Vengeance Hammer (Viking Vengeance) (6 page)

He was a Viking, a warrior, a man of honor, and, by Freya, he would wait until Xára signaled her readiness before taking her again. Yet, he could not wile away this chance to teach his bride the sheer ecstasy to be found ’tween a man and a woman.

All at once, he grinned. Aye, he could not breach her tender sheath until she healed, but there was more than one way to pleasure a new wife.

He trailed his hand slowly across her stomach and met her dreamy stare. “Like you the kissing?”

She smiled on a deep sigh, dipped her chin in a yes answer, and smoothed a thumb over his mouth.

“Will you give me your trust once more?” He couldn’t draw in a breath; he wanted, nay, needed, her assent.

Her eyes widened, she swallowed her lips, and peeped down at the space ‘tween their bodies. The swollen head of his cock twitched around a fold in the bed covers.

“Nay. I will not assault your tender puss.” He lifted her chin and winked. “But kissing feels good all over.”

Twin curly fringes of dark lashes fluttered. A pink tint rioted over her throat and face.

He waggled his brows and said, “I will show you. Close your eyes for me again, sváss. I will tell you when to open them.”

For a moment he expected her to revolt, to bound off the mattress, and flee. Instead her blush deepened into a dusky wash of color that had his pecker throbbing. She blinked and then lowered her lids.

Dráddør strangled a victorious howl. He didn’t want to startle her and shifted slowly so they laid side-by-side on the mattress, but left the blanket in place draped over her shoulder and hanging ‘tween them.

“Your skin is soft,” he whispered, and trailed kisses over the plane of her cheekbone. “And you taste like nectar.”

Nectar, nay, Valhalla, the paradisiacal reward all warriors sought. He could not get enough, and dipped into the moist recesses, licked along the smooth evenness of her small teeth, tangled their tongues together, and suckled until she was tempted into play. She grew bolder and imitated his actions.

When he eased his hand under the cover and cupped her breast, she held still. He nipped the tip of her tongue and sipped at her lower lip.

She grasped his shoulder, squirmed closer, and thrust into his mouth.

Dráddør traced the circumference of her sweet titty, set his thumb to the nipple, and rolled her flesh gently.

Her fingers tangled in his loose hair and she pressed him to her, and tentatively licked the corners of his lips.

Changing the angle of their fused mouths, he allowed his spiraling desire free reign, and ate at her like a man denied sustenance for an eternity. Greed attacked the last thin threads of his discipline. He threw the covers off and nibbled his way down the long line of her slender throat. He paused to savor the throbbing pulse in the center of her graceful collarbone.

Dráddør inhaled to absorb the thickening fragrance of her growing arousal and groaned when he latched onto the puckered tip of one breast. Gluttony drove him, he could not get enough of her, he moved from one taut bud to the other, dragging hot, wet kisses ’tween the wonderful valley and the swollen pink nipples.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her fingers into his scalp, her silent urging and furious writhing inciting him beyond reason. Desperation funneled him to one goal, one end, and he wanted naught more than to taste her cream. He rolled them over so she lay on her back and then he slid down her body. Holding her thighs apart, he buried his nose in her damp curls, and breathed in the honeyed spice of her puss.

He drew back and feasted on the evidence of her need. Her folds were plump, slick, and shiny, the curved lips a deep rose. Fervent as a pilgrim, he traced the outline of her sex with his tongue and growled when her sheath clenched. Settling on his elbows, he nudged until she was fully open to him, the beauty and wonder of her spread for his carnal indulgence.

She arched and lifted her hips in a mute plea that freed the hedonistic berserker in him. He inserted a finger into her tightening channel, pulled back the hood guarding her reddened pleasure nub, and grazed his teeth over the sensitive flesh.

Her thighs fastened around his head and he gorged on her, swived her with his finger, lapped and nipped remorselessly, until her muscles clamped around him, and she bowed off the bed and keened.

At first the slight, strangled sound didn’t penetrate the desire fogging his mind. Then it did. Not wanting to jerk her out of her ecstasy, he forced himself to withdraw his face in slow increments from her quivering puss.

In the quiet of the room, he heard the last trails of the weak noise coming from her throat. She had a white-knuckled grip on the scattered bed linens and dropped her head to one side, eyes closed, lips parted.

Dráddør realized Xára had been so lost in rapture she was not aware of her faint mewls. She was capable of sound. Mayhap of speech.

Hope thundered a tattoo against his ribs.

* * *

Something tickled the tip of Xára’s nostrils. She snuggled away the irritation by wrinkling her upper lip. Another tickle. She knuckled the spot. When the itch persisted, she blinked, and peered from under hooded lids. A swirl of curly hair the hue of a deep, golden sunset came into focus, then her fingers resting near a dark flat-tipped nipple, and, when her blurred vision cleared, a massive, sinewy arm.

Reality crashed away the remnants of her sleep-fuzziness.

The Viking. The consummation.

Kissing.

His mouth on her breasts. His head between her thighs.

An inferno swept from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. She jerked upright.

Stared at the lazy half-smile dimpling Dráddør’s bronzed cheeks.

Had it all happened?

A thunderstorm of epic proportions burst around her.

The amused expression on Dráddør’s face vanished. He picked her up and set her to one side. “Stay.”

She rubbed her eyes.

“Dráddør!”

The pounding came from the barred door. She recognized the voice as that of Earl Tighe. What was wrong?

“Dráddør!” Tighe shouted and hammered on the door. “The wind has picked up.”

The Viking bounded off the bed. “I will be but a moment.”

Bemused she followed the bunching of his arse cheeks as he walked.

After removing the bar, he opened the door a crack. “How close?”

“Before the midday,” Tighe answered.

Had the warriors taken leave of their senses?

“’Tis more of a reprieve than I had hoped for. Await me.” The door thudded shut.

Xára must have looked as bewildered as she felt for he said, “Yester eve, we spied two ships on the horizon. They were becalmed. The wind has returned.”

Néill and Godfraid? So soon? Stunned, she leaned on one hand and followed him as he gathered weapons, boots, and garments swiftly and efficiently.

“Know you the state of the castle’s food stores?” He shrugged on his tunic. “Yay or nay, Xára. Quickly, we have little time.”

Food? He feared a siege?

She waved her hands in an I-do-not-know gesture.

“Find out. Also the state of the wells, fresh springs, all sources of water. Do you understand?” He strapped on his sword belt.

Her stare was glued to his mouth and she kept nodding repeatedly.

“Are there secret passages in the cliffs? Does Néill know of them?” He laced his boots and strapped a dagger to each calf.

While he had been engrossed in dressing and arming himself, Xára had recovered enough to begin donning her own garments. Garbed in the torn chemise, she collected her garters, stockings, and cyrtel.

“Xára, come to me. Write.” His sharp tone focused her scattered wits.

She hurried to him and traced,
Aye
.
Many
.
Néill knows. Liam knows.

He gave her a brusque nod. “Aside from Liam, who has knowledge of the castle’s defenses?”

She did. Jennie. Her throat worked and she clenched her fists. So did Magnhildur. But it mattered not this morn. Magnhildur was long gone from Caithness.

Dráddør opened the door, nodded to Tighe, and glanced over his shoulder at Xára who shook her head.

“The ships will be in the bay soon.” Tighe handed Dráddør a crossbow. “I have fires lit on the battlements and oil cauldrons are a-boiling. I sent out spies before the vow saying. A large force approaches from the East.”

Alarm coursed through her. Two forces, one from the sea, and one from land?

“We have no time to loiter.” He turned back to her. “Xára, Egron is charged with your safety, that of the women and children, and the rest of the keep. Obey his commands. I take my leave of you now, wife.”

With those last words, Dráddør banged the door shut.

It took a few moments before her muddled thoughts cleared. There was much to be done. She knew naught of sieges or battles. Who could aid her? Jennie could, but she was on her deathbed.

Jennie. Had she survived the night?

Guilt assailed her. While she had been finding carnal pleasure Jennie lay dying in the room down the hallway. The image of Dráddør’s head 2tween her thighs and the memory of his tongue had her nipples tingling. Nay. She would set him out of her mind. ’Twas no time for fickle, wicked thoughts.

Xára finished dressing and ran to check on Jennie.

The healer, Lara, signaled Xára to be quiet and pointed to the sleeping form in the bed.

Jennie lived.

Xára locked out her wobbly knees.

“She slept fitfully, my lady. When she wakes, I will see if she will sip some honeyed herb tea. If she can keep that down, we have a chance. I have ne’er seen anyone survive this long after such a powerful belladonna dose. Have no fear, I will send for you immediately the moment her eyes open.”

Arnfinn had banned Lara from the castle after Evie’s birth, but her skills had been much in demand in this remote land, and mercifully for Jennie, the village on Myrtle Harbor had given her shelter.

“My thanks,” Xára mouthed and then hurried down to the kitchens.

She could not get over how gentle he had been with her. The tender consideration evident in the way he sought to reassure her about the consummation. Having lived most of her life in an abbey surrounded by women, Xára’s knowledge of men was limited to those she’d met since she’d returned home. Neither Néill, nor Arnfinn, had ever exhibited any sign of compassionate or moderate behavior. Dared she hope Dráddør’s kindness would continue? Or was his consideration a false front like Néill’s initial polite wooing of her?

To be cert, he had handled her with not a trace of roughness or impatience. Recalling the bruises left on her breasts and neck from Néill’s mauling, she shuddered, and hugged her arms.

Where were Evie and Ulna?

Both Néill and Godfraid coveted Xára, but Evie was an even bigger prize for the two power hungry warlords, once they had learned the truth of her sister’s birth. First, she must needs assess the situation. Then, if ’twas disastrous, she would send Evie to the safety of the secret passage known only to those shown by Gná, the messenger of both Norse and Celtic gods and goddesses. Magnhildur’s prediction would not come to pass. Even if it meant her death, Xára would never allow Godfraid to take Evie’s maidenhood.

She found the two females in the far corner of the kitchen near the doorway leading to the herb gardens. Resolving to be calm and not allow any concern to show, Xára greeted the cook and butcher with a smile, and threaded her way through the dozen women, girls, and young boys milling about the roomy chamber.

Evie squealed when she spied Xára and bounded off the bench, spilling her bowl of fruit. The little girl squatted, scrambled a handful of berries into her stained skirts, bunched the hem, and then straightened. She skipped across the chamber all the while popping fruit into her blue-stained mouth.

“You are the Viking’s wife now, nay?” Evie beamed a wide smile up at Xára. She hopped from one foot to the other. “Will you have a bairn now?”

Xára tousled her sister’s silver-streaked hair. The girl was obsessed with bairns and had long yearned for a wee sister or brother.

“Dinna be bothering yer sister with all sorts of foolish questions.” Ulna waddled to stand behind Evie. She cocked her head and asked, “And was the doing as bad as ye thought ’twould be?”

Xára met her old nurse’s concerned gaze and shook her head.

“The brute treated ye with care?”

Aye,
she mouthed.
Great care.

Ulna harrumphed. “’Tis no way to take a well-born maid. With all those Norse heathens watching ye. Ye hold yer head high, my lady. We are all proud of ye.”

Xára grinned and hugged Ulna’s copious girth. The woman stood two heads shorter and mayhap three arses wider than Xára, but yet moved nimbly when necessary.

She signaled for Evie and Ulna to follow her and strode to the narrow hallway leading to the north tower. Picking up her pace, she darted into the room used to dry herbs and grind spices. Going directly to a bowl within which lay several pieces of charcoal, she picked one, and went to the whitewashed table in the corner.
Magnhildur?

Evie read her question to Ulna who had never been able to acquire the skill.

“None has seen her ugly hide. She be a-brewing her mischief in the isles near Touft Abbey according to the gossip in the stables last eve.” Ulna jammed pudgy hands onto ample hips. She tapped her foot and waited.

“Galdan the Tracker spoke her name yester eve.” Evie piped up.

Xára frowned, then scribbled.

“Who did he speak with? I do not know the man, but Galdan called him my lord. He did not look like a lord. His tunic was stained and had holes, and he spoke in a strange manner,” Evie replied. But the girl’s gaze skipped all around the chamber, a certain sign of guilt.

Where were you?

“Be that what ye were doing in the middle of the night?” Ulna grasped Evie’s arm and gave her a sound shake. “Where did ye go to?”

Evie jerked out of the nurse’s hold. “I cannot sleep when you snore the walls off the keep. I went to the stables.”

Xára sighed. The stables were built into a cliff and contained a hidden passage large enough to transport the horses to the safety of a field in case of invasion.