Malice Striker (18 page)

“’Tis a measure of prevention only, Jarl, for she is not fevered.” The abbess sighed. “I spoke without thinking earlier, Lord Brökk. You must, of course, do your duty as jarl. Howbeit, methinks you should reconsider applying one punishment to men, women, and children alike. The pillory is no place for a woman or child.”

If he had applied the laws to Etta, mayhap Hjørdis would be safe at Bita Veðr at this very moment. He had erred and let his experiences with Etta cloud his judgment. Skatha was not Etta.

As if he had called her name, she moaned, “Brökk?”

He bounded to his feet and covered the distance to the bed in one huge leap. Kneeling, he held her small hand in both of his. “Köttrynja, speak to me.”

To his utter joy, she rolled onto her side and opened her eyes.

“’Tis a dream. The sweetest dream.”

The smile she wore dazzled Brökk and stabbed a sharp slice in his chest. She stared directly at him, and ne’er would he have believed those beautiful violet eyes saw naught. In that moment a golden glow lit her face and the goddess in her shined nigh to blinding.

She propped herself on one elbow and stroked his war braid to one side. “’Tis exactly how I imagined you. Muíríne played me false. None can be as handsome as you.”

His jaw dropped.

She could see?

Chapter Nine

Skatha woke slowly, a trick she’d developed when the darkness had descended. ’Twas far better to ease into the day rather than open her eyes and see naught. She stretched, arching her back, pointing her toes, and reaching over her head with splayed fingers. She felt for Lawri who always slept at the foot of the pallet, her nose nudging Skatha’s sole, the right one, ne’er the left.

Last eve Lady Gráinne had bid them prepare for a day of herb gathering. Samhain approached, the winter-fylleþ would soon follow, and ’twere few days left for foraging outdoors. She inhaled and blew out a long sigh. How she hated the dreary days from Yule to Spring.

Where had Lawri gone to? The wolfhound’s habits had changed as her belly grew. She would soon whelp the pups. Skatha could hardly wait for the arrival of the baby hounds. ’Twas not oft that they had the joy of new births at the abbey.

“Good morn, Skatha.”

A man’s voice.

In her chamber.

She opened her eyes and turned to the source of the sound.

Blinked.

Dug her heels into the straw and scooted back to the wall.

It had been many moons since she’d last had the cruel dream. The dream where she saw again.

’Twas so real this morn.

She saw.

Saw an enormous man.

A warrior cert for he wore war braids at his temples, had a mane of hair the color of sunshine, and eyes of a blue so deep as to be black.

“You see.”

’Twas more a statement than a query. Skatha smiled. “You know this. You are part of my dream. Who are you warrior-man? You have not come to my dreams afore.”

“’Tis no dream, Köttrynja. You are my wife. I am your husband.” He reached out to touch her, but she scrambled away from him.

“I can smell you.” She looked around the chamber. “’Tis not my room. I begin to not like this dream. I shall awake.”

Hastily, she closed her eyes, said the Lord’s prayer, and then lifted her lids.

The warrior had not moved.

She knuckled her eyes.

He still did not budge, but remained there staring at her with such a sad expression fear sprouted and her heart skipped a beat.

“Do you remember naught of what happened yesterday?”

Swallowing hard, she took note of the oversize bed, the hearth, a massive chair, and a stool and table. ’Twas not familiar. None of it. She must awake.

Holding out her arm, she ordered her dream warrior, “Pinch me.”

“’Tis no dream, wife.” He disobeyed and instead of twisting her skin, he half-rose, brushed her lips with his, and then sat on the mattress. “Know you where you are?”

The contact set her a-tingle all over. She swallowed again, naught a little overwhelmed by his closeness, by his giant size, by the smell of him, which seemed so…so right and so familiar. Words refused to get past her parched throat, so she shook her head.

“You are at my holding in the Norse lands, Bita Veðr. Yesterday, you were struck by lightning.”

Frowning, she drew back and studied his features, the many scars on his cheeks and forehead, the arrogant line of his nose, the high forehead. Rays of sunlight danced around the room and a ring of metal twinkled at his ear. Without thinking, she leaned forward and touched the earbob, then realizing what she had done, whipped her hand away, clenched her fingers into a fist, grabbed a bed cushion, and crushed it to her chest.

“Yesterday, you could not see.”

“I cannot see. I am blind. The darkness descended in my tenth and first year. Why can I not awake? I like not this dream.” Dread and an awful doom settled low in her belly, her insides clenched, and bile rose in her throat. She searched the room for a chamber pot and cupped a hand over her mouth.

She gagged.

The sourness raced up her gullet.

“Here.” He shoved a basin onto her lap.

She retched violently, over and over, until ’twas naught left in her stomach. When the convulsions subsided, she glanced up to find he had vanished. For a moment, she just sat there staring at the putrid puddle in the pot, then she carefully lowered the fired clay to the floor, and pushed it under the bed. Dizzied by the action even though she had moved slowly, Skatha leaned against the bed head.

The door opened and closed and low female murmurs reached her ears.

“’Tis a miracle.” Elspeth’s voice.

A vision appeared at the side of the bed. She stared at the female who stood there, taking in the long braid draped over one shoulder, the slight hint of freckles sprayed from one cheek to another, the heart-shaped face, and the shimmering wide green eyes. A teardrop pooled and fell, then another. The woman opened her arms, hopped onto the mattress, and gathered Skatha into a tight, fierce embrace. “You can see.”

Elspeth’s voice.

She drew back.

They stared at each other. “’Tis not a dream?”

“Nay, my beloved friend. You see.” Tears continued to stream down Elspeth’s cheeks. “We dared not hope after you awoke last eve and looked Lord Brökk full in the eyes and told him he was handsome.”

“I do not remember him. We are wed?” She knuckled her throbbing temples. “He speaks the truth?”

“Aye.” She hugged Skatha again. “’Tis a miracle Skatha. Mother Mary has answered my prayers. I have said a score of Hail Marys every day since we met, pleading for the return of your sight. We have known each other for nine summers and ’tis the first time we have looked at each other.”

“You played me false, Elspeth. For you are a true beauty.”

“Nay. You must see the freckles and my carrot hair, and I am thin and too tall.”

“Your hair glows, you are slender, yes, but so elegant.” Skatha traced a freckle. “’Tis not so bad. I count only eleven.”

“Let me see you, child.”

Lady Gráinne. Eagerly, Skatha twisted to get her first glimpse of her mentor, of the woman who was more mother to her than abbess, of the one constant in her life. She looked not at all like her stern voice. Though the habit obscured her hair and ears, Lady Gráinne’s stunning magnificence could not be disguised. She had the face of a siren, full pouting cherry lips, slanted eyes of a hue ’tween green, gold, and brown, a straight noble nose, and a creamy, radiant complexion.

The abbess sat on the edge of the bed. Elspeth moved over to give her more room. She grasped Skatha’s hands. “You
can
see.”

For the first time since waking, Skatha believed ’twas not a dream and that her sight had returned. She lifted her hand and skimmed her finger o’er the abbess’s cheek. “My lady, ’tis not a dream? I will not awake in the darkness? I am afeared I am losing my sanity.”

“Nay, child. The goddess said your sight would return once you were with child.” She hauled Skatha close and squeezed her tightly.

“’Twasn’t the lightning strike that brought back her sight?” The warrior scowled when he asked the question. Skatha hadn’t noticed him standing by the hearth.

“I cannot be cert, but on her last visit, the goddess, Skaði, spoke to me of Skatha regaining all her senses in preparation for motherhood.” Lady Gráinne and the warrior gazed at each other for a long moment and to Skatha, it appeared they both acknowledged some unspoken truth.

“She is with child?” He straightened and clutched the hilt of his sword. “’Tis the reason she emptied her stomach?”

She narrowed her eyes, glared at him, and jammed her hands onto her hips. “I have not regained my sight and lost my hearing. Mayhap, warrior, you can address your queries to me.”

“Skatha. Mind your manners. He is your husband.”

That took her aback. She shook her head. Too much had happened too fast. She knew not which way to turn or what to believe. “I do not understand, my lady. We were to gather herbs today. Where is Lawri?”

Again, the abbess and the warrior looked at each other.

“We set out to gather herbs o’er two sennights ago, child. Remember you not the Vikings taking us? The journey on the langskip? The wedding?”

Two sennights ago? Bitterness coated her tongue. She recalled naught of what the abbess spoke. It could not be so. None could forget such momentous incidents.

“Nay, my lady. ’Tis true, then. He is my husband?” She shrunk back against the wall when his brows pinched together and his nostrils flared.

“Aye. I am your husband and master. Lest you have also forgot. The marriage was consummated and the consummation witnessed.” He stamped to the bed and turned to face Lady Gráinne. “I bid you deal with her, abbess, and ensure she remembers her duties by this eve. The storm drove Wazir Niketas’s ship back to our fjord. He needs stay here this eve and the morrow to make repairs to his mast. You are all to remain here. None of you are to step foot outside this lodge. I will have Lady Hilda bring you food.”

“Who knows the lightning bolt struck Skatha yesterday?” Lady Gráinne asked.

“The alewife, her husband, daughter, and son. They have all been commanded to hold their tongues.”

“Beg pardon, my lady.” Elspeth gripped the sheets. “All in the kitchens knew of the lightning strike this morn.”

“The whole holding speaks of naught but ThMrr’s bolt and the goddess’s fury.”

Skatha had not noticed Dagrún tending to the fire in the hearth. She met her old nurse’s stare and a pang of sadness had her chest aching. When had Dagrún become old and weathered? She remembered a mature girl with apple cheeks and a smooth complexion, not this tired matron with deep lines on her forehead and myriad creases around her eyes. She reached out a hand. “Dagrún. I see you.”

She stifled a wince when Dagrún grunted, set her hand to the hearth’s mantle, and rose in a slow, laborious manner, as if every joint ached. ’Twas painful to watch her nurse limp to the bed. Ignoring her hand, Dagrún swept her into a fierce embrace. “I will give thanks to Mother Mary for your deliverance, my child.”

When Dagrún released her hold, Skatha noticed her damp cheeks and thumbed them dry. “’Tis pure joy to be able to gaze upon your face once more.”

Dagrún kissed her hand. “Lady Muíríne waits impatiently for her turn, child.”

Skatha glanced over Dagrún’s shoulder and smiled. Muíríne, Countess of Britagne, looked exactly as she had imagined. Regal, wide, pale blue eyes dominated Muíríne’s face. She had a flawless cream and peaches complexion and a perfect, straight nose.

Muíríne moved to stand by the bed. Her throat worked as she jutted her jaw and said, “I, too, will offer prayers of thanks to the blessed virgin. I am overjoyed with happiness.”

“Stay your tender feelings, Elspeth, Muíríne, Dagrún, and Skatha. We have pressing issues to which we must attend. Dagrún, you have the pulse of the servants, forsooth do all know of the strike?” Lady Gráinne slipped off the bed.

“Aye. All speak of it.”

“’Tis true, my lady, but all also know of Skatha’s blindness. The stable boy heard the jarl’s roar yesterday and he repeated it to any who would listen.” Muíríne clasped her hands at her waist.

“Then Niketas will more than likely hear of both my wife and her blindness.” The warrior fingered a round purple jewel at the base of his sword’s blade. “I warn all of you, ’twill be the whipping post for any who dare disobey my command. Not a foot out of this lodge. Should you have need of me, ask the guards to send word to the hall.”

“As you wish, Lord Brökk. My charges will remain with me.” Lady Gráinne’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “Is there aught else you command?”

“Nay.” He moved so fast Skatha’s eyes crossed trying to follow his hands. He cupped her chin, slanted his mouth over hers, and thrust his tongue inside. ’Twas earthly paradise. His lips sipped and suckled and nibbled, and she melted beneath his sensuous onslaught, leaning into him when he framed her face with his large, hot hands.

All at once, images filled her head, visions of touch and taste and smell. His mouth on her breast, his tongue lapping her woman’s parts, his hands gripping her hips as he drove into her, the mighty roar when he emptied his seed into her, and the spicy aroma of their joined and fused bodies. He tore his mouth away, his chest heaved, and he gazed directly into her eyes. “Remember, wife.”

Dazed, she ran a finger over her smoldering lips and traced his movements as he stalked out of the lodge, his powerful thighs bunching with each stride. She had felt those legs, traced the rigid line of the sinewy muscle, and tried to picture him with her hands.

The door slammed shut and the bang echoed around the chamber.

For long moments she stared unseeing, trying to make sense of it all.

“Skatha, stop daydreaming. Dagrún, find her a sensible cyrtel. If we are to be restricted to the lodge, we will make it habitable.”

“But, my lady, we cleaned it not three days hence,” Muíríne, who preferred sedentary activities, protested.

For the first time, Skatha experienced what Elspeth and Muíríne had always described as ‘the look’ from the abbess. A half-sneer, one brow lifted, nose quivering ever so slightly, mouth pursed, each feature in separate benign, but all taken together formed what Skatha could only describe as a forbidding and censorious expression.