by Jianne Carlo
Color rioted from the tips of her toes to her hairline.
“Puss. ’Tis called by many names, and I will teach you all. But for this morn, ’tis your most delectable puss.” No longer able to resist the spice of her arousal or the glistening pearls dewing her inky curls, Brökk buried his nose in her folds and suckled the cream slicking her woman’s flesh.
He froze when her hot hands grasped his cock. ThMrr’s bolt struck a roaring inferno through him when she licked the crown. His stones blazed, his groin pulled tight-to-bursting, and his famed discipline splintered. He latched onto her bud. Thrusting two fingers into her clenching channel, he ate at her sex with a hunger hitherto unknown, while working her puss without mercy.
Frantic to bring her to pleasure before he erupted, Brökk bit down on her nubbin and when her walls fisted his fingers, he clamped his arm around her hips and surrendered to the torrent hurdling through him toes to groin. His seed erupted in acute, painful spurts, wracking shudders through his entire torso. She purred around the head of his pecker. The vibrations felt incredible, intense, excruciating.
’Twas some time before Brökk could command either mind or body. Weak, depleted, unable to lift a finger, he rested his head on her thigh and grinned like a fool at the sight of the swollen lips of her sex. Mustering what was left of his strength, he sat up, gathered his beloved wife into his arms, and flopped back against a firm bale of hay.
Skatha’s long sigh tickled his flesh when she snuggled into his embrace.
Combing out the straw tangled in her locks, he kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I love you, Skatha.”
“I know.” She patted him, much like she had Lawri, yawned, and leaned back to look at him. “I fear I love you too, Viking mine.”
Brökk could scarce draw breath. A burning agony seared and banded his chest. She was so precious to him and he had almost lost her.
She shuttered her eyes. “I am indeed a sinner this day. ’Twas a grievous offence to scare Elspeth so with the spider, but I could not bear a minute more of not being alone with you.”
“She is your friend. Elspeth will forgive you.”
“Aye, but only after a time. Mayhap we can find her a husband, for she longs to have a holding of her own and babes to raise. Had not that witch Arianne interfered, the squire whose farm bounded Sumbarten Abbey would have taken her to wife.”
Arianne. Etta. Brökk wanted naught marring the moment. “Let us put Arianne to rest, wife. She belongs not at Bita Veðr.”
“Think you she planned all this from the start? From Sumbarten Abbey?” Skatha’s worry was writ in her creased brow.
He petted the frown away. “Nay. ’Tis cert Arianne learned of your goddess-birth there and tried to have you burnt for sorcery, but she could not have known of me or my holdings until we met at court.”
She shook her head. “’Twas all happenstance? Nay. How?”
“Mayhap not the all of it. She and Loudon schemed to gain wealth. I was a stranger to the Mercian Court. All knew of the riches I had gained serving Harald Bluetooth, and that I lusted after her. I believe ’twas when Arianne came here and learned of Hjørdis’s goddess birth that either she or Loudon realized more profit could be reaped by selling my wee bright star to the Arabs.”
Brökk grinned when Skatha absently kneaded his shoulder, for he had no doubt his little cat was unaware of her actions. It pleased him greatly, this need of hers to constantly touch him.
“As much as I would relish heaping all the blame on Arianne, methinks it must have been Loudon who devised that scheme, but she who suggested selling me with the note forged from the king. For you would not have stolen me otherwise, would you?”
The notion he may have never found Skatha rocked him to the core. “Aye, I would have never known of you. Forsooth, for that, I will owe the witch eternal gratitude. Howbeit, we will put Arianne/Etta to rest from this day on, agreed wife?”
“Agreed, husband.”
* * *
Courting Day Four
“I am here to court my wife.” Brökk clenched his jaw. If he had to utter those words once more he would choke.
“The babe has her unwell, my lord. She is abed, and I know not how well she is to receive you.” Lady Gráinne looked wan, and that had Brökk’s stomach rioting.
The babe. In all that had happened, the babe had flown to the back of his mind. His babe. In her belly. Bile roared up Brökk’s throat. “What do I do?”
“Hold her hand. Wipe her brow. She is miserable today. Retched from the first moment she awoke. I know not if there is aught you can do.” Lady Gráinne’s shoulders had hunched and that gave him pause. The abbess never showed any signs of weakness.
Skatha indeed looked unwell. She lay on the bed, her brow knitted, but she gave him a weak smile.
“Sweetling, is there aught I can do?” He knelt by the bed and captured her hand.
“Nay. I would skip our courting visit today, Brökk, if you are wont to agree with me.”
His chest ached at her sallow complexion and the pain writ in her features. “Would Lawri and her pups help?”
“Nay. Not today. I am sorry.”
She had weaved her way into his soul. He could not stand to see her so ill. And there was aught he could do. It nigh killed him.
* * *
Courting Day Five
“I am here to court my wife.”
“Your betrothed.” Lady Gráinne opened the door. “We have many visitors today. Óttarr the orphan, Dóta, Lord Moldof.”
“Moldof?” Brökk’s nails bit into his palms. “What is Moldof doing here?”
“He arrived this morn. And he has gifted us with a wealth of fabric.” She lifted her brows. “We have naught the space for all the bolts he has brought.”
Moldof was a dead man walking. He would tear the man apart, limb by limb.
“Brökk. Come. See what Lord Moldof has brought us.” Skatha fair skipped she was so excited. Catching his hand, she tugged him into the loft.
Bolts of fabrics filled the chamber.
Lady Gráinne retired to the stool by the fire.
Moldof sat in the chair next to the stool. Brökk’s chair.
“Malice Striker, how fare you this day?”
Brökk scowled. “Moldof.” Moldof would die slowly. By Brökk’s hand.
“Can you imagine? He matched the fabrics to our eyes. See? Me and the blue superfine? Skatha and the dark purple? I would marry you tomorrow, my Lord Moldof.” Lady Muíríne clapped her hands and beamed at Moldof.
“And were you not contracted to another, I would marry you on the morrow, sweet Lady Muíríne.”
Brökk nigh emptied his stomach right there and then. “And by rights you should remember the lady Muíríne is not yours to claim. I would have you depart before the sun sets.”
“Brökk. ’Tis not right. You cannot send our guest off in such a manner.” Skatha planted her hands on her hips, her oh-so-lush hips. Brökk salivated. “I found out this morn ’twas Jarl Moldof who generously sold the clothes his wife had ne’er used to Konáll as my dowry. We are most grateful to you, Jarl Moldof, in so many ways.”
His cock was ready to explode. And she knew not of what she had done to him. What had she said? His cat wanted him to smile and pretend he did not want to take Moldof by his scruffy neck and throw him out of the lodge.
Brökk swallowed his pride and anger. “How long do you stay, Moldof?”
“I depart on the morrow, God willing.”
Odin’s balls. Moldof would sit at the high table this eve.
Dagrún and Lady Elspeth carried a bolt of purple velvet to the abbess. “Mayhap we can sew Skatha’s vow-saying cyrtel from this fabric? What think you, my lady?”
Lady Gráinne bent to study the material.
Brökk took advantage of the momentary lull and whispered in Skatha’s ear. “I need pleasure you. Now. Here. At once.”
She tiptoed and cupped a hand over his ear. “I am afire for you too.”
>
“Brökk,” he said. “Say my name.”
“Brökk. I am afire for you too.”
Lady Gráinne smiled. “Jarl. Mayhap you and Lord Moldof would like to practice your weaponry? I fear that we must spend the rest of the day sewing Skatha’s gown for the wedding.”
He recalled Skatha promising to sew him a tunic. “You sew? E’en when you could not see?”
Skatha’s dimples twinkled. “Tis not an impossible feat e’en blind. Elspeth cut the cloth and bound the fabric in a frame with only the merest edge. I stitched close to the wood.”
“And if your marriage gown is to be ready soon, we must all set to the task at once.” Lady Gráinne waved Skatha to sit on the stool.
He had learned not to trust the abbess’s smile. “We will join you in the hall this eve for the náttverðr.”
Dusk crawled like a mantis toward a fire, an eternity of waiting—waiting for nothing, for everything—to see her again, to inhale her fragrance, to touch her supple flesh. She was his soul.
Lady Gráinne and the ladies were already seated at the high table when Brökk, Konáll, and Moldof entered the great hall. Brökk wanted to howl. All day he had waited for the náttverðr, for the chance to touch Skatha, caress her leg under the table, feed her choice morsels, breathe in her sweet perfume, look into her incredible eyes. But Lady Gráinne had thwarted his plans once again. The women sat on the left—Lady Gráinne, then Skatha, and the rest.
’Twas a miserable meal.
* * *
Courting Day Six
“I am here to court my wife.”
“Your betrothed.”
Brökk dreamed of Lady Gráinne bound and gagged and forced into sweet silence.
“Where is Skatha?”
“I almost hate to tell you this.”
“Lady Gráinne. I am at my wits end. I cannot court my wife any longer. I want to be married. To her. I care not for your pronouncements. I am done.” He folded his arms.
“Tomorrow, you marry. The priest has returned. He will proclaim the banns thrice this day.”
Killing Lady Gráinne would be too easy.
* * *
Courting Day Seven
The day dawned with a brilliance and warmth unusual for the winter-fyllep.
Brökk studied the sparkling blue cloudless sky and the blinding golden globe of the sun. He inhaled the fresh sweetness of a new morn, the morn he and Skatha were to say their vows, and grinned like a sotted court jester.
“Brother, you wear the smile of a lovesick fool.” Konáll’s long stride consumed the distance to where Brökk stood on the cliff overlooking the village and the fjord.
Too elated to react to Konáll’s jibe, Brökk stretched arms high over his head, back arched. “Tighe has arrived.”
“Nay.” Konáll shaded his eyes and peered at the harbor. “By Loki’s toes, I had not expected Tighe to make such good time. The winds must have favored them.”
“Aye. A skin boat nears Vengeance Hammer. He will be here in time.” Brökk had insisted the vow-saying take place afore any broke their fast. Hunger had a way of motivating timeliness, and he intended to spend the rest of the day swiving his wife until he could no longer lift a finger.
The delicious yeasty aroma of bread baking swarmed to the cliff top.
Konáll’s stomach rumbled. “Did you order the priest to make the vows short? My belly is empty and complaining.”
Brökk’s lips curved. “Aye. Skatha and I will ride out afore the sun reaches its zenith.”
“Raki and I will follow you to the hunting lodge. Guards will be posted at the base of the mountain whilst you and your wife are there.”
Brökk had decided to take Skatha to the hunting lodge on the other side of fjord for a sennight. He wanted none disturbing their first days together as man and wife.
“I am to the hot springs; do you come?”
“Nay. I will go with Dráddør to greet Tighe.”
Brökk stayed in the hot springs until the hour of the ceremony drew near. He rode to Konáll’s lodge to find both his brothers and Tighe awaiting his arrival.
Tighe embraced him at once and clapped him soundly on the back. “Glad I am to be here as King Kenneth’s witness to your vowsaying.”
Bells rang.
“We must make haste. That is the signal for all to gather.” Konáll threw a tunic at Brökk. “From your betrothed. A gift for the vow-saying.”
In no time at all the four men entered the hall. Brökk, dressed in the midnight blue tunic Skatha had given him, surveyed the packed hall. He spied the alewife, her husband, son, and daughter; Moldof, who had returned for the ceremony; Raki and Dóta holding hands and beaming; Skatha’s nursemaid, who sat on a stool in a corner; and he counted every neighboring jarl present at one of the tables above the salt. Sigrid nodded and Brökk returned the gesture. Árne and Eldar hoisted their horns in a silent toast. Brökk grinned.
Olaf and the priest stood on the dais, which had been cleared of the high table for the ceremony.
Tighe, Dráddør, Konáll, and Brökk threaded their way through the room to the accompaniment of much back-slapping, cheers, lewd suggestions, and ribald shouts.
Impatience ate at his normal calm. Brökk clasped his hands behind his back and resisted the urge to pace the dais. The din quieted. He glanced to the entrance and froze.
Lady Elspeth and Lady Muíríne glided through the open doorways, their unbound tresses haloed by the bright sunlight streaming into the room. The abbess followed, dressed in an emerald cyrtel but wearing a matching wimple. At least she had spared them the muddy brown habit this day.
An appreciative murmur swept the room. Skatha, accompanied by Lawri, halted in the doorway. He met Skatha’s gaze and a deep contentment seeped into his pores. She was his. All his.
Brökk couldn’t stop staring at Skatha. She was so amazing, so breathtaking, so alluring, and she knew naught of it. For so long she had been sightless and had remained unaware of her absolute loveliness. True, she had not the courtly kind of beauty, the beauty men sighed over, nay she was tiny and perfect and had eyes none could ever match.
Dressed in violet, her dark wild mane of curls tumbling and cascading around her shoulders and waist, she carried a posy of wild flowers and wore a bedazzling smile. The throngs parted for her. As she neared the dais, a waft of her sunshine and sweetness perfume filled his nose.
He hopped down and helped her up onto the platform. “I have been longing for you for an eternity.”
Her smile had him besotted and done for. She tiptoed, rested her hand on his shoulder, and he drowned in the magnificence of her eyes. “Brökk, I love you.”
She seared him. Scoured his flesh. Singed his soul.
“Skatha, you are my heart, my soul, my life.”
Author’s Notes
Malice Striker is a fuzzy blend of fact, fiction, and fantasy. Many of the figures mentioned in the book indeed lived in the period of Brökk’s tale—around A.D. 972. However, I have taken liberties with the geography in which the story is set—northern Norway—and invented the location of Bita Veðr.
Here are the facts:
1. Kenneth of Scotland aka Cináed mac Maíl Coluim served as King of Scotland (called Alba back then) from A.D. 971 - 995. While historical records show Kenneth had at least one son, who later became King Malcolm II (Máel Coluim mac Cináeda) and may have had others, there is no mention of a wife or wives.
2. King Harald Bluetooth ruled Denmark, parts of Norway, and Sweden from A.D. 958 - 986.
3. While it is certain that in the 960s Harald Bluetooth converted to Christianity, the reasons for his conversion and the manner in which it happens is widely contested.
4. The Abbasid Caliphs ruled what is now Baghdad from A.D. 750 - 1258.Though the records show there was a golden age during which knowledge and scholars flourished (much of medicinal knowledge came from this region), the dynasty eventually fractured.
5. Norse mythology does indeed speak of the jötun
n goddess, Skaði, but little is known about her. The jötunns were a mythological race of giants who lived in Jötunheimr, one of the nine Norse worlds.
6. While both King Kenneth and King Harald ruled around the same time period, there is no record of them ever having met or becoming allies.
7. Hot springs are found in Norway in the Nordvest-Spitsbergen National Park near the ancient volcano, Bockfjorden. Coincidentally, the two hot springs located there are named The Troll and Jötunn Springs. They are the northernmost hot springs on the planet.
8. There is a Dumbarton Castle, which I vaguely used as a basis for Sumbarten Abbey, but all the rest is fictional.
9. Dalriada was a Gaelic overkingdom on the west of Scotland in the late 6th and early 7th centuries. The area encompassed what in modern times is Argyll and Bute and Lochaber in Scotland and parts of Northern Ireland, most likely County Antrim. However, the kingdom became subject first to the rule of Northumbria, then to the Picts, and ultimately became part of the Kingdom of Alba (Scotland). Thus during the period in which Malice Striker is set, King Kenneth ruled Dalriada, but the region had ceased to be referred to by that name.
~ About the Author ~
Award winning, author Jianne Carlo’s motto is simple: Alpha Me Please.
While strong heroines, exotic locations, and cultural differences are her forte, she goes weak in the knees and salivates for warriors of any type – rebels, SEAls, Vikings, and bad-ass mercenaries. Send her a man with an attitude and she’ll find the right woman to tame him.
Jianne’s writing career began in 2008, and since then she’s been lucky enough to have over twenty books published. Most of her books are TOP PICKs and several have been nominated for and won awards and prizes:
Nothing makes Jianne’s day more than an email from someone who’s read one of her books. So far, she’s received emails from almost every continent on the planet. Almost…