Vengeance Hammer (Viking Vengeance)

by Jianne Carlo

  Immediately Xára caught the vivid memory filling Godfraid’s head and she shuddered.

  Was such a thing possible? That a man would put his cock into an arse hole and remember it with such carnal relish? Bile rose in her throat and she bit the tip of her tongue in the hopes of arresting the panic welling deep in her belly.

  “Lady Magnhildur, my wife, Lady Xára.” Dráddør squeezed her fingers.

  She curtseyed to Magnhildur, but did not so much as peep in the woman’s direction.

  A ring-encrusted hand was thrust before her face. Xára swallowed. Court manners dictated she must kiss Magnhildur’s hand. Bitterness coated her tongue, but she brushed her lips to the woman’s white skin.

  The image that filled Xára’s head nigh made her collapse. She locked her knees and forced herself to stand. Nay. It could not be true, the memory she had seen. But it must be and if so, Jennie was the victim not the murderer. Relief and a strange elation gave Xára a surge of strength and she could not wait to tell Evie what she had learned.

  Dráddør curled his arm around her waist and drew her close. “My wife does not speak, Earl Godfraid, Lady Magnhildur.”

  Xára concentrated on an oil lamp hanging to the right of the fireplace centered on the far wall. Every so oft she swept a hasty peek at Magnhildur.

  “Why, how strange.” Magnhildur pressed her palm to a bosom more bared than covered. She wrinkled her perfect straight nose. “Not even a mewl?”

  “Be forewarned Lady Magnhildur, we Vikings are easy to take offense,” Dráddør growled.

  “And we stand one for all.” Konáll crossed his arms.

  “Come, come. My wife was but curious. In truth, I almost envy you, Lord Dráddør, for there are many times when I wish my new wife would hold her tongue.”

  Earl Godfraid’s oily smile had Xára’s insides quailing. One night, one meal, she could get through this. For Evie.

  Dráddør turned to the side and waved at Konáll and Nyssa. “My brother and his wife are visiting with us. Earl Godfraid, Lady Magnhildur, this is Konáll, King of Rurari, and Nyssa, his queen.”

  Xára could scarce draw breath. Her head ached and all the saliva in her mouth tasted sour. She tried not to look at Magnhildur, but ’twas impossible. The woman’s beauty was transfixing.

  “King Konáll. I am honored.”

  Magnhildur curtsied and the low cut of her dress drew Konáll’s gaze. He shook his head and the brilliant blue beads in his war braids flashed.

  Magnhildur pivoted to Nyssa and inclined her head. “Lady Nyssa.”

  “Lady Magnhildur.” Nyssa’s terse reply and the emphasis on the other woman’s title showed she had not overlooked the insult. To call Konáll King, and not his wife, Queen, could start a war in some lands.

  “We were told of your marriage and ’tis the reason for our visit. We are to winter at King Kenneth’s court, and I will take word of your union to him.” Godfraid smiled and waved at Magnhildur.

  “We have brought you a gift.” Magnhildur glided over to the far wall.

  Every man Magnhildur passed turned to stare at her. She moved with a regal grace, head held high, luxurious mane loose and drawn over a bared shoulder. The pearliness of her white, white skin a marked contrast to the black waves of hair caressing her cheek. The scarlet cyrtel she wore reflected the color of her bow-shaped mouth. She was stunning in face and figure. Magnificent onyx eyes framed by a thick fringe of lashes took in every nuance of every male she brushed by.

  Or so it seemed to Xára.

  Around her neck, Magnhildur wore a necklace of oval sparkling rubies.

  Xára shuddered remembering how slowly the witch had pierced her throat with the poisoned tip of a ruby-jeweled needle.

  The crowd’s murmurs grew louder. Xára scanned the room and squinted at a large object covered with a velvet length of green fabric. With a dramatic flourish Magnhildur threw off the material to reveal a wooden chest. She signaled a warrior who opened the lid.

  A sudden hush fell over the great hall. Men, women, and children all squirmed and tiptoed and elbowed to get a better view.

  The creaks of the brass hinges sounded like shrieks when one of Godfraid’s warriors threw open the chest’s heavy lid.

  Magnhildur captured Xára’s gaze.

  The witch smiled, the lovely curve of her lips and the white teeth she bared, sent a shiver of terror around Xára’s neck. It took every shred of courage not to finger the scar at the base of her throat.

  “Cloth?” The puzzlement in Dráddør’s voice could not be mistaken.

  “Nay. ’Tis a chest of spices and herbs. ’Tis a thoughtful and valuable gift.” Nyssa nudged Xára’s side. “I am cert if my new sister, the lady Xára, could speak she would offer you her grateful thanks.”

  Xára nodded and focused on Nyssa’s hand smoothing her cyrtel over the roundness of her pregnant belly.

  “Indeed. We offer you both many thanks,” Dráddør said.

  Xára tugged on Nyssa’s sleeve and surreptitiously pointed to Haakon who wore the castle’s outer keys on his belt. Nyssa whispered, “The steward?”

  Nodding, Xára twisted so only Nyssa could see her lips and mouthed Haakon.

  “Haakon, will you have someone take Earl Godfraid and Lady Magnhildur’s wonderful gift to the herbarium?” Nyssa asked, and then muttered for Xára’s ears only. “You and I will burn it all on the morrow. Evil witch.”

  Amazed and warmed by Nyssa’s swift support, Xára beamed at her. A surge of confidence battered the coward’s veil she had worn until that moment.

  Dráddør and Konáll lost interest in the gift and turned their attention to Godfraid.

  “You take a sizeable force to court, Earl Godfraid. Expect you trouble on the way?” Konáll and Dráddør blocked Xára and Nyssa from Godfraid and Magnhildur’s view.

  “What has you so pale?” Nyssa leaned down to hiss the question.

  Xára averted her eyes and ground her jaw. She had naught to fear. Naught. She was married. Her maidenhead gone. Any value she had for Magnhildur and her devil schemes had been negated. But her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and no matter how much she inhaled the ache in her chest grew worse. Xára bit the insides of her cheeks and pretended a calm she did not feel.

  Nyssa squeezed Xára’s shoulder.

  “’Tis, Magnhildur, is it not?” Nyssa guided Xára in the direction of the head table. “She is the one who took away your voice.”

  Xára stumbled.

  Dráddør was at her side in an instant. “See you to your husband, Nyssa. This eve you cling to his side. Xára, if you do not take my arm this moment, I will carry you to the high table.”

  She glared at him.

  “Be angry. Find your courage in fury.” He winked at her and offered his escort with a crooked arm. “This eve I will pleasure you well, wife. How feels your puss? I hope you are healed for I intend to sheath myself in your heat the moment I bar our door.”

  The long walk to the dais passed in a blur, for Dráddør’s murmured words had her in a riot of confusion. The wicked, wicked Viking told her how beautiful and irresistible he found her puss. He had names for every part of her womanhood. The secret nub he called her clitty, the folds around her sex he termed her lips of pleasure, and her center, her throbbing center, he referred to as her sheath, her hot channel, her quim.

  She had never heard such words and the way he spoke had her cheeks heating and icing from one moment to another. By the time she took her seat at the high table, Xára had forgotten Magnhildur, Godfraid, and all the others in the chamber. Dráddør had become her focus, her center, and he kept touching her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears, smoothing a frown, thumbing her mouth.

  Only when Magnhildur slid onto the high table’s bench, did she falter. Xára focused on the teasing circle Dráddør drew on her thigh. She stared at his thumb and forefinger, concentrated on the warmth and moistness he fueled in her hot channel, and mentally recited the wicked words he’d taught her on the
way to the dais.

  How she wished to speak to him. To murmur in his ear the way he did hers. Xára’s chest swelled with pride when he didn’t deign to glance at Magnhildur’s bosom, magnificently revealed by her low-cut gown.

  Xára reveled in the attention paid her by him; the way he selected treats from the trencher they shared. A litany of caresses—he outlined her ear, and mother Mary have mercy, did his touch make her weak at the knees. Always, he had a hand on her, from a quick, brief squeeze of her leg, to a lingering stroke of her back, and when he massaged her nape, she could’ve swooned from the sheer pleasure of the caress.

  Dráddør captured her hand and linked their fingers together. “Trust in me, mit sváss.”

  She would. She would give him her trust. But what of Evie? Would he protect Evie too?

  “What?” Dráddør’s finger forced her to turn to him. “’Tis Evie you look for? She is with Ulna, guarded by my men. Two inside her chamber. Two on either side of the door.”

  How she loved this man. Her eyes brimmed with grateful tears. She caressed his jaw.

  “I guard all that is mine. You. Evie. Lady Jennie. All of you are under my protection. I will not waver in my guard. Are you assured of my protection?” His fierce scowl and intense scrutiny made her heart lose a beat. He did not know her secrets, could not guess at what she hid, and she didn’t want him to.

  Would he protect her when all was revealed? Nay. She dug her fingernails into her palm. Pasted a smile on her face. Met him look for look. Kept her chin elevated and prayed for strength.

  A bevy of maids and kitchen boys threaded their way around the hall dropping loaves and jugs on tables. The yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread spiraled around the chamber.

  Magnhildur, who had been silent since they sat on the dais, spoke. “’Tis new for King Kenneth, this alliance with the Norse?”

  “You are sadly misinformed, Lady Magnhildur.” Nyssa’s smile was anything but friendly. “King Harald and King Kenneth forged the alliance more than three winters before this coming one. But, Lady Jennie explains that this part of the isle is so remote ’tis not oft visited. Mayhap this explains your ignorance.”

  The roses in Magnhildur’s cheeks vanished. She froze in the act of breaking a loaf in two.

  “Xára tells me she has never met you, my lord Godfraid.” Nyssa winked at Xára.

  “’Tis true. Arnfinn sent the girl to an abbey many winters past.” He frowned and directed a hard stare at Magnhildur. “Lady Jennie? We had news of her death. She and Arnfinn drowned in a storm.”

  “Arnfinn is dead. Lady Jennie is recovering from a recent illness.” Dráddør sent Nyssa a quelling glance.

  “I am known for my healing skills. I would examine Lady Jennie if it pleases you,” Magnhildur declared.

  A sudden rage sparked brilliant and red, Xára could scarce see for the mist blurring her vision. She half-rose from the bench.

  Nyssa grabbed Xára’s hand. “Nay. Take a sip of wine.”

  “My wife, Queen Nyssa, is a healer. We have no need of your skills.” Konáll carved a chunk of cheese and offered it to Nyssa.

  A marked quiet fell over the high table. Those seated on the lower benches took no notice and the normal conversation of a meal in the great hall continued unabated.

  Nyssa murmured her thanks when a page set a pitcher and two loaves on the table. She pulled one jug close, sniffed, and shuddered. “Since the babe, I cannot abide mead. Husband, will you share your ale with me?”

  Xára swept her glance around the hall and spied Ívarr entering from the kitchens. Her pulse skittered and a bead of perspiration trailed down between her breasts. To keep busy, she broke the loaf and offered Dráddør one half.

  “My thanks, wife. I know not why this woman inspires such fear in you. But I will not have it.”

  Tears formed in Xára’s eyes and she stared at her shaking hands. She had shamed him. Vikings fear naught. She must strive to be like Nyssa, tall, proud, and brave.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Ívarr pouring wine into Magnhildur’s goblet. She dug her nails into her palms and tried not to stare in that direction, but could not resist peeking at the two of them.

  Her gaze intersected with Magnhildur’s. The evil menace in Magnhildur’s black stare bit Xára to the core. She had to grind her teeth and clench her jaw to not see stars. Mother Mary, help her to find a way to protect Evie and herself from Magnhildur’s malevolent intent.

  “How long you do grace us with your presence?” Dráddør asked Godfraid.

  Xára winced at the sarcasm in his tone, but Godfraid seemed not to notice for he answered in a pleasant tone. “We are awaiting the gifts ordered from a trader for King Kenneth and his queen. The trader sent a message of his arrival in Myrtle Harbor within the sennight.”

  A sennight? Nay. They would be here that long? Her insides quailed. Xára set her hand to Dráddør’s thigh needing to draw strength from him. His leg muscles quivered under her palm and set her breathing to high and uncontrolled.

  He shot her a hot glance and covered her hand with his. “I need no distractions, mit sváss. You are entrancing enough to break my concentration. I need my head clear this eve.”

  She bit her lip and stared at the floor. How lucky she was that King Kenneth had commanded their vow saying. He was a warrior forged in duty, honor, and the protection of those with in his command. Xára couldn’t stop the smile spreading her lips.

  Yearning to yell, “I am yours to command.” Xára fisted her hands and drew herself up straight. Though she longed to write on his chest, Xára forced herself to sit by his side and chew the morsels he fed her. The food tasted like dirt.

  The kitchen boys and the maids served course after course. The meal was interminable. Godfraid drank wine copiously, but Magnhildur had a mere sip, mayhap two.

  As soon as the sweet pudding was brought to the table, Nyssa kneaded the small of her back and rose. “Pray excuse me Lord Godfraid, Lady Magnhildur. The babe has me weary. Xára, will you help me to my chamber?”

  Xára could have howled in relief. She nodded and wiped her eating knife.

  Dráddør cupped her chin. “Ghazi will guard you until I arrive.”

  When she rose to accompany Nyssa, Xára spied Ghazi standing behind the high table’s bench. She wanted to kiss the warrior for saving her from facing Godfraid and Magnhildur.

  Once they were out of hearing, Nyssa spoke, her voice low, “You show your fear, Xára. Magnhildur can do naught while our husbands are in the hall.”

  Xára met the other woman’s gaze and slowly shook her head. ’Twas in this very hall, at this very table, that Magnhildur had poisoned Jennie.

  Chapter Seven

  When Dráddør entered the master chamber later, he spied Xára in the large bed well-tucked under the blankets. The flame on the oil lamps beside the wooden posts fluttered in the draft from the hallway. He bid the guards goodnight, closed and barred the door, and walked to her side.

  Her lashes cast crescent shadows on her creamy skin. She slept curled onto one side, knees ‘neath her chin, and both palms folded under her cheeks. He smiled. Odin had done him right. Mayhap Xára couldn’t speak, but more and more he admired her quick mind, determination, and innocent passion.

  She had not the voluptuous figure he’d always favored, yet the mere memory of her beguiling smile, pink-tipped breasts, and pretty puss thickened his cock. He had been hard pressed to concentrate on any goal other than ensuring her safety the moment they learned of Godfraid’s arrival. He had sensed her revulsion and terror when Godfraid brushed his mouth across her knuckles. It had taken considerable restraint not to split the earl’s lips.

  The notion of any other man touching her fired his rage and a possessiveness he’d never experienced afore.

  His. All his. None would ever harm a hair on her head.

  A sudden draught whispered over his neck. Dráddør rubbed his palms together, frowned, and glanced at the hearth. The sparse glow of the cha
rcoaled logs explained the chill in the room, but the flames bent toward the shutters instead of away from them. He scanned the length of the wall near a wooden privacy screen, but found no obvious cracks or spaces 2tween the uneven mortaring. On the morrow he would order a mason to see to sealing the windows properly.

  He sat on the wooden chest used for storing his weapons at sea, unlaced his boots, yanked them off and stacked them side by side at the foot of the trunk. After unhooking his hammer, he placed the heavy metal on one end of the chest. Next to that went his sword, axe, and daggers, all aligned with hilts to the lid’s edge. He pulled his tunic over his head, removed his breeches and laid the garments on the chest. Long years of battle had taught him to have all his clothes and weapons at the ready in case he had to dress in haste.

  Xára shifted on the mattress, and he stole over to study his sleeping wife. Unable to resist he tested the silkiness of one long ringlet. He squatted, and the fresh scent of her surrounded him. If ’twere not for the fine breasts mounding her nightgown, she could have been a mere girl tired out from a day of hard play in the sun.

  The curl of her lashes held some strange fascination for him. He had a vague memory of a harem woman’s boast of pleasuring a man with only her eyelashes. Dráddør grinned, mayhap ’twas possible, and most cert ’twould be a wonderful way to while away a long winter’s night.

  When Nyssa used the coming babe as an excuse for her and Xára to retire early, Magnhildur could do naught but follow suit, and the tension at the high table had nigh vanished with her removal.

  Dráddør had known many a woman like Magnhildur, beautiful on the outside, but rotten and ugly on the inside. He had no interest or time for the females who could wear a brilliant smile while stabbing a man in the heart. What had Magnhildur done to make Xára so afraid of her?

  He and Konáll had stayed with Godfraid in the great hall long after most had retired for the eve. They had encouraged Godfraid to drink and directed the conversation to the Pict camps in the region, his relationship with Arnfinn, and the frequency of his visits to Lathairn over the years.