Death Blow (11 page)

He shrugged. “Indeed. Any who know the holding well and can pinpoint weaknesses are welcome. I am troubled though as to how to include Mús in the planning. You and I can hear him when he speaks, but will any other?”

Nyssa shook her head. “Nay. And most see him with his blue coat. They think of naught but Sleipnir and are terrified, then panic and flee.”

“I believed my eyes had deceived me when I first saw him.” Konáll sat up taking her with him. “His fur is blue, then?”

“Only when his ire is high. Though lately I believe he can now change the color at whim. I worry, Konáll. When Aegir first transformed him, he remained a man in beast form. Since he found me on the beach I have discovered he is now more a beast who can barely recall being a man.” She met his gaze. “I know not how to break Aegir’s spell.”

He would not add to her worry by telling her of Mús’s craving for mortal blood. “Know you how Aegir cast the spell? His exact wording?”

“Nay. It happened after Mús and I were separated when the Saracen took me captive. I only know what Mús has told me this past sennight.”

“Sennight?” He brushed his lips to hers, stood, and stretched bowing his back.

“Aye. It has been but a sennight since I left the sirens’ isle.” She threw off the sheet when he snatched his breeches from the floor. “Forsooth, if Mús had not found me after I was thrown overboard, I doubt we would be here speaking.”

Konáll froze. “You were thrown overboard?”

“Aye.” She met his stare. “As were you. And we both washed up on
Iomlaid
.”

“Iomlaid? ’Tis a Gaelic term I know not.” He pulled on his trousers.

“The cove where I found you is called Change Cove for it changes appearance with each storm that passes.” He handed her the cyrtel and grimaced at the torn chemise. “I will have Grelod’s ladies sew you another.”

She cocked her head. “Ah, now I understand why my wedding gown fits so well. Grelod’s ladies. And to think you had me believing you had magikally engineered the all of it.”

“I am no sorcerer, but I can work magik on your sweet puss.” He winked. “Have you and Grelod declared peace?”

Her face took on the bland expression he so disliked.

“What plan have you in mind for retaking Castle Caerleah?”

Konáll worked his jaw at her barked query. “None at this time. I would first know the layout of the holding, the number of Picts within, and the one who now leads them.”

She tugged on the gown, stood, and turned her back to him. “Will you do the laces? I cannot see how you will know who has taken Bagan One-Eye’s place.”

“Thōrfin dispatched spies to the castle two days ago. We are to meet with them this eve.” He set to the task and tied the leather strings into a bow.

“Two days? How so?” She whipped around and faced him, arms akimbo. “I found you not four days ago.”

“Olaf the Longface arrived with orders from King Harald for Thōrfin and Grelod to witness our marriage the morn I left Thōrfin’s holding for Castle Caerleah. Thōrfin sent a messenger ahead to let your Da know of his arrival. The messenger reported the Picts invasion and Thōrfin, not knowing if I had been taken prisoner or not, sent spies to determine the situation.”

“Thōrfin did not know my uncle now holds the keep?”

“Nay.” He scrubbed the bristles on his jaw. “I did not know and I had taken great pains to find out about both the castle and you.”

She blinked. “You had?”

He liked surprising her. “Aye. I fair questioned Eldar the Learned dry. How think you I knew a mare would be the perfect bride gift? What I do not understand, however, is why Eldar thought you petite and plump.”

Twin slashes of red stained her cheeks. “I was short and prone to roundness as a girl. When I gained my third and tenth summer, I sprouted to this height.”

“And glad I am of that. For ’tis prevents a sore neck should I wish to kiss you senseless.” He grinned when her lashes fluttered wildly and matched actions to words by hauling her into his embrace and kissing her greedily.

Konáll couldn’t prevent his grin at her glazed eyes and swollen berry lips when he finally broke their embrace. He chucked her chin. “Would that we had the time to enjoy another loving, but Thōrfin and Dráddør will be drumming their heels with impatience. I will order Pálli to bring your elders to the command tent.”

“What of Mús?” She sat to lace her shoes.

“I cannot find a way to include him in the planning without revealing he is your half brother, and he was adamant that no one else aside from you and I know his identity. Know you why he wants this?” Konáll donned his boots.

“Aye. The only reason Ánáton has not petitioned King Kenneth for the title, Earl of Moray, is because he fears Ciárrán. If Ánáton knew of Ciárrán’s transformation, he would claim the title immediately.” She gathered the gray cloak Konáll had gifted her earlier.

“Does not Ánáton suspect somewhat is amiss? Would your half brother not have returned to the castle after escorting you to the sirens?” Konáll knotted the cloak at the base of her throat and smoothed the fabric into place.

“At every port on our journey to the sirens, I told any who would listen Ciárrán had returned to the Jomsvikings. I sent missives to King Kenneth and Ánáton declaring such.”

“’Tis a good strategy and will buy some time for Ciárrán. Albeit if I were Ánáton, I would strike during your brother’s absence and seize the title. I wonder why he has not done so?” Konáll absently tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“The seat of the title is Bufflach Castle located on the mainland near the foothills of the highlands. ’Tis a formidable fortress and nigh easy to take. Half of Da’s warriors reside there year-round. Half live at Caerleah, or lived.” She frowned and worried one of the embroidered axes rimming the neck of his tunic.

“What causes your frown?” He thumbed the creases on her forehead.

“The warriors Rán cast in healing stones. Where are they now? What are they now? Some days when I think on all that has happened I wonder if I have lost my mind or if I am trapped in dreaming. I cannot reconcile Church and goddesses. I lived all my life believing I was one thing and now I am another.”

The forlorn despair in her eyes battered his heart. He hugged her tight to him, patted her spine, and drew back to meet her gaze. “Ah, mit hiärta, I hear your pain and wish there were aught I could do to ease your mind. Albeit I can tell you that I am well pleased with my half-goddess wife and would not trade her for all the coin in the realm.”

Her beautiful gray eyes glimmered and a tear dripped down her cheek. “I am not worthy of you, Konáll.”

“Nay, ’tis I who am not worthy of you. But I can restore your castle and set your holding to rights and will do so forthwith. Come, let us seek out Thōrfin and Dráddør.” He curled an arm around her waist and escorted her out of the tent.

The storm had tossed debris every which way. Mud spattered the tents, branches littered the ground, and a thick carpet of leaves coated the surface of the Taigh-Grùide river. A briny breeze carried the aromas of the evening meal being prepared, roasted venison and charred fish infused with a hint of rosemary.

Konáll paused when he encountered Pálli and ordered him to bring Castle Caerleah’s elderly to the command tent. When they rounded a bend in the river, he spied Thōrfin and Dráddør huddled in conversation under a spreading oak.

“Konáll.” Nyssa tugged his arm. “Do my eyes deceive me?”

“What?” He twisted to look in the direction she faced.

Beyond the line of trees obviously planted to break the fierce coastal winds, lay a long narrow meadow of tall grass. Advancing across the flat terrain was what looked to be a legion of warriors.

Nyssa shaded her eyes. “They wear our colors. Mother mercy. I see Da’s captain, Bryce.”

Seeing she was about to race to the man, Konáll clamped his hands on her shoulders. “Stay wife. Was Bryce one of those in the healing stones?”

Chapter Nine

Nyssa surveyed the command tent’s occupants and fought the urge to pinch herself each time her glance fell upon Bryce, her Da’s captain—nay—now Ciárrán’s captain. Her half brother would be so relieved to know his soldiers had all survived and Rán’s healing stones had worked.

Where was Ciárrán?

Nay, Mús. She must remember not to call him by his real name.

Would he appear afore they went into battle? ’Twas not like Mús to vanish without a word to her. Not since he found her washed up in Iomlaid cove. Until Aegir’s curse there had been no secrets ’tween the two of them. Now she scarce knew her half brother.

While she could not be cert, Nyssa suspected Mús had visited Rán in
Vanaheimr
, the home of the Vanir gods and goddesses. How else would he know of the healing stones Rán cast o’er Bryce and the rest of the warriors? Had Mús helped to free the men?

For nary a man, Bryce included, could remember aught after Bagan One-Eye, his seven brothers, and their armies invaded Castle Caerleah. According to Bryce, one moment he led his men in a pitched battle in the inner bailey, and the next they awoke in a barley field in the middle of the isle.

Dermid had found Bryce and the rest of the warriors when he stole out of the camp to collect malt from the central malthouse on the isle. Dermid was famed throughout the highlands for the fiery spirit or
burn-teine
he brewed from the Taigh-Grùide. Nyssa should have expected that the elderly man would seek to brew a batch of burn-teine situated as they were so close to the river.

She twiddled her thumbs and swung her feet.

Thōrfin, Dráddør, Konáll, Bryce, and Dermid were gathered around the sketch of Castle Caerleah etched in the sand in the middle of the tent.

Konáll, once again, reiterated the plan to take the keep.

She had heard him outline the attack at least half a dozen times since yester eve. Anxious to begin the journey to the castle for they planned to invade the keep just before dawn, Nyssa waited for Konáll to finish speaking and then asked, “What if Ánáton has discovered the tunnels in the cliffs?”

“’Tis the reason we divide the attack party in two. One will take the tunnel, and one will be let into the keep by Thōrfin’s spies.” Konáll fingered the hilt of his axe.

“I will go with the tunnel party then, for none know the ins and outs of those passageways like me.” Or Mús. The two of them had played in the maze of carved secret paths as children.

“You will not be part of any force, wife,” Konáll barked. “You will remain here with Grelod and her ladies and a contingent of warriors.”

She bounded to her feet and jammed her palms into her hipbones, legs spread wide. “’Tis
my
keep. I have not trained long and hard with my sword to sit in a tent while others battle for
my
castle.”

“You are my wife and you will do as
I
command.”

Nyssa snorted. “I will fight for
my
people’s freedom.”

He jumped the arm’s length separating them, bent so low their noses nigh bumped, and said, his voice low, “You will stay here if I have to tie you to stakes again.”

Narrowing her eyes, she leaned back and muttered, “You said
we
would retake the keep.”

“We will. I will secure the castle and then you can set it to rights.”

“You are twisting words to suit your intentions. You are a Viking, a man who lives by his word. You said
we
would retake the keep.” He could nay mean to deprive her of what she had lived for all these long sennights.

“I am sworn to keep you safe and that does not mean allowing you to fight in battle.” Konáll’s nostrils quivered.

Nyssa had no doubt her husband would do as he threatened. She chewed the inside of her cheek and counted to ten. “The tunnels are a veritable maze.”

“I know the tunnels well milady.” Bryce straightened from his crouched position. “As do Dermid, Lachie, Islay, and Osgar. We have no need of you in the coming battle.”

Aye. She was not needed. Konáll would make her stay behind. Sourness coated her tongue.

Konáll gripped her arm and pulled her to one side. “Do not make me stake you again, wife. I would have your word you will obey my command.”

“Let me ride with you. I will stay at the base of the cliffs.” She prayed he would allow her this boon.

“Nay. I want you nowhere near the battle. Dráddør, step out and call Pálli and the guards.” Konáll crossed his arms while his brother exited the tent.

Rage built inside her, she fisted her hands, searched his features for any sign of yielding to her request, and saw none.

“Do not do this, Viking.” She flexed her fingers. “I warn you, you will live to regret this.”

“Nay, wife. I will ne’er regret keeping you safe.”

Pálli and Dráddør stepped through the tent’s entrance.

“Escort my wife to Grelod’s tent. Inform the queen that I leave the Lady Nyssa’s safety in her hands and beg her to ensure the Lady Nyssa is ne’er out of her sight.”

There was naught she could do but pretend to comply with Konáll’s decree and paint a pleasant smile on her face to hide the snarl she barely managed to choke down.

Nyssa fought to keep her temper in check.

She seethed during the walk to the cliff top.

Halted in front of the tent and gave Pálli a nod. “I thank you for your escort, Pálli and bid you good eve.”

“Good eve milady.” Pálli and his men retreated to the cover of the oak tree.

Nyssa found Grelod and her ladies mending tunics and sipping wine.

“Will you join us, Nyssa?” Grelod inclined her head to an empty chair.

“I beg your leave, my lady. I am bone weary and would seek a pallet for the night.” Nyssa yawned and cupped a hand o’er her mouth.

Grelod pursed her lips and stared at Nyssa. “By all means. ’Tis late and we will have much to do on the morrow. Thōrfin’s spies speak of a keep in need of a thorough scouring. ’Twould appear your uncle, aunt, and cousins live as swine. Prepare a pallet for the lady Nyssa and let us all seek our rest.”

The queen’s easy compliance rattled Nyssa’s nerves. She avoided meeting Grelod’s gaze, grabbed a blanket from an open trunk, and quickly settled down in the furthest corner of the tent.

She stared at the tent’s pale canvas roof and imagined a score different ways to pay back Konáll for reneging on his promise. Held her breath while the women bustled about, snuffed candles, and whispered their good nights. She lay still as a church mouse waiting for the resident cat to pounce.

First she had to get off the cliff top. Then steal hose, tunic, and sword for she could not go into battle in a cyrtel. Then make her way to the mare and flee afore any knew of her intentions.

’Twas full night when she deemed all in the tent, save her, to be in a sound slumber. Nyssa edged off the pallet and crawled on hands and knees not to the tent’s entrance, but to the opposite side. She used her eating knife to slice the fabric and poked her head out the opening.

Pálli and his men stood near the oak tree. The hanging oil lamps flooded light on the only path down the cliff.

She needed a diversion.

Grelod had banked the fire in the pit near the tent’s entrance, but the coals still glowed. ’Twould be a shame to destroy such a fine tent, but she could see no other way out. Mayhap they could douse the blaze afore it did too much damage.

An eerie silence dominated the tent. The rustle of her gown seemed like thunder in the quiet. She eyed the space ’tween the glowing logs and the tent’s entrance and prayed for the onset of a sudden storm to hide the sounds of her movements.

A loud cheer came from the camp. Then the hush was broken by the sounds of men marching and the clip clop of horses in motion. Nyssa sent a heartfelt thank you to the lord above.

Repressing a sigh and moving with haste and a nervous fumbling, Nyssa used her knife to flick a coal from the pit and roll it to the canvas. She blew softly on the glowing chunk of wood and fanned the tiny flames as they erupted.

The scent of fabric singeing filled the air. She scanned the darkness of the tent and stared at Grelod’s pallet. Not a single woman stirred.

When the plumes had the length of an arm, Nyssa shouted, “Fire! Fire!”

She ran to Grelod and shook her. “Wake up! We must get out!”

The queen sat up. “What is amiss?”

“Fire.” Nyssa pointed to the tent’s entrance. “We must get everyone out.”

A sudden breeze whooshed the flames into a blaze.

Grelod bounded to her feet. “Out! Out!”

The queen shook each woman on the way to the front of the tent.

Panic erupted.

Screams.

Smoke.

Women scrambled and rushed to the entrance.

Nyssa slipped through the back and waited until Pálli and his men ran to the tent before scrambling down the path. She reached the foot of the cliffs and used every bit of her jötunn strength and agility to sidle into Konáll’s tent. She doffed her gown, dug in Konáll’s trunk, and dressed hastily in one of his breeches and tunics. After retrieving his sword and two daggers, she stuck her head out of the tent.

Chaos had erupted in the camp.

Men ran this way and that. A bucket brigade had been organized. She glanced at the cliff top and blew out a relieved sigh when she glimpsed only a sparse line of flames.

Nyssa secured her weapons at her waist and sprinted along the river, praying none would heed her actions. Forsooth, the confusion in the camp meant none even glanced her way.

All the horses save the lone mare were gone.

She found reins hanging from a tree and was on the horse’s back and guiding her to the coast afore pandemonium erupted in the form of Pálli racing after her on foot. Nyssa urged the mare into a furious gallop and leaned into the stiff breeze whipping the pounding waves.

By her estimates, she would arrive at the entrance to the tunnels in less than an hourglass. The mare had a smooth, even gait, and they flew across the sand. Though the night air held the chill of late spring, perspiration peppered her forehead. She had not ridden for at least three winters, and her thighs quivered under the strain of keeping her seat in the saddle.

Heaving and panting when she reached at the foot of the cliffs leading to Castle Caerleah, Nyssa was energized and ebullient. She could hardly wait for the battle to begin. After dismounting, she tested the sword’s blade, striking and retreating until the weight of the finely carved steel became one with her hands clasped around the cold hilt.

’Twas as if she had never laid down her weapons. The long years at Circe Fearn Abbey spent weaponless dissolved as the sweet memories of her Da’s training surged in Nyssa’s mind. Mama had given her blessing when Nyssa had asked to be trained in swordplay. Now she wondered why a woman like Mama, raised to be the chatelaine of a castle, had agreed to let her only daughter take up arms. She shook off the maudlin thoughts threatening to steal her determination and prowled the cliffs’ perimeter.

It didn’t take her long to find the secret opening.

The cavern was hidden when the tide was high, but revealed when the waves receded by its high arch and narrow channel. The intertwining tunnels were hollow and echoed with the slightest sound. She paused at the first fork and listened. Naught but the shuffling of boots on the rock floor. The fight had not begun else the narrow channels would be resonant with noise. The paths carved into the precipice arched and twisted at harsh angles and led directly to the castle perched on the flat cliffs. Nyssa advanced through the narrow tunnels slowly, keeping her footsteps light, and pausing often to get her bearings. She kept her breathing shallow when the incline abruptly steepened.

By now Konáll, Dráddør, and Thōrfin would be at Castle Caerleah’s gates. She leaned on the cavern’s rough stone and closed her eyes to better picture the above ground approach the warriors would take. They would crawl through the bailey, up the twelve stone stairs, and storm through the castle’s double doors. Nyssa jerked away from the caves walls when the hum of booted feet meeting packed earth reverberated through the buried passageways.

Her Da had designed the underground path. The gradient approaching the master’s chamber was nigh vertical and required both strength and endurance and no small measure of scrambling to breech. The tunnel had been planned for a quick exit and not a surprise attack.

Afore she reached the point where she had to pull herself into the main bedroom, Nyssa heard the howls of warriors engaged in battle. Swords clanged, men shouted, shuffles, stomps, warrior roars, all thundered in her ears.

She took a deep breath to garner her strength.

Then she pulled herself up the tunnel.

She jammed the heavy wooden door built into the master chamber’s floor high and vaulted into the room. Came face to face with a Pict whose face was painted blue. She charged. Met him stroke for sword stroke. Relished the force of each blow. Parried and ducked. Sidled to the left, bent low, and with a two-handed swing, divested him of his weapon.

He reached for a dagger at his waist. Nyssa slapped him on the side of his head with the flat of her blade. Scarlet spewed in a wide arc. A few drops landed on her wrist. Battle lust caught ahold of her.

Nyssa fought hand-to-hand, cutting down one snarling enemy after another. She jumped into the main hall and paused to gain her direction.

“By Loki, I will tar your backside this eve, wife!”

There could be no mistaking Konáll’s bellow. She jumped to one side and flinched. Konáll bore down on her, teeth bared in a horrendous snarl, fury writ in the beet red color staining his throat and face.

Afore Nyssa could orient herself, she was swept into his arms, carried to one side, and dumped into an open trunk. The lid slammed down, and she was encased, ensnared, and entrapped.

She pummeled the metal with a fist.

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.