by Jianne Carlo
“Nay. Hjørdis committed the most grievous of offenses any child can. She snuck out of Bita Veðr and told not a soul where she was going.” Skatha’s lips pursed. She glared at Evie.
Evie ducked her chin and scuffed one boot. “Ívarr and I only wanted a wee gallop on the cliffs. If his stallion hadn’t injured his hoof none would’ve e’en known we were gone.”
“’Tis no excuse for worrying your lord and protector, not to mention your mother. The child was trying to jump from yonder oak to the window and fell. Had I not been about…” Skatha shook her head.
Evie’s sullenness vanished. “I have ne’er seen any jump so high. Can you teach me how to do it?”
Dráddør glanced out the window and gauged the distance ‘tween the thick branch and the sill. They were on the third floor. Evie could’ve broken her neck. “Skatha will do no such thing and that branch will be cut this morn.”
“Nay. ’Tis not fair,” Evie wailed.
“Enough. Not another word from you, Evie.” Dráddør dragged both hands through his hair. He had no time for the sprite, not with Hjørdis taken by Konáll’s dire enemy, Wazir Niketas. “Where is Brökk?”
“Behind you.”
Dráddør jumped and pivoted to face his oldest brother. “Hjørdis?”
“Niketas has led us a merry dance.” Brökk’s face was lined with exhaustion. Dark rings shadowed his eyes. “We tracked him to Shetland and then lost him. A storm arose and drove us off course. We took shelter on the isle of Hay. We are in dire need of food and stores, one of the langskips needs re-caulking, and ’twas no more than a day’s journey from Hay to Lathairn. Did Konáll receive my message? Is that why Dauði Dkellr is anchored in your bay?”
“Husband.” Skatha moved to Brökk’s side. “I am as worried as you about our bright star, but you and your warriors need sustenance.”
She turned to Dráddør. “He has eaten little the last few days, keeping to beggar’s rations as we knew not if the winds would favor us.”
Dráddør knew his older brother well. The beggar’s rations would have applied only to him. Brökk never asked any but himself to sacrifice unless there was no other option. “How long has it been since Hjørdis was taken?”
“Seven days.”
Not wanting to dwell on what the Arab, Wazir Niketas, may have done to his little sister, Dráddør instead calculated how many men he could assemble and how fast they could ready his langskips and Konáll’s. “We can be ready by mid-morn.”
“You have secured Lathairn, then,” Brökk said.
He considered the scar on his wife’s neck, Godfraid, Magnhildur, and the missing Néill. “Nay. But Tighe can remain here in my stead.”
Skatha cleared her throat. “You seem to have lost two of your company.”
What?
Evie inserted herself in front of Brökk and Skatha. “My sister bids me to ask you all to break your fast in the great hall. She has gone with Ulna to order a chamber prepared for both of you and a bath for the lady.”
Dráddør glanced around.
Xára and Ulna had indeed disappeared.
Dráddør smacked his forehead. He had completely forgotten his wife. He had not at once introduced her to his brother and his wife and by his omission had implied he found her wanting.
Ghazi had discretely retreated out of hearing distance and stood at the far end of the corridor.
Tighe wore a smug grin. “Methinks you will have to grovel to earn back Xára’s favor.”
“Your sister, wee one? And who may she be?” Skatha tousled the girl’s hair.
Evie’s cherubic mouth flattened. “Lady Xára of Lathairn. The Viking’s wife.”
Brökk frowned. “The woman who ran down the hallway not a few moments ago?”
“Aye.” Tighe’s grin deepened. “’Twould seem Dráddør has momentarily misplaced his new wife.”
Dráddør balled his hands into fists; the urge to smash Tighe’s complacent countenance nigh too tempting to resist.
“The woman who pinched you is your new wife?” Skatha dark brows knitted. “Are you so displeased with her that you would not introduce her to us? I had so hoped you would find your new bride to your liking?”
He clenched his jaw and ploughed his hands through his hair. How had the situation barreled out of his control so quickly? “She is to my liking.”
“Xára cannot speak, my lady.” Evie jutted her chin. Then she twisted to face Dráddør and craned her neck to meet his gaze. Her lips quivered and unshed tears glimmered in her eyes. “I no longer want to learn the runes.”
“Look to me, little one,” Skatha commanded. “What mean you she cannot speak?”
Evie jammed her hands on her hips.
Before the girl could deliver what looked to be a tirade, Dráddør declared, “Xára cannot speak, but she is as any other person otherwise. Nay. She is brighter and quicker of mind than most. She reads and writes what she cannot say.”
“Has it always been thus? Was Xára born that way?” Skatha demanded.
Dráddør gaped at Skatha. Why had he not asked such a question?
“Nay. ’Twas only before Mama killed Arnfinn and drank the poison. No one will tell me what happened because I am too young. Arnfinn hit Xára. Mama was right to kill him. ’Tis what is said in the kitchens.” Evie narrowed her eyes and fisted her hands.
Too blindsided to react for a moment, Dráddør simply stared at Evie, his mind churning. Xára had only lost the ability to speak the night before Arnfinn died? Why had he not thought to ask his wife if she’d once had a voice?
“I am cert she was, little one.” Skatha cupped Evie’s face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Do not distress yourself. How fares your mama?”
“Lady Nyssa says she will be well soon.”
“Ah, well then you can be assured your mama will soon be punishing you for sneaking out of your chamber for Lady Nyssa is a healer of great skill.”
Evie squirmed out of Skatha’s hold. Her lips turned down. “Lara says Mama may ne’er regain her strength.”
“Ne’er you mind anyone other than Nyssa. If Nyssa says your mama will recover, she will,” Skatha stated. “Who is this Lara and why are you allowing any but Nyssa to attend to the sprite’s mother?”
Dráddør wrestled his spiraling frustration under control. He had no intention of ceding jurisdiction of the situation to either Skatha or Evie.
“Lara is the village healer and she is now under Nyssa’s orders. Lady Jennie is recovering. Earl Arnfinn was, by all accounts, a vicious and cruel lord. Evie has the right of it, the man deserved to be killed. ’Tis not the time to go into all of it.” He turned to Brökk. “I will have my steward see to your needs whilst we break our fast in the hall.”
“’Twill have to wait until we retrieve our son from the langskip. Jorunn will wake soon, husband, and I would be there when he does. Do you stay to speak with Dráddør?”
Brökk curled an arm around Skatha’s waist. “Think you, I would allow you to return on your own? Nay. ’Twill not take us long to go there and back, but we have need of a rowboat. Ours hit a rock and sprung a leak.”
“I will see to their needs.” Tighe offered. “Methinks, you should seek your wife and grovel.”
“I do not grovel,” Dráddør growled, but he had insulted his wife and hurt Evie’s feelings and must make amends. “Albeit there is much to be done and I must needs speak with Xára and Egron. To make my orders clear.”
Skatha’s lips twitched.
“Aye. You must needs order your wife.” Tighe smirked.
Dráddør ground his teeth and fisted his hands. He struggled to resist the overwhelming urge to smash Tighe’s mocking grin. He glared at the highlander, swooped Evie up with one arm, and set her onto his hip.
She stiffened. “Put me down, Viking.”
“Nay. We will go find Xára and you will tell me all you have heard in the kitchens and stables. We will put our heads together and solve the mystery of how Xára lost he
r voice. Then we will find a way to help her speak again. I will see you all in the great hall.” Dráddør spun around and hurried down the hallway.
“You will give Xára back her voice?” Evie’s asked.
“Aye.” If Xára had once spoken then she would do so again. Her little mewls when she found her pleasure grew stronger with each swiving and she had nigh giggled aloud when the bed cushion split earlier. He was cert of it.
Evie gave him a measuring stare. “I will have your honor vow, Viking.”
“I swear on my honor that I will find a way to make Xára speak again.” Dráddør meant every word he uttered. “Now you must do your part. When did Magnhildur come to Lathairn?”
“’Twas before the harvest started. She came with him, Lord Néill.” Evie tugged on her earlobe and focused her gaze on the pitted stone floor.
Dráddør’s hackles rose. “You have no liking for Lord Néill?”
“He…he is my uncle and I must respect him,” she parroted the words. “But he wanted to hurt Xára and I cursed him.”
His neck muscles bunched and a seething anger heated his blood to hear the innocent sprite confirm what he had long suspected. Trying to keep the rage from his voice, he asked, “How did he want to hurt Xára?”
Evie’s brow creased. “Mama told Liam the Lucky that Xára was not to be alone with Lord Néill ’cause he would do her harm. She told me to stay out of his way and commanded Ívarr to be my shadow.”
A dreaded notion arose, but he didn’t want to stopper Evie’s natural inclination to chatter, so he kept his tone light. “Who is Ívarr?”
She grinned. “Ívarr is the smithy’s son and he forged me a dagger and a new eating knife. He showed me Gná’s cave and took me to auld Bessie when Mama got sick so I could learn a fairy spell to make her better.”
They reached the landing at the top of the stairs.
He sought to word his next question with care. “Did you e’er get in Lord Néill’s way?”
Evie squirmed in his arms. “He made me sit on his lap. He smelled like rotten eggs and he breathed on me.”
He would take the man apart limb by limb. Slowly.
“Ouf. You’re squeezing me.” She smacked his shoulder.
Dráddør realized he had automatically tightened his hold on Evie. Shifting her slightly, he asked, “Better?”
“Aye. ’Tis wonderful to see above the stair’s rails. Think you, I will be as tall as Mama?” She toyed with the laces of his tunic. “Ívarr says I will grow to a great height ’cause I am the daughter of a—” She sucked her lips in and ducked her chin.
Dráddør smiled. He whispered, “I know, sprite. That you are the daughter of Ard Greimme.”
She clamped her little hand over his mouth and shook her head. “’Tis forbidden. You must not speak the words or Ulna will wash your mouth out with lye. ’Tis a bitter taste.”
Dráddør struggled to choke back his laughter. He hugged her tight and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have tasted lye before and indeed ’tis bitter. Are you allowed at the high table?”
“I have to eat at the high table now, ’cause I have to learn my manners for court.” Her mouth canted down.
“You do not like being at the high table?” Hjørdis often begged to be allowed on the dais for the meals, but the brothers never allowed her when warriors visited.
“I must sit ’tween Mama and Lord Néill and he pinches my cheeks.” Her face brightened. “But after Xára came, I sat ‘tween her and Mama.”
He had learned enough. Néill was the vilest of men, a swiver of children, and Xára had sought to protect her sister by placing herself in jeopardy.
* * *
Xára heard Dráddør’s deep voice long before he entered the kitchens. She focused on the task at hand, the seasoning of the stew to be served that eve, and added a few sprinkles of chopped sage to the cauldron.
Even though ’twas still dark out and not a single cock had crowed, the room hummed with activity. As was custom, only those charged with the early morning meal were about. Maids chopped turnips and carrots. Two burly men hacked venison into chunks on a table, and the ringing clank of the blade meeting stone added to the general din. The cook shouted orders; the maids called for boys to fetch provisions from below, and in the far corner, the girls peeling vegetables sang a merry ditty. Kitchen boys scurried about grabbing utensils and delivering them as commanded.
It all faded into a consistent buzz when she finally allowed the thought to form.
Dráddør was ashamed of her.
Because she could not speak.
’Twas the only reason he could have for ignoring her completely and neglecting to introduce her to his family. She knew well how uncomfortable others were of any deformity. Touft Abbey had more than half a dozen girls who had been banished there because of some impairment. One had a split upper lip, another a purplish stain running from throat to ear, and still another had one leg shorter than the other.
She had been trained as a chatelaine and Lathairn would shine this day. There would be no shame earned from the meal served to break the fast.
A sudden hush circled around the chamber.
Her nape tingled.
She smelled him and knew he stood behind her, but did not pause. His delicious manly scent overpowered all the aromas of the different courses cooking. His hands clamped her shoulders and she struggled to show no reaction and continued to add a few sprigs of rosemary to the bubbling liquid in the cauldron.
“I would speak with you, wife. Now.”
Xára dropped the twig she held, wiped her hands on the apron she’d donned, and turned around. He wore the blue tunic of the day before. Bracing herself, she lifted her chin, and forced her lips to curve into a smile.
“Is there a room on this level where we can be private?” He wore a somber expression, the twinkle that always seemed to dance in his eyes no longer there.
Aye, she nodded.
“Take me to it. There is much to be done and we must make haste.”
She untied the apron, folded the stained material, and placed it on a nearby stool.
He offered her his arm, and she set her palm to his.
During the short walk to the herbarium, he said naught, and her insides quaked with each step. Did he go after his sister, Hjørdis? Would he leave her here to deal with Godfraid and Magnhildur?
The comforting fragrances of the different herbs hanging to dry filled the chamber. She slipped her hand from his arm and shifted to face him, but he had turned around to close the door.
He spun about and gathered her into his arms.
Stunned, she gaped at him.
“We have little time, mit sváss. I did not pay you the proper respect due you earlier and for that I am sorry. I meant no insult. ’Twas a shock to see Skatha and my brother here at Lathairn. ’Twas a blow to learn my wee sister, Hjørdis, was captured by our worst enemy. Had you stayed but a moment longer, you would have heard me declare how pleased I am with my wife.”
Xára set two fingers to his mouth. Her eyes misted and she blinked away the threatening tears. How blessed she was to have this man to husband. He made her feel cherished and wanted and safe. That he treated Evie and Jennie and, indeed, all under his protection with the greatest of care only served to swell her chest with pride and fill her soul with love. That he would offer her an apology nigh did her in. The warriors she had dealt with thus far never admitted any error.
He leaned his forehead against hers and the warm whisper of his breath tickled her nose.
Unable to resist, she tiptoed, and brushed her lips to his.
In exquisite slowness, he kissed her, a tender, moist tasting that had her heart aching. When his mouth left hers, she sighed.
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Brökk and Skatha will soon return with their son, Jorunn. Haakon tells me a chamber has been made ready for them and that the kitchen is readying food to break not only our fast, but those of the warriors who arrived with my
brother. My thanks for your quick actions.”
Wait, she mouthed, squirmed out of his embrace, and went to fetch the whitewashed slab and a piece of charcoal.
He flashed her a grin. “Do you scold me with your written words, sváss?”
She rolled her eyes. You go with him to get your sister?
“We will discuss our strategy after breaking our fast. Fear not, I will not leave you, Evie, and Jennie alone with Godfraid and Magnhildur.”
All the tension she had been holding inside sifted away. You will stay here?
He pursed his lips. “If I go, Tighe will remain. You will all be safe in his care.”
She nodded, but her stomach sank. He made her feel safe, not Earl Tighe.
“Evie tells me that when you arrived here you could speak. ’Tis the truth she tells?”
Xára swallowed, closed her eyes, and nodded. The time had come.
“How did you lose your voice?”
Not able to bear his expression because her tale defied belief, she wrote. When Néill touched me, I saw a memory of his. He is carnal with children.
Silence.
He tipped her chin.
Their gazes met.
He showed no shock or surprise and his lack of reaction, astonished her.
“He will pay for it, trust me.” He frowned. “What mean you, you saw a memory of his?”
Gently, she pushed his fingers away, and wrote. If I touch someone, I can see a memory. Tighe has buried a wife and child. Olaf serves a man with blue on his face.
At once, he drew back and straightened. Folding his arms he studied her with an intensity that made her want to wring her hands.
He scraped at his jaw. “Is the sun-god your sire, also?”
Relief made her smile. Nay.
He gripped her shoulders. “Did Jennie betray Arnfinn twice?”
Nay, she shook her head.
“Then how come you by this ability to see a memory?” He stared right into her eyes.
She scribbled. From my mother.
“You have my mind tumbling, sváss. Jennie can see a memory? Nay. ’Tis of no import at this moment.” He dragged both hands through his hair. “We stray from the matter at hand. How did you lose your voice?”
