horse pranced impatiently. “Hie you to the hall, Malice Striker. Seek your goddess wife and be assured she is whole and safe. I will remain and investigate.”
Brökk needed no further urging. Blinded by a climbing fear, he whirled the stallion about and bolted for the hall and nigh howled in relief when he saw ’twas intact. He jumped off his mount afore the horse had planted its hooves and sprinted for the kitchens. For he knew at that moment Skatha would have defied him.
The cavernous room teemed with people, spit boys, maids, and older men peeling turnips. Two hulks in a corner hacked at a dismembered boar on a table. At yet another, young girls plucked feathers from a fowl. Nary a single female hostage deigned to inhabit the room.
“Where is my wife?” Brökk bellowed.
Silence fell like a series of heads being axed. All eyes spun to him, first the young girls, then the maids rolling dough, then the spit boys, and then the butchers.
Not a soul answered. Then one soot-faced youth piped, “They all left summat aback, Jarl.”
“Where to?” Brökk growled.
“Dunno, my lord, but your brother went that way.” The thin boy pointed to the stables.
Brökk stalked out of the kitchen.
The fickle wind had changed direction once again and in the distance, he saw the charcoal smoke of the cottage fire had thinned. He prayed Cardas and Raki had all under control. He rounded a bend and broke into a sprint, for Lady Gráinne and Konáll were standing in front of the stables. Both appeared to be ready to lash at each other, and their shouts could be heard even though the breeze gusted their voices away from him.
His heart nigh stopped beating when Lady Gráinne’s face paled whiter than a dove’s breast at something Konáll yelled. He pumped his legs and arms faster and screeched to a halt not ten paces from them. “Where is she?”
Lady Gráinne shuttered her eyes. She swayed slightly, and he knew sheer terror in that instant. “One of the horses appears to be missing.”
Brökk marched forward and grabbed the abbess by the arms. He shook her. “What has a missing horse to do with my wife?”
She opened her eyes and met his gaze full on. She said in a pleasant tone, a marked contrast to his thundered query, “Why, I believe she is riding the animal, Jarl.”
He dropped her arms. Stepped back. Strode forward, grasped her, and shook her again. “Are you mad, woman? She is blind!”
“Methinks your entire holding and perhaps the village below now knows that fact, Jarl.” Lady Gráinne wore an expression of pity and contempt.
“Know you what you are saying, woman?” Brökk stomped a circle around the nun. “My wife is blind. Blind. She cannot ride a horse.”
The abbess smiled and linked her hands at her waist. “Not only can she ride a horse, she frequently gallops o’er fences.”
Brökk choked on his own spit. His temples throbbed. “Gallop? Gallop?”
“Stop shouting, brother.” Konáll shook Brökk until his teeth rattled.
Brökk elbowed his brother out of the way and bore down on the abbess. Heat scaled his neck and face. “Fences?”
“Hedges too. ’Tis a favorite sport of Skatha’s to jump hedges.” Lady Gráinne inspected her trimmed fingernails and then gifted Brökk with a dazzling show of her teeth. She eyed him from boots to his war braids. “Why when Elspeth dared Skatha to jump not only the holly hedge, but the brook running alongside it, she fair salivated. Cleared both too.”
He felt like a wineskin about to explode.
Chapter Six
The mare cantered like a dream. The horse’s smooth, easy gait carried Skatha o’er what she assumed to be a meadow for ’twere no climbs or dips, just a level tilt. The wind played havoc with her long curls, whipping them into a frenzy. She laughed aloud at the sting of her hair on her cheeks.
Alive.
She felt so alive.
Undamaged.
Strong.
On a horse’s bare back, she needed no caution, did not have to mask her feelings, and
Brökk needed no further urging. Blinded by a climbing fear, he whirled the stallion about and bolted for the hall and nigh howled in relief when he saw ’twas intact. He jumped off his mount afore the horse had planted its hooves and sprinted for the kitchens. For he knew at that moment Skatha would have defied him.
The cavernous room teemed with people, spit boys, maids, and older men peeling turnips. Two hulks in a corner hacked at a dismembered boar on a table. At yet another, young girls plucked feathers from a fowl. Nary a single female hostage deigned to inhabit the room.
“Where is my wife?” Brökk bellowed.
Silence fell like a series of heads being axed. All eyes spun to him, first the young girls, then the maids rolling dough, then the spit boys, and then the butchers.
Not a soul answered. Then one soot-faced youth piped, “They all left summat aback, Jarl.”
“Where to?” Brökk growled.
“Dunno, my lord, but your brother went that way.” The thin boy pointed to the stables.
Brökk stalked out of the kitchen.
The fickle wind had changed direction once again and in the distance, he saw the charcoal smoke of the cottage fire had thinned. He prayed Cardas and Raki had all under control. He rounded a bend and broke into a sprint, for Lady Gráinne and Konáll were standing in front of the stables. Both appeared to be ready to lash at each other, and their shouts could be heard even though the breeze gusted their voices away from him.
His heart nigh stopped beating when Lady Gráinne’s face paled whiter than a dove’s breast at something Konáll yelled. He pumped his legs and arms faster and screeched to a halt not ten paces from them. “Where is she?”
Lady Gráinne shuttered her eyes. She swayed slightly, and he knew sheer terror in that instant. “One of the horses appears to be missing.”
Brökk marched forward and grabbed the abbess by the arms. He shook her. “What has a missing horse to do with my wife?”
She opened her eyes and met his gaze full on. She said in a pleasant tone, a marked contrast to his thundered query, “Why, I believe she is riding the animal, Jarl.”
He dropped her arms. Stepped back. Strode forward, grasped her, and shook her again. “Are you mad, woman? She is blind!”
“Methinks your entire holding and perhaps the village below now knows that fact, Jarl.” Lady Gráinne wore an expression of pity and contempt.
“Know you what you are saying, woman?” Brökk stomped a circle around the nun. “My wife is blind. Blind. She cannot ride a horse.”
The abbess smiled and linked her hands at her waist. “Not only can she ride a horse, she frequently gallops o’er fences.”
Brökk choked on his own spit. His temples throbbed. “Gallop? Gallop?”
“Stop shouting, brother.” Konáll shook Brökk until his teeth rattled.
Brökk elbowed his brother out of the way and bore down on the abbess. Heat scaled his neck and face. “Fences?”
“Hedges too. ’Tis a favorite sport of Skatha’s to jump hedges.” Lady Gráinne inspected her trimmed fingernails and then gifted Brökk with a dazzling show of her teeth. She eyed him from boots to his war braids. “Why when Elspeth dared Skatha to jump not only the holly hedge, but the brook running alongside it, she fair salivated. Cleared both too.”
He felt like a wineskin about to explode.
Chapter Six
The mare cantered like a dream. The horse’s smooth, easy gait carried Skatha o’er what she assumed to be a meadow for ’twere no climbs or dips, just a level tilt. The wind played havoc with her long curls, whipping them into a frenzy. She laughed aloud at the sting of her hair on her cheeks.
Alive.
She felt so alive.
Undamaged.
Strong.
On a horse’s bare back, she needed no caution, did not have to mask her feelings, and
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