by Jianne Carlo
If Godfraid spoke even a glimmer of the truth, then while he and Arnfinn served the same man, Kenneth of Scotland, neither had lived in each other’s pockets. Néill had not been discussed, though both Dráddør and Konáll brought up his name oft.
Toward the end of the evening, Godfraid had started favoring his side and grimacing. ’Twas the perfect time to question the man about his sudden wedding, and Dráddør had managed a few questions before Godfraid expressed a need for the garderobe and departed with much haste.
What they gleamed from Godfraid had not amounted to much and contradicted all they had been led to believe. First, Godfraid and Arnfinn had met on only two occasions over the last ten winters. Once, right after Arnfinn had invaded Lathairn, murdered Lady Jennie’s father, mother, and sons, and then married Lady Jennie to secure the title. The second time when they had both been summoned to Harald Bluetooth’s Danish court after the king’s conversion to Christianity. Both men had followed their liege lord’s suit and proclaimed their conversion.
Xára’s eyelids fluttered, she twisted to the left, and sleep-dazed eyes blinked sweetly at him. His past experiences had taught him that all, even the most disciplined warriors, showed their true emotions on first awakening. He studied her reactions. Her wonderful lips curved in a genuine smile. The skin at the corners of her eyes creased and he caught the yellow of the flickering lamp above reflected in the blue-green hue that never failed to heat his groin. She stretched her arms wide.
“You have the look of a contented kitten, mit sváss.” Dráddør threw off the bed sheets, swung her into his arms, and stood.
She raised a brow.
“What? Ah, sváss—you know not this word?” She seemed so pleased he’d understood what she wanted that he had to kiss her forehead. “’Tis Norse for sweet.”
Her finger touched his nose, then his chest.
“You want to write? Then let us be warm first.” He settled her back under the covers, but on the side of the bed closest to the chest. Grabbing a couple of logs from the pile to the right of the hearth, he threw the wood into the fireplace, and used a metal rod to stoke the pitiful flames into a blaze. Glancing at her every so oft, he recounted what had happened after the women left the table. “I noticed one boy served both Godfraid and Magnhildur. None other approached them. ’Twas your doing?”
Color came and went in her cheeks. She swallowed and nodded.
He set the iron poker on the mantle, strode to the bed, and sat on the mattress, his back to the headboard.
She gazed at him and he noticed shiny beads of perspiration dampening the hair at her temples.
“Come.” He held out his arms. “You are mine to cherish and protect. ’Tis naught you could to upset me this eve.”
He could tell his words did not comfort her even though she scrambled out from the linens and crawled into his lap. Suppressing a sigh at her high-necked night rail, he toyed with her hair, and asked, “What did you put in their mead?”
Biting her lips, she traced the word emetic on his bare chest.
“Ah, so he will be hanging his head o’er a chamber pot or holding it ‘neath his arse all night. ’Tis not a bad strategy. He will not be pondering disarming my men. Magnhildur had but a sip of mead. Methinks, she expected somewhat from you?”
She nodded.
“You warned Nyssa. ’Twas the reason she so loudly proclaimed her desire for ale?”
Xára grinned.
Dráddør unlaced the gown, pushed apart the fabric, and feasted on the long column of her neck.’Twas then he noticed the faint white line in the center of her collarbone, but she was writing on his chest again and the slight graze sent his banked desire rioting.
Lathairn to pass to Arnfinn’s first daughter.
“You. Aye. I know. King Kenneth was displeased when Arnfinn took Lathairn, but his forces were spread too thin and he let the matter go.” He nibbled her ear and pulled the laces from her nightgown. “When did Magnhildur come to the castle?”
Xára shrugged and wrote, Arnfinn sent for me at Touft Abbey. She was here when I arrived.
“I am confused, sváss.” He scrubbed his chin. “Am I correct in that until five days ago, you had not set foot in Lathairn since your tenth summer?”
She nodded.
“You had ne’er met Evie afore?”
The sad smile she wore reminded him of Hjørdis when she lost her pet cat.
Dráddør studied the letters she drew and read aloud. “Nay.”
Another notion occurred to him. “Did Jennie send you to the abbey?”
She shook her head. The flare in her nostrils spoke of grief and anger.
’Twas the custom to foster boys, but oft mothers kept daughters at their side. Girls were sent to abbeys for many reasons, lack of dower, a homely appearance, or being born with some disfigurement. Yet, both his brother’s wives had attended abbeys, and he refused to believe ’twas an amazing coincidence Xára and Nyssa had been at Circe Fearn at the same time.
Dráddør considered what he had learned since arriving at Lathairn, but ’twas all riddles with no answers. One last question arose. “How did Jennie come to the attention of Ard Greimme?”
She waved both hands in an I-do-not-know gesture.
His patience was at an end. The moment she’d sat in his lap, his cock had been at the ready. He could no longer concentrate on any notion other than her lithe fingers stroking his pecker, those small hands cupping his balls.
Slipping the white material off one shoulder, he brushed his lips to the cusp of her shoulder, and her flesh smelled so wonderful he had to taste her there. He suckled and laved his way along the ridge, to the base of her throat, and noticed the faint scar again.
Dráddør grinned when she shrugged out of the gown, wriggling her tempting shoulders, and freeing her beautiful breasts.
He cupped the delicious mounds. “By Freya, you have the prettiest titties I have ever seen. Look how they pearl for me, these hard pink tips. They plead for my mouth.”
At first, she stilled when he latched onto one nipple, but then she tangled her fingers in his hair and pressed him closer to her. She tried to lift one leg and they both became knotted in her night rail and the covers.
“Loki, desist,” Dráddør growled. He tore at the linen and tossed the sheets to one side. Then grasped the hem of her dress and ordered, “Lift off the mattress, sváss. I am starving for you.”
He heard a strangled noise and jerked to stare at her.
She was laughing, eyes sparkling, and when their glances met, she pointed to his cock and cupped a hand over her open mouth.
Dráddør couldn’t choke back a guffaw. For a bed cushion had split and oozed its innards. Fat clumps of straw and downy feathers were stuck to the wet head of his cock. He grabbed a handful of the stuffing and set the soft material to her mound.
Her eyes nigh popped out of her head. She kicked the nightdress off her calves and feet and then knelt on the bed. When she bent to try and pluck a feather and straw from her puss, he blurted, “Nay. ’Tis my duty to tend to your puss.”
She peeked up at him, flashed him a saucy smile, and jutted her chin at his pecker.
“Aye. ’Tis your duty to tend to my cock.” He captured her hand, rolled over, and spread his legs. “I count three feathers sticking to my crown. ’Tis your wifely duty to remove them. No hands.”
Her jaw dropped.
Then she pursed her mouth and tilted her head to one side.
The impish expression on her face nigh had him spilling his seed right there and then. His stones were tighter than nuts about to explode.
When she leaned on her elbows and inspected his cock, he stared at the small distance 2tween her ruby lips and the engorged purpled head, and groaned. “I beg you. One small kiss.”
Her nipples scraped his groin when she dropped a quick, dry peck right on the slit.
“I am going to die from wanting to be inside of you.”
The look she threw him was one of app
rehension.
She was afraid, and the wickedness dancing in her eyes abated.
He did not want her brooding about their joining, but bursting with excitement. Dráddør reacted with berserker speed. He sat up, slanted his lips over hers, and tasted her greedily. He could not get enough of her, sucked on her tongue, nipped the tip, and tickled her teeth.
She set her palms to his chest and slipped her tongue into his mouth. The first tentative thrust and parries had his pecker throbbing. When he let her have her way, she grew bold, and wrapped both arms around his neck.
He wanted to crush her to him. The way her nipples poked and skipped over his ribs drove him wild. He shifted them so she straddled his thighs, careful to keep his distance so as not to alarm her. By Freya, she was passionate. Kneading his scalp and twirling a finger in his ear, and leaning into him more and more.
Moving as slow as his galloping desire let him, he grazed his way down her body, pausing to rim her navel, and slipped his hand over her mons. Slick and ready, thanks be to Freya. He tore his lips away from hers.
She blinked at him and yanked a lock of hair.
“Ride me, sváss.” Catching her waist in a firm grip, he rolled them over, wriggled down the mattress, and positioned her puss over his pecker. “’Twill not hurt this time. By my honor.”
Did she understand?
Her puckered forehead and knitted brows cleared. One corner of her mouth rose. She set her hands over his and motioned for him to let go.
He swallowed and beseeched every god in existence.
She curled her hands around the base of his shaft and he was in Valhalla.
Her hot little fingers kneaded his cock.
Not capable of drawing a breath, he stared at her grip on him, and licked his lips when she braced one knee on the mattress, angled her other leg to one side, and set her foot flat on the bed. She lowered herself and he snatched at the sheets and crushed the fabric. The tips of her swollen folds slid easily against the slippery seed leaking from his cock’s slit.
He fisted his hands, torqueing the covers.
She worried her lower lip, glanced to him, and then bit down hard, and used her weight to impale his pecker in one stroke.
Dráddør struggled for some semblance of control. She was tight and hotter than an inferno. He groaned. Her puss’s inner walls contracted around his engorged cock.
She set her palms to his belly.
He focused on her womanly curls, the slight part in her folds, and his mouth watered. He yearned to drink of her woman’s nectar, to bury his nose in her puss.
She wriggled her hips.
He gripped her waist. “Nay. Aye.”
No longer able to form a coherent thought, he lurched to a half-sitting position against the headboard, and kissed her with ruthless intent. He edged one hand to her mound and stuck his finger 2tween her puss lips searching for her clitty.
She made the same strangled sound in her throat, grabbed the back of his head, and stabbed her little tongue into his mouth.
Greed and need battled within him. He let go of her waist and rolled a nipple while pressing tight circles around her sweet nub.
She squirmed and writhed and ground her clitty over his thumb. He heard her swift, quick, gasps, and knew she was close. Merciful Odin, he had no control left.
He clasped her waist and drove into her convulsing sheath, trying to keep his thrusts shallow, trying to gauge her reactions. Then she gave a tiny mewl and collapsed against him.
His stones drew up tight and hard and he spilled his seed. Hot spurts burst from his cock, the fiery agony the most exquisite pleasure he had ever found.
* * *
Xára could not lift a finger. She sprawled over Dráddør all limp and boneless. Never could she have imagined such sheer ecstasy. Had the chamber warmed? Or did the heat come from within her?
She had never been so aware of her woman parts. They pulsed and vibrated and fisted around his thick shaft buried deep inside her. She had touched him. There. ’Twas all so surprising, this intimacy 2tween them, his fingers, his mouth. Was all allowed? Cert, it seemed too wicked to be right.
He trailed a finger up her spine. The gentle caress sent tingles to parts not connected. Her nipples hardened, the nub ’tween her legs ached, and she yearned to rub against him.
“Wife now you are in all aspects.” He nuzzled her neck. “Know you how bairns are made?”
A wash of fire blazed through her and she knew a hot pink color dusted every piece of her skin. She peered up at him. Blinked away the embarrassment and wrote, ’Tis what we just did?
Distracted by the golden hair around his male nipples, she studied the tight peaks, the circle of color around his and then looked at hers. Why were hers pink and his brown?
“Aye. A bairn catches when I spill my seed inside you.” He flicked a finger at the tip of her nose. “Why is Evie so concerned about bairns?”
Mouth pursed, she traced. She is lonely. The keep’s children fear her.
“Know all of Lady Jennie’s tryst with Ard Greimme?”
War braids suited him, Xára decided. He had a wealth of long, wavy golden locks and the four thin plaits at his temples seemed to draw his cheekbones taut. She liked the way he focused on her fingers when she wrote the letters on his chest. They suspect somewhat is amiss.
He outlined her lips with his thumb. “Methinks on the morrow, I must needs speak with your mother. She must have been bereft when Arnfinn sent you to the abbey.”
Dare she tell him? Would he reject her when he found out the whole truth? In a short time she had come to love him and he seemed to care for her. Could she be content with his affection and not his heart when she had given hers?
“Nyssa will insist on healing you.”
She circled her hand around her neck and shook her head.
“Aye. I have asked her to try. Thrice now I have heard you make sounds. What harm can it do, Xára?” He pressed kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and nipped the lobe of her ear.
She waved a finger at him. Do not distract me.
He chortled and the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes deepened. “’Tis my duty to keep a smile on your face, mit sváss. ’Tis amusing and rewarding.”
All the warriors she knew were dour of mien, angry in their words, and rough with their hands. How blessed she was to have this man to husband. She vowed to make him proud of her. All at once she needed him to know of her training.
I am trained to run a castle. She wrote the letters slowly. How she longed to tell him of her other talents, but dared not.
“I am well content with my bride, Xára.”
He fingered the slight scar in the center of her throat. “How did this happen?”
Xára worried her lower lip. This secret she could share without worrying he would cast her aside. Mayhap ’twould even serve to protect Evie if he knew the all of Magnhildur. The other secrets, for now, she would leave to fate. She traced Magnhildur’s name on his chest. He jerked into a sitting position, captured her wrists, and set them to his heart. “Tell me.”
The leashed rage he curtailed vibrated from his flesh to hers. He studied her with an intensity that had her pulse leaping.
She tugged her right arm.
He released her immediately. “Write.”
I tried to stop her.
“From what?”
Poison.
“But your mother poisoned Arnfinn.”
She shook her head and wrote. Magnhildur.
His frown deepened. “All in the keep believe Jennie poisoned him. Why?”
Too hard to explain. Jennie will tell.
She prayed he’d wait for the morrow.
He rolled them over so swiftly she grew giddy. Then before she could draw breath, he stood and dressed his movements quick but unhurried. Alarmed she watched as he donned all his weapons with a quick efficiency that had her giddy and confused. What was he doing? Why? What had she done to cause this sudden action?
“I must speak with Konáll. Ghazi and another guard are outside the door. Do not leave the chamber.” He tucked a dagger into one boot. “Sleep. I will be awhile but will return to greet the dawn with you.”
Before she could move a muscle, Dráddør left the room.
What had she done wrong?
Xára had decided to share what she had learned this eve when she touched Magnhildur. It had been Magnhildur who had poisoned both Jennie and Arnfinn.
Why had he been tender and laughing one moment and then stern-faced and thin-lipped the next?
Had Magnhildur bewitched him?
Magnhildur. Evie.
Xára grimaced. It had been her intent to bar the priest’s hole so Evie could not wander during the night. However ’tween accompanying Nyssa to her chamber and then staying for a while to chat, the eve had whiled away. By the time Xára made it back to the master chamber she was reluctant to tempt fate by slipping into the tunnels. Instead, she changed into a night rail and lay down on the bed to await her husband. The next thing she knew Dráddør was standing above her.
But now she had the perfect opportunity. For Konáll and Nyssa were housed in the East wing and ’twould take Dráddør some time to go there, talk with his brother, and then return. She had enough time to dash to the priest’s hole and secure it, or to make a quick trip to the south tower to spy on Magnhildur. The notion of the latter made her chest ache.
Xára waited until she no longer heard the sound of his retreating boots on the stone floor before easing out from under the covers. She counted slowly as she dressed in her riding garb. Breeches borrowed from Touft’s auld caretaker, a woolen habit she’d cut down to a tunic, and half boots.
When she reached a hundred, Xára estimated Dráddør had arrived at Konáll’s room on the far end of the west wing. She started her count over, grabbed one of the unlit tallow candles on the mantle, and lit the wick with a long fiery plume from the hearth. Guilt had her glancing over her shoulder when she slid the privacy screen to one side and raised the rug-covered trap door in the floor.
Again, she paused until her count numbered one hundred before she knelt, set the candle close to the opening, and backed onto the first step in the tunnel. She grabbed the screen’s edge and pulled it into place. She felt for the next rung, rested one foot on it, reached for the candle, and slowly lowered it to the first step.
