. I woulds’t suckle it the way you did me.”

  His balls slammed the flesh beneath his prick like a battering ram. So close was he to spilling his seed, Brökk squeezed the head of his erection mercilessly until the pain allowed his mind to function in spurts. “There is a way to do the both. We can suckle each other.”

  The violet of her eyes deepened to purple. “Show me.”

  Praying for the strength to delay his climax, Brökk scrambled on the hay and rolled onto his side keeping his lower half well away from her sinful mouth. “Turn to me.”

  Her brows climbed, and she grinned and shifted to face his thighs, elbow propping her head. “’Tis a most wicked, delicious position, husband. Me here with your pecker twitching a mere finger from my mouth. You, there with your mouth so close to my…”