Vengeance Hammer (Viking Vengeance) Read Online Free PDF Page A

crowd showed no sign of Evie, and she heaved a huge sigh of relief. Xára had ordered Evie and her nurse, Ulna, to the stables, knowing the smithy and his son would keep them safe. But, she had half-expected Evie to defy her command. Mayhap the sprite had finally realized the seriousness of their situation. ’Twas naught more Xára could do until the morrow. The morrow. The morrow would only happen if she survived the night and the bedding. The witnessed bedding.
    Nay. ’Twas not the time to dwell on the public consummation, she repressed a shudder, and forced her attention to the feast.
    Ale, mead, and wine flowed with a freedom never seen under Arnfinn’s rule.
    To Xára’s surprise, the fare proved not only palatable but plentiful. How had the Viking replenished so quickly the stores Néill had decimated? No matter. At least her people were being fed and mayhap would see their plight improve under his rule.
    She ate little, her stomach too uneasy for food, and drank more wine than she had ever consumed before. It all seemed like a dream, his arrival, the vow saying, and the feast. Yet auld Bessie had long foresaw the advent of Hefnd Hamarr, the warrior known as Vengeance Hammer, who would restore Lathairn to the glory it had once claimed during her grandfather’s rule.
    Xára learned naught throughout the long repast. The acute sense of hearing she had inherited picked up the slightest whisper, however she understood little Norse. But she had gleaned much during the brief introductions when both Olaf Longface and Earl Tighe had kissed her hand before the ceremony.
    Earl Tighe had buried a wife and child. His memories of his stillborn son and dead wife plagued him and, though he laughed and smiled oft, a deep sadness and acute agony rode him like Satan’s steed.
    Olaf Longface’s reminiscences were all of a fine court and a stocky man with blue runes on his face. The lawsayer wanted naught more than to return to an enormous holding filled with rich furnishings and throngs dressed in fine velvets and rich leather.
    The two captains had bowed to her, but appeared wary of so much as brushing her skirts, and she had learned naught of them.
    She both wanted the meal to last forever and to be done forthwith. The little she knew of what happened ’tween men and women she’d acquired from studying cocks attacking hens and corpulent pigs rutting.
    Noise assaulted her ears and added to her growing befuddlement. She had hoped the Viking would take her right after the vow saying. Why had he allowed the meal to drag on and on?
    She cast an eye over the assembly. The people left standing were in the throes of different stages of sobriety, some still imbibing, a few weaving erratically through those seated on the grass, others dozing with chins on chests, and a good majority sprawled in passed-out splendor around the dying fires.
    The Viking’s warriors, however, stood in a sober and vigilant guard over the crowd. Not accustomed to disciplined soldiers, she kept a careful watch on the Norsemen in anticipation of their dissolution into drunken ribaldry, rape, and wanton destruction.
    Dráddør’s large palm encircled her wrist.
    Xára nigh jumped off the bench. She bit her lip and fought to repress the overpowering urge to jerk out of his hold.
    The time had come.
    The saliva in her mouth dried in an instant. The echo of her thumping pulse obscured the shouts and curses of the intoxicated men and women still left standing.
    His thumb and forefinger caught her chin.
    She tried to swallow but could not and did not resist when he forced her to meet his stare. In the flickering torchlight the dark blue of his eyes had turned to the hue of smudged charcoal. “Trust in me.”
    Her heart threatened to climb out of her mouth, but she did not waver from the hypnotic hold of his gaze even though her insides twisted and knotted.
    “Try not to resist. It will not last long. Do you understand?”
    Dread snaked ice across the bare skin of