Free Death Blow by Jianne Carlo

I can slay dragons.” His grin revealed one dimple in his right cheek. He winked. “Have you dragons that need slaying?”
    “Nary a one. How fare you with sea gods?”
    “No god or man has e’er bested me in battle.”
    “How come you to be here?” She studied the encampment. ’Twas a formidable force gathered on the northeastern tip of the isle. She scanned the scores of warriors milling about and guessed at least five score men were assembled ’tween the river and the steep cliffs rising on the left.
    “We are nay cert what happened. One moment we sailed on smooth seas, the next our ships were tossed and thrown about in a vicious storm. When the winds and rain abated, we were here in this cove, save for Konáll.” Dráddør shook his head. “For three days we scoured the coast looking for him. Then this eve he strolls in with you in his arms.”
    Nyssa bit her lips. Should she ask about Mús?
    The night held the promise of summer. Warmth tempered by a chill ocean breeze bustled around the bay. Nyssa focused on the grassy meadow bordering the wide mouth of the river known as Taigh-Grùide, for the burn-teine, or fiery spirit, brewed from its clear waters. She ignored the silence that fell when they passed groups of warriors milling around a haunch of venison roasting over an open pit. The delicious scent of charred meat made her stomach rumble. Her mouth watered.
    Dráddør halted in front of a blazing fire. Wood stacked as high as Nyssa’s belly snapped and crackled and glowed orange-yellow in the darkness. Sparks spewed in tiny explosions, eddying and flowing in whorls twined ’tween the fireflies.
    He turned to face her and their gazes met. “I offer you my protection, new sister, against gods and men and any who seek to harm you.”
    “And what if your brother seeks me harm?” Zealous though he appeared to be, Nyssa knew she had but one ally in the camp, Mús.
    Flicking his finger across the dimple in her chin, he said, “Konáll would ne’er harm his wife. He is a just and honorable man.”
    Who knew not the vile secret she kept. Nyssa removed her hand from Dráddør’s forearm and pasted a smile on her face. “I thank you, my lord, for your generous offer.”
    “What have you offered my betrothed?”
    Nyssa flinched. Though the urge to whirl around and face Konáll burned through her, she gritted her teeth, moved to the side, and shifted closer to Dráddør before glancing at her husband-to-be.
    The fire’s light haloed his golden hair and painted his tanned flesh with dancing shadows. Brows gathered, lips thinned, hands akimbo, he glared first at Dráddør and then fixed his attention on her.
    “I offered my new sister my hammer in regaining her castle.”
    She frowned and risked a quick peek at Dráddør. His hammer? He had mentioned naught to her.
    “My betrothed has no need for your Hefnd Hamarr . We will speak later, brother.” Konáll’s expression grew grimmer when he turned to her. “Thōrfin’s wife, Lady Grelod, would speak with you.”
    He stood so close she smelled wine on the warm breath that tickled the tip of her nose. Her whole body overheated. Beads of sweat coated her nape. Images of the two of them on the beach peppered her mind. He had suckled her womanhood, thrust his fingers into her sheath.
    “Nyssa?” Konáll sandwiched her hand between both of his.
    She could not look at him, not with all the carnal images playing in her head.
    He tilted her chin with one finger so she had to meet his fierce stare. “Will you speak with her?”
    What had he said? She recalled his words. “To what purpose does the Lady Grelod wish to speak to me?”
    His mouth tightened. “’Tis custom, I believe, for the married women to prepare the maiden for the consummation.”
    Holding her head high, she glared at him and hissed, her tone low, the declaration meant for his ears only. “Then I have no need for her advice. Nay. I will not speak with her.”
    “You offer Lady Grelod a