Malice Striker (3 page)

Skatha nodded. Her mouth too dry to form words, she clambered into position. Her limbs froze, and her hands refused to obey the command to pick up the bowl with the lard.

“I will ensure the bed curtains remain closed.” Lady Gráinne brushed a kiss on Skatha’s temple. “God be with you, my little dove.”

’Twas only when she heard
his
voice that the paralysis shattered. She shoved the linen down below her waist.

He spoke Norse, assuring some warrior he would prick her well. The assembled men burst into a raucous limerick.

She grabbed the bowl of grease and slathered the gooey paste all over her private parts.

Push the grease inside as far as you can.
Lady Gráinne’s instructions thundered in her mind. Skatha braced herself and thrust her finger into her sheath again and again and again.

The men’s singing halted.

She stuffed the bowl under a bed cushion.

An icy draft blasted her bare shoulders.

Skatha jerked the sheets to her chin and curled her fingers into a fist when she felt the mattress dip.

He smelled of forest, leather, and ale.

She couldn’t breathe, her whole body as stiff and unyielding as a cold slab of marble. Skatha squeezed her eyelids shut. Was he looking at her? She tried to relax her facial muscles, to attain the serene expression that had served her well with visitors to the abbey.

The straw sighed under his weight.

She slid sideways and grabbed the linens to remain in place.

His hand, warm and rough, cradled one cheek. “Look to me, wife.”

Touch him oft. Caress his sword of penetration and ’twill be over in a thrice.
Had she the courage to follow Lady Gráinne’s astonishing advice? Aye. Naught would stop her. Too much had been stolen from her. ’Twas time to take back.

She turned her head in the direction of his voice, opened her eyes, and laid her palm on his flesh. Hard. He was so hard. No give to his skin. And hot. ’Twas like touching a boulder that had been lying under a blazing sun.

He stilled.

She whisked away her hand feeling like she had been burned.

“Nay.” He captured her wrist, pressed his mouth to the vein throbbing on the underside, and licked the spot.

With his tongue.

Too stunned to react at first, Skatha tried to wrest from his grasp when he nipped the heel of her palm.

He kissed the top of her breast.

She gasped.

His mouth covered hers and his tongue plunged inside.

What madness this?

He stroked her teeth, touched the tip of her tongue with his, and then suckled.

A heated, prickling sensation gripped her insides. Of their own accord, her toes curled, and her fingers dug into his arms. He moved to cover her completely and nudged her legs apart with first one knee, then the other.

His breath came hard and harsh, the hot exhales swooshing over her ear and feathering her cheek. Skatha felt as if she had drunk too much mead; she was fevered, dizzy, and impatient. Though for what she knew not.

He settled between her legs, and she stiffened when his sword pressed down on her belly. Long, rigid, and throbbing. He moved side to side and his manhood slipped easily in the lard she’d swabbed over her woman’s flesh.

“Odin’s balls,” he muttered. “You are slick and ready.”

She opened her mouth to tell him about the grease, but he rose off her slightly, clutched her haunches, and drove into her in one powerful plunge. The impalement staked her immobile. She daren’t move for fear of being ripped apart. Pain lanced her innards, his sword too large, too thick to contain. She hammered his chest with her fists. “Out.”

“Hush.” He claimed her lips again, sliding his tongue in and out of her mouth, sipping the corners, tugging her lower lip between his teeth. The fervent, rapid caresses distracted and confused her. She dug her heels into the mattress, but that only sank him deeper inside. Surely she’d choke on him; he filled her to her throat.

Then he drew back, and she heaved a relieved sigh. But just as his sword nigh cleared her sheath’s opening, he shoved back in. Skatha gritted her teeth. Did he mean to torture her with the promise of leaving? In and out, like a hammer driving a nail, save she was no nail, and her sore passage was on fire. He moved faster. She clung to his forearm, and his muscles bunched beneath her hands. He shuddered and roared.

A cheer broke out.

She had forgotten about the witnesses. Humiliation slathered heat across her face and throat. Had it not been for his weight upon her she would’ve pulled the linens up over her head. Would they tear back the bed curtains now? Display her naked form to all his warriors?

He muttered something she couldn’t decipher and removed himself from within her. She couldn’t prevent a low groan of relief. ’Twas over and done with, thank the merciful lord.

When he shifted to one side and then hauled her into his embrace, she tensed. Lady Gráinne had said ’twould only happen the once. He lumbered off the bed, and she cringed, listening and waiting. After a few moments, Skatha realized he was tearing the linens from the bed.

He laid her down gently on the mattress. Cold air swept into the cozy warmth the bed curtains had cordoned within. “There is the evidence of my wife’s purity. Out. All of you. Out. Now!”

Chapter Two

Skatha awoke groggy and disoriented.

Memories of the last sennight flooded her mind. Stolen from Sumbarten Abbey. Forced to wed a Viking. Forced to bed a Viking. She shuddered and then hugged herself under the linens. Had he not torn them off the bed last eve?

She remembered little after the consummation. She’d been too confused and terrified to do aught but lay still, listen, and wait. Wait for Lady Gráinne to tell her what to do next. She had a vague memory of Elspeth helping her off the bed and telling her the witnesses had departed and that they too must also leave. Then Lady Gráinne had settled her back on the mattress and told her to rest.

Skatha had believed slumber impossible, but she must have slept deeply, for birds chirped an early morning chorus and roosters crowed. She lifted her chin above the bed furs, wrinkled her nose at the chill in the air, and absorbed the disparate noises reaching her ears. Muffled sounds of metal clanging, pigs squealing, low mooing, and above those, women singing in Norse.

A grin chased her lips. When God had taken her sight, he had gifted her with a talent for mimicking and learning new tongues with little or no effort. Many Norse traders visited Sumbarten, and she could converse with ease in the language, indeed in any language she had heard during the past nine summers. She knew naught what had prompted her to deceive the Viking and pretend she did not understand Norse. But it had felt a victory of sorts, and Lady Gráinne had bid her continue the deception.

Lady Gráinne. The abbey. Her smile drooped.

In the space of but a few days, the life she’d known had been destroyed. She had been raised at Sumbarten Abbey, soothed and cradled in the safety of ritualistic living, called to each regimented activity by the clang of bells. Only the events of Christ’s life changed their routine, with the celebration of his birth, death, and ascent into heaven dividing each year. But even in that there was a comforting pattern. Always she had known what to expect.

No more.

What if he was still in the chamber, watching her, waiting?

Skatha had been so focused on discerning what was happening outside the lodge that she hadn’t considered
he
could still be in the room.

She listened.

Heard nothing but the slight whistle of air when she inhaled.

Smelled only the smoky aroma of a dying fire.

She swallowed, trying to get the sour taste of fear out of her mouth.

Always she had been surrounded by those who loved and cared for her.

No more.

Long ago she’d learned to measure the passage of time by counting. It calmed her mind and gave her the control she lacked by being unable to see what was happening. It had been many summers since she’d wailed and cried and bemoaned fate for taking away the gift of sight. She had accepted her flaw many moons ago, yet this morning, this moment, she wanted to howl and hit and throw rocks and scream
why?
Why her? What had she done to make God angry? Why had he dimmed her vision?

How she hated being a weak female. ’Twas horrible to listen to the priests and bishops spout sermon after sermon on women’s inherent sins. To be born female, according to the learned monks, was a penance. That a woman was also cursed with blindness meant she was the spawn of the devil, or in her case, of an unholy union between the king and the jötunn goddess, Skaði.

A gust preceded the sound of the door opening.

“Skatha. Wake child.”

Lady Gráinne.

Skatha pushed up from the mattress. “He is gone?”

“Aye. The men are hunting. A ship arrived this morn and the warriors hastened to the village and the harbor. There is to be a feast this eve to celebrate your vow saying. There is much to be done. This day you make your mark as mistress of this holding.”

“A feast? This eve?” She scrambled off the bed. When the icy air hit her flesh she remembered her unclothed state. “Where is my habit?”

“Your husband has made it plain you are never to wear your habit again. Pull the sheets around you, Skatha. The men are bringing the dowry provided by your husband’s brother, Lord Konáll.”

She fumbled with the bed linens. “I fear I do not understand. Why would this lord provide me with a dowry?”

“His reasons are of no import, Skatha. We have no time to question or quarrel with fate. You are wed. You are now mistress here. Yet, none will accept you unless you make them. This eve, you must establish your authority and fine garments will speak to all of your new station.”

The words sat heavy and dank on her shoulders, snaked around her heart, and squeezed so hard her chest burned. She knew Lady Gráinne tried to prepare her, to make her accept this new life she had been thrust into. For years, the abbess had prepared the daughters of nobles she had raised for their marriage to barons and knights. Now, she sought to do the same for Skatha.

A cool draft chilled her neck when Lady Gráinne opened the bed curtains. She sat on the mattress and gathered Skatha into a tight embrace. “’Tis a relief to hear you speaking with spirit. Let me look at you, child.”

Skatha drew back.

“No bruises. Nary a mark on your face. And elsewhere?”

“I am sore, but ’tis only to be expected. I have many questions, my lady.”

“Stay them until the men have come and gone.”

“He can set me aside once he knows of my blindness.” She knew that a husband could reject a bride who was not whole. “Will the abbey accept a female who is no longer pure?”

“Chase any dreams of returning to Sumbarten from your mind. If what your Viking says is truth, then emperors and kings have ordered this alliance. Accept your fate. ’Twill only cause you grievous pain should you not.”

“But he can set me aside.” She had been clinging to the hope the minute she spoke the words.

“Aye, he can. But only if he negotiates such with an emperor and a king. Howbeit, we will ensure he does not.”

“How?”

“Consider, Skatha. You have been charged with the abbey’s running for three summers. The planting, the food, the weaving, the harvest. All this you have done for three summers. Your husband’s holding is not half the size of Sumbarten. You will make yourself priceless to him. In all ways.”

“I know Sumbarten. Every hall, every room, every chamber pot.”

“And you will know this holding in the same way. You have us for the winter-fyllep. We will be your eyes and your allies. Come, child. We must plan your every move this day and all the coming days.”

“Lady Gráinne, we are here.”

Skatha hadn’t even heard the door open, far less Muíríne’s entry into the chamber.

“The men are coming,” Elspeth called.

“Stay here. I will draw the bed drapes.” Lady Gráinne squeezed Skatha’s shoulder and gave her a little push. Skatha clambered back into the middle of the mattress and clutched the sheets tightly around her.

The swish of the curtains being pulled preceded the bang of the door opening. She waited. The tips of her ears tingled, and after a while she picked out three male voices before booted footsteps pounded the wooden floor.

Lady Gráinne rapped out orders to the men who entered the room.

Elspeth, Muíríne, and Dagrún conversed amid much noise before a brief silence settled. Moments later the door closed with a thud.

Skatha lifted her chin and listened, but heard naught.

“They are well and truly gone my lady and have turned to the path up the hill to the stables.”

“My thanks for telling me what my eyes can plainly see, Elspeth.”

Skatha grinned at the irritation in Lady Gráinne’s curt remark.

“Dagrún, Muíríne, see to the fire and heat a pail of water. Elspeth, open those bed drapes and assist Skatha.” Lady Gráinne’s brisk tone spoke of a day filled running from one chore to another.

After crawling to the edge of the bed, Skatha fumbled with the curtains, and her hand bumped into another’s.

“There you are. Let me see you, Skatha.” Elspeth caught her fingers. “You are well. No bruising.”

“’Tis custom to be bruised after…” Skatha hesitated then said, “mating?”

“I have heard tell of such when I fostered in Mercia.” She helped Skatha off the mattress. “Can you walk?”

“My legs took little part in the act.” Skatha grinned. “Forsooth his had the work of it.”

“Skatha, curb your wicked humor. Muíríne, can you find a serviceable gown for Skatha in that chest? And Elspeth do not fill Skatha’s head with gossip. She needs not tales of bruises.”

Yet, that had been the first remark from Lady Gráinne earlier. But ’twas over and she had survived. Mayhap ’twould be best to heed the abbess’s advice and accept her fate.

Muíríne’s squeal jostled Skatha out of her musings. “What? Have you seen a spider?”

Muíríne had a rabid fear of the creatures, while Skatha much relished the feel of their spindly legs on her arms, even after losing her sight. She had oft slipped one onto Muíríne’s pallet and then laughed till tears fell at her friend’s furious screeches and yelps.