Malice Striker by Jianne Carlo Read Free Book Online Page A

listened to the voice of the woman rumored to occupy the jarl’s chamber in the longhouse. Whilst she yearned to disappear into the hard back of the chair, Skatha instead straightened her spine and lifted her chin.
    Lady Hilda continued, “Lord Brökk reminded me that I was remiss last eve, abbess, and did not assign you and your wards the requisite lodging due your station.”
    Skatha’s stomach curdled. She dug her nails into her palms. Lady Hilda had not the voice of an elderly maiden aunt—nay—more that of a seductress. She squared her shoulders. All her life she had cowered afore strangers like a trembling mouse. If Bita Veðr was to be her home, she would make it hers, make her dictates rule.
    “Lord Brökk has given oe’er a crofter’s hut for your use and assigned guards to accompany you during your stay at Bita Veðr. After the meal, the guards will escort you there.” The triumph in Lady Hilda’s tone could not be mistaken, and her booming declaration silenced the hall once again.
    When had they become captives? Why? Had they not done all asked of them?
    Why had he separated her from the others?
    How was she to navigate her way around the holding?
    “Wine, mead, or ale, wife?” He draped an arm around her shoulder.
    She yearned to shake off his embrace and empty a pitcher of ale over his head. “We prepared hot cider with spices, my lord. ’Tis most pleasant to the palate.”
    “’Tis a drink for babes. This eve we feast. Again I ask, wine, mead, or ale?”
    Forsooth he was a stubborn warrior, a man after all, and the worse for it. “Wine, my lord.”
    “Brökk. I would have you address me by my name when we are privy.”
    Lout! Fool! Harbinger of misfortune! ’Tis the manner she wanted to address him. How dare he? Separate her from the only solaces she knew—Lady Gráinne, Elspeth, Muíríne, and Dagrún? Flaunt his mistress, Hilda, to her, to the entire hall? Whilst suckling her palm?
    Skatha chewed the insides of her cheeks, seeking a calm long vanished. Elspeth had described the Lady Hilda to Skatha. Tall, stout, breasts the size of large gourds, hair the color of ripe wheat, and eyes so deep a blue as to rival the color of a fjord. She flexed her fingers in a futile attempt at squelching the longing to scratch the woman’s fine eyes out of her sockets.
    Nay! She was not jealous. She did not envy Hilda. Nay. Nay.
    ’Twas impossible. She had known Lord Brökk less than a sennight. Nay. She could not care for him. But, he…he had been inside of her.
    “I traded dearly for this wine, wife. Sip. Tell me of the taste.”
    The cold glass touched her lips; Skatha had no choice but to swallow the liquid. ’Twas pleasant, sweet, and fruity, but she knew of her frailties. “I have not the head for wine, my lord. I am prone to giggling and worse.”
    He was silent for a long moment, and Skatha wondered if she had erred by being honest. Her insides rioted and her belly clenched as if she’d swallowed poison. She was so tired, so empty, so lost in surrender.
    She must be brave. Muster her courage. Do not give in.
    How was she to survive when Lady Gráinne and her friends departed? Nay, nay, she would not consider the future, only this day, this eve. For if she pondered an entire lifetime spent hiding her blindness, she would become crazed.
    ’Twould be as it was when the darkness had descended, one terrifying day after another, until the terror became the norm, until the panic abated, and all that was left was the numbness. All her life she had coped, dealt with one situation after another. Made the impossible happen. She would do so again.
    “We will save the wine, then, wife, for when we are privy in our chamber.”
     
    * * *
     
     
    Could any female be so innocent? She blushed hot and furiously throughout the náttverðr. Flinched and stilled if he so much as grasped her hand, yet when he caressed the curve of her shoulders bared by the courtly gown she wore, her flesh warmed beneath his