by Jianne Carlo
Rammed her sword into the iron.
To no avail.
She did not know how long she battered and pounded the lid with her hands and weapon. But exhaustion struck her after a while, and she lay heaving and gasping for breath.
All around her the scent and sounds of war raged. The coppery taint of blood filled her nose. Grunts, bellows, and screeches peppered the room. She could nay tell who won and who lost, imprisoned as she was in the trunk. Frustration pulsed in her veins. She saw naught but a red haze. Nyssa pounded the iron lid and shouted, “Let me out!”
Her voice drew hoarse, her throat sore, and the battle lust that had fueled her frantic fighting whizzed out of her. She peered at the dark splotches on the metal cover and listened as the frenetic clanging and banging faded away. Gradually she discerned one voice from another and heard Konáll’s deep rumble.
He would be furious with her.
* * *
Konáll wiped the sweat from his nose by swiping the sleeve of his tunic o’er the dampness. He glanced at the trunk and swore.
“She is safe.” Dráddør tapped his hammer to the lid of the chest. “Stop screeching Nyssa. We will not let you out until you are quiet.”
“For the love of Loki! Have you gone mad with battle lust?” Konáll heaved the lid of the chest open. “She will plow me dead.”
“Aye. I will.” Nyssa threw back the metal cover and bounded out of the trunk. “How dare you lock me in there?”
She hefted the sword left and right.
“Women do not fight in battle.” He bent down so they were nose to nose. “My wife does not wield a sword.”
“This wife does.” She crossed her arms and the blade of the sword scraped her chin.
Konáll winced when a thin stream of red coated the slight cut.
Nyssa dropped the weapon onto the trunk’s lid. Her knees wobbled and a great trembling took a hold of her. She leaned against the wall and swallowed, once, twice, thrice, her gaze fixing on the empty fireplace. She collapsed into a heap on the floor, hugged her arms, and rocked back and forth. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I killed a man. Mine enemy. And ’twas not sweet. I am naught but a weak female after all.”
“’Tis normal, mìlseachd.” Konáll gathered her into his embrace. “After the battle lust dissipates oft you are left with naught but regret.”
Sobs shook her. She fisted her hands in his tunic. “I wanted to fight. I wanted revenge. I wanted Da and Mama back. I want this emptiness to leave me.”
Konáll tangled his fingers in her hair and drew back to meet her gaze. He tucked a lock of damp hair behind her ear. She was deathly pale, and he recognized the stunned expression on her face. “Dráddør. Thōrfin. Secure the castle. I needs attend to my wife.”
He scooped her into his arms and marched out of the great hall. She needed fresh air and to be out in the open, to be away from the battleground.
A fierce wind whipped across the bailey erasing the scent of dried blood and spilled innards. He tucked her face into his chest, not wanting her to see the carnage scattered across the enclosed courtyard. A score or more of Picts with blue-painted faces lay dead or dying strewn over the bailey.
“I do not know what is wrong with me.” She wailed. “I am no ninny.”
“Nay. You are a strong, foolish woman. One who will surely see me to an early grave.” Konáll kissed her forehead. “By Odin. I want to strangle you and bury myself deep in your puss. I want to tar your backside and smother you with kisses.”
“Konáll, you must set me down. I needs empty my stomach.”
They had cleared the massive gates some moments earlier, and he fair ran down the wide path leading to the beach. She moaned, and he tightened his hold on her. Not a star shone. Heavy cloud cover masked the moon. His boots sank into the soft grasses when they reached level terrain.
He slid her to the ground and held her while she retched. The tears began soon after she finished vomiting. He hauled her close, stroked her spine, and crooned nonsense phrases.
“Can you walk a bit, mìlseachd?” Konáll helped her to stand.
She leaned into him. “I am sorry. I do not know from whence comes this weakness.”
“’Tis not weakness, Nyssa, but the aftermath of battle lust.” He curled an arm around her waist and urged her to walk.
“You are nay angry?” She craned back and their gazes met.
“I am enraged. And you will pay for this disobedience, wife. Albeit I will wait until the green drains from your face and I can see the fire in your eyes again. For right now, you look about to swoon.” He cupped her cheeks and studied her features.
“I wish I could swoon. I cannot believe I killed today.” Tears flowed freely, she shook her head, and her teeth worried her lips. “I am evil.”
“Nay. You are all that is right and good. You are the daughter of Rán and of the Earl of Rurari. You are strong and vital and mine. Look to me, wife. I am proud of you.”
“Truly?” She covered his hands with hers.
“Aye. Truly. Albeit if I find you with sword in hand again, I will stake you and love you till you beg mercy. I thought I would go mad when I saw you facing the Picts. You could be with child, wife. Think you to be so careless with our babe?”
What little color had returned to her cheeks left all at once. She dipped her head and wrung her hands. “Do you beat me now?”
He yearned to shake her. “I do not beat women. There are far better methods of taming you to hand, wife. Come. Let us wash the stench of battle from our flesh.”
“Aye. ’Twould be most welcome, a cold brisk swim.”
He linked their hands together and they strolled across the meadow to a beach lit peach and fawn by the sun peeking o’er the horizon. “’Twill take the better part of the summer to set Castle Caerleah to rights.”
She tugged him to a halt. “I did nay see hide nor hair of Ánáton or Maura or Monette. Were they slain?”
“Your uncle, his wife, and their daughters are in the dungeon. Olaf Longface will decide their fate on the morrow.” He unlaced the tunic she wore.
“I wish you had slain him. He is an evil man.” She fisted her hands and stared at him.
Something in her voice alerted him. He studied her clenched fingers and sudden pallor. “What did he do to you, Nyssa?”
“’Twas Maura who gave the orders. But Ánáton made sure they were followed. She had me stripped and put me in a cage hung from the roof of the great hall. His men pissed on me. They put vermin in the cage. I am ashamed to say I begged like a babe to be freed. I have a horror of rats.”
He hugged her. How could one woman treat another so cruelly? “Hush, mit hiärta. ’Tis o’er now. None will e’er harm you again.”
Her uncle was a dead man. The wife and daughters would be banished to a remote abbey. Rage seethed through his blood. This Maura deserved to be whipped and more, but he would settle for her complete and utter humiliation.
He glanced at the castle perched atop the high black cliffs. Moss and grime coated what once might have been whitewashed walls. The four turrets towered o’er a wide bay. Konáll recognized Dráddør and Thōrfin pacing the ramparts. The two warriors appeared to be quarreling. Somewhat was amiss, but he had not the time to be distracted. Nay. ’Twas time to love his wife.
Konáll led her to a secluded niche in the cove. A large rock formation guarded their privacy. He shed his boots and hose. Tugged the tunic o’er his head and then attended to Nyssa. “Come wife. ’Tis time to shed your garb.”
“Your garb.” She flashed him a small smile. “For I had no choice but to borrow your hose and tunic last eve.”
“How did you escape from under Grelod’s tutelage?”
Color washed her face, and she jabbed a booted foot into the dense sand. “I may have started a wee fire as a diversion.”
“A fire!” His roar echoed around the bay.
“A wee one.” She jammed hands onto hips and glared at him.
Nigh tempt
ed to rip the tunic from her body, he grabbed the hem and shrugged the shirt o’er her head. “What did you fire?”
“Grelod and Thōrfin’s fine tent. I fear I will have to use the sirens’ coin to purchase another.”
He shook her like a rag doll. “Are you mad, woman? Fire is naught to be played with. What of Grelod and her ladies?”
She rolled her eyes. “None the worse. I woke them all afore the blaze truly caught. Think you she will be very angry?”
“You can be cert she will be furious. Know you how proud she is of that tent?” He squatted and worked free her boot’s laces.
“’Twould not have been necessary if you had kept your word to me.” She jutted her chin.
He had had enough. Konáll threw her boots to one side, scooped her up, strode to a flat rock, and turned her over his knees. He brought his hand down on her bottom five times and then placed her so she straddled his groin. “Test me not, wife. Not another word from you. This eve you disobeyed my direct command. You put yourself in harm’s way and you endangered all with your foolish actions.”
Her lips trembled, and she hiccupped, but she wisely held her own counsel. He tossed her over one shoulder and stalked into the sea, relishing the freezing temperature of the waves crashing over his thighs and belly. But the ice in the ocean did naught to temper his lust. He throbbed and pulsed with the need to be inside her.
Konáll shifted her in his arms, sank onto the ocean floor, and sheathed himself in her puss with one powerful thrust. She clenched him hard and fast. Waves crashed across his back and sea spray wet his hair. He embraced her like a glove and hunched his shoulders to shelter her from the cold sea. Her nape drew him, and he closed his teeth over the sweet curve.
He hammered into her tightness.
Buried his face in the crook of her neck. Bit the cusp of her shoulder, muttering o’er and o’er, “Mine, mine, mine.”
The climax struck him like a bolt of lightning, streaked white-hot sensation from his toes to the roots of his hair. His stones fired and his seed erupted. He could see naught but a red haze, feel only the solidness of her, and still felt no reassurance.
The terror of seeing her parrying with an enraged Pict had nigh done him in, and, if he had to, he would tar her backside all o’er again. He shook with rage and worry and clamped her tight to him unable to deny the unadulterated comfort of her skin scraping his, needing to feel her, smell her, breathe in her vitality.
The sun hung above the horizon when he was finally able to think again. He drew back, fingered her chin, and forced her to meet his stare. “I will not have you risking your life again, wife. Look to me. This time I will accept naught but your complete vow. From this day forward, you will not raise a sword, or e’en contemplate going against my command. Say it.”
She stared at his neck. Licked her lips and bowed her head. “Can you not see, Konáll that I had to do this? I have been naught but humiliated and taunted since Ánáton, Maura, and Monette invaded my keep. I have lost my Da and my Mama. Have found out I am cursed. My half brother has sacrificed all for me. I had to fight. I had to prove my worth.”
“You will not get out of giving me your vow, Nyssa. Say it.” Her words tugged at his heart, and he understood her pride and the need to feel strong. But she could not risk her life again.
“You have the right to expect my obedience, husband. And you shall have it for as long as I am your wife.”
Konáll had everything he wanted. A wife, castle, land, and coin. She had promised to obey him. Why then did her words raise every hair on the back of his neck?
Chapter Ten
It had taken the better part of three days to set Castle Caerleah to rights, and Nyssa could not have succeeded without Grelod’s assistance. The young queen proved tireless, and she had worked on her hands and knees alongside Nyssa and the women of the keep.
Konáll had claimed the castle and Olaf Longface had declared a meeting of The Thing on the morrow.
Mús had taken his leave of Konáll, but had not said his farewells to Nyssa. She both grieved for him and was enraged he had not faced her before disappearing. Would she ever see her half brother again?
Nyssa peered through the arrow slits of the north tower and followed the line of warriors riding through the keep’s inner bailey. When she and Konáll had returned to the castle after making love in the sea, they had found massive chaos. Her relatives had escaped the dungeons and none seemed to know how or who had aided their flight. Konáll, Dráddør, and Thōrfin had scoured the length and breadth of the island from dusk to dawn for nigh on a sennight searching for any clue as to where the Picts, Ánáton, Maura, and Monette had fled.
Olaf Longface had delayed The Thing from one day to the next. But Grelod had told her this morn that the judgments would be issued on the morrow. When he read the Viking laws, Olaf Longface would be forced to announce that Nyssa had deeded the castle and her inheritance to Konáll. Afore the morn broke she would leave the castle at first light ne’er to return. For three days she had fretted and prayed and agonized over her decision.
“What do you stare at?” Grelod tucked her arm into Nyssa’s. “Ah. The men have returned. Shall we go to greet them?”
Nyssa had discovered a formidable ally in Grelod. Not only had she forgiven Nyssa the firing of her tent, she had also donated all matter of goods to the castle, and had set her ladies to sewing Nyssa a half-dozen gowns and chemises.
“Will you tell Konáll of your discovery?”
“I cannot see what good can come of him knowing.” For Nyssa had inspected her uncle and aunt’s chamber that morn and found her Da’s ring hidden in a chest. “But aye, I will. I have struggled to accept the truth, but ’tis bitter to have to acknowledge Da and Mama are dead. My Da would ne’er have given up his seal ring while he still breathed.”
And she had no way of telling Mús the truth or giving him the ring. How she yearned to have revenge. To hunt Ánáton, Maura, and Monette and slit their throats.
“You would not really slit their throats, would you?”
She had once again spoken her thoughts. ’Tis had become a dangerous weakness, and one she repeated more oft the last few days.
“Nay, albeit I wish them ill.” Nyssa surveyed the restored great hall. The tapestries had been hung in place, the tables and chairs gleamed free of dust, and the two fireplaces had been white washed and the grates polished. Fresh pine rushes perfumed the chamber and the aroma of roasting boar circled on a draft from the kitchens.
“As you should. They are evil scum. I cannot say that I am sorry that our men slew the Picts.”
Dermid, Islay, Lachie, and Osgar were seated at the last table in the hall playing a game of chess. Grelod had gleefully offered to teach the game to every inhabitant of the castle and e’en the youngest of the keep had succumbed to chess’s fascination. Within a day, pieces had been carved and boards painted. Now all played the game in every free moment.
“Neither are we.” Dermid moved his knight two squares horizontally, and one vertically.
Islay grinned and took the knight with his queen. “Checkmate.”
“Fie on you, Islay. You have won yet again.” Dermid slammed a fist onto the table.
Osgar rolled his eyes. “’Tis not the time to be playing a game.”
“Aye, you have the right of it, Osgar.” Dermid bowed his head. “Lachie, tell our lass what we have discovered for I cannot.
A band clamped around Nyssa’s heart and though she suspected what her dear friends would reveal, she prayed for a different tale. Clasping her hands at her waist, she inclined her head, and muttered, “I beg you, Lachie. Be quick in the telling of your tale.”
“Lady Nyssa, methinks we have discovered the one who betrayed your Da and Mama. And you.” Lachie met her gaze and the sorrow in his bleary brown eyes daggered at her heart.
“Who?” E’en afore Lachie answered, Nyssa knew.
“Gudrun, milady. Her sister, Lydia, is on her deathbed. She confessed to t
he plot. Lord Ánáton and Lady Maura hired bandits to slaughter your parents on the way to the king’s court. Gudrun gave the bandits their direction.”
“Who is this Gudrun?” Grelod shook Nyssa’s arm.
“Our healer’s sister and my nursemaid. She was sent to Sumbarten Abbey with me. And then moved to Circe Fearn Abbey when Lady Grainne determined ’twas too dangerous for me to reside with her. Gudrun pined for her husband and children. She grew very bitter after a time. One day she went for a walk and ne’er returned. We thought her waylaid by bandits or warriors seeking wives. I grieved for her.”
“I am distraught to bring you such news, milady.” Lachie thumped his hand to his chest. “And ’twas Gudrun who aided your uncle, aunt, and cousins in their escape. The ones who sided with her have vanished.” Lachie wore a sad expression that threatened to break Nyssa’s heart. “Pray my ladies and lords, forgive me for such a revelation at this time.”
Nyssa spun about to see that not only Konáll, but Dráddør and Thōrfin had witnessed Lachie’s confession. She chewed the insides of her cheeks. The suspicion of Gudrun’s betrayal had crossed her mind more than once, but she had set it aside furiously, not wanting to accept the woman’s betrayal. Gudrun had been her wet-nurse. Mama had had no milk for her. She had suckled at the woman’s breast.
“Think not of it, or you will lose your senses, Nyssa. Cling to Konáll. To the here and now.” Grelod squeezed her forearm. “Now stand up straight and pretend naught has happened. Your husband will soon go to battle, and he needs not these concerns.”
She took a deep inhale. “Aye, Grelod, you have the right of it.”
“Wife. To me, woman.” Thōrfin strolled through the castle’s open double doors, shrugged off his cloak, and tossed the fine garment to a waiting page. He waved his hands before his nose and made a great show of sniffing the air. “Boar. I am starved and parched.”
Grelod glided to her husband. “I am sorry you arrive to such dire news.”
“We will hunt them to their death.” Konáll did not seem surprised by the news.
