Free Death Blow by Jianne Carlo Page B

have to wait for the morrow, whilst they planned the invasion of Castle Caerleah.
    Right then, Nyssa nodded to Grelod and nigh sprinted to the priest. She grasped the holy man’s arm, bent down, and cupped a hand over his ear.
    “Loki’s stones. What is she about?”
    Afore Konáll could stomp to the priest, Thōrfin stayed him with a backslap and a headshake. “Nay. Let her be. She agreed to the vow saying, did she not?”
    Through a clenched jaw and snapped together teeth, Konáll growled, “Aye.”
    “Judge you her to be a woman of honor?”
    Konáll considered all that had happened: Nyssa’s healing of his mortal wound, the scars and pain she had born for both him and Mús, her insistence that he know the all of her curse, and above all, her devotion to the people of Castle Caerleah. “Aye.”
    “She will keep her word, then.”
    Unease slithered up Konáll’s spine as he remembered her pause before agreeing to the vow saying. He rolled his shoulders, but could not shake a growing sense of foreboding doom.
    “Thōrfin has the right of it. She has a quick wit and a ready smile and moves with grace. Your Nyssa has been trained to be a lady of the castle. I predict for you a life of ease, fine food and drink, and much swiving.” Dráddør nigh deafened Konáll with a deep rumbled series of guffaws.
    Nyssa cocked her head and glanced Konáll’s way. Their gazes met and held for a drawn-out moment. Then her chest rose and fell; the tight bodice and low neckline of the cyrtel emphasizing what could only have been a long sigh. Of relief?
    The priest waved his hand their way and muttered something to Nyssa. She nodded, picked up her skirts, and walked to where Konáll, Dráddør, and Thōrfin stood.
    Konáll raised a brow.
    She dipped a curtsey, rose with head held high, and folded her hands at her waist. “Good eve, King Thōrfin, Lord Dráddør. I am ready, Lord Konáll.”
    At least she had not called him Viking.
    “Priest, say the vows,” he ordered.
    Grelod cleared her throat and raised a hand. She eyed Nyssa for a mere breath and then stated in a ringing, musical voice, “Nay. Konáll. ’Twill be done the proper way. Husband, call the men to witness the vows. Order the piper to play a tune and then we will begin.”
    “We have much to do this night, lady mine…”
    Lady Grelod arched a brow and fixed Thōrfin with a steely do-not-dare-question-me glower.
    He blew out a noisy sigh and acquiesced with a flick of his wrist. “As you wish.”
    Grelod signaled a group of women hovering near the fire and glided to take her place next to her husband’s side. The women surrounded their Queen.
    “She travels to battle with a piper and a gaggle of sewers. The good Lord save me from royal women,” Nyssa muttered under her breath, but Konáll caught the words.
    “ She is ferocious in battle and the ladies with her can clean and sew e’en the most vicious wound closed. Queen Grelod and her women are healers, and King Thōrfin values them highly as do I.” Konáll both liked and admired Grelod, and he owed her a life debt.
    Though shadows chased Nyssa’s profile, Konáll could not miss the deep blush washing o’er her throat and face. A muscle beneath one eye twitched.
    A haunting melody silenced the bustle that had erupted after Thōrfin’s barked orders. Konáll scanned the throng of warriors standing at attention and frowned at the elderly men from Castle Caerleah who were conversing loudly. His glare silenced them. He exchanged a glance with Dráddør and then focused on the piper who tested his instrument with a few low notes.
    Konáll recognized the tune. One of the haunting Scottish melodies he had come to relish filled the bay. The wind rustled leaves and trees swayed in tempo to the piper’s song.
    A hint of ice coated the brisk breeze. Nyssa hugged her arms, and Konáll moved closer to her to share his body heat.
    When the echoes of the piper’s last notes faded away, the priest coughed and moved