The Dragon Slayer by Jianne Carlo

Author:Jianne Carlo [Carlo, Jianne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Vikings, Historical Romance
Published: 2012-01-24T03:06:05+00:00

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“And how do you plan to keep Ulfric away from the castle on the morrow?” Njal slowed his mount to a trot once the two brothers drew ahead of the rest of the hunting party.

“We hunt on the morrow and the morrow after that. We hunt until he lingers here no longer.” Ruard gave the terse answer without thought.

Catriona had kept him in their bed too long this morn. But he could not refuse her sweet flesh.

What mischief had Ulfric stewed during the long hours he swived his bride?

When he’d finally descended to the hall, the back of his neck had itched the way it did before an ambush. And half of Ulfric’s men had gone missing.

Ruard suspected his distraction had resulted in more conspiring to relieve him of his holding.

“And what of rain? Snow?”

Ruard scanned the dismal sky and eyed the shadowed globe looming at the horizon. He groaned, recalling that the sun had been blood tinged early on the morn. The air was thick with moisture and ice. ’Twas cert to either sleet or snow on the morrow.

“We spar.”

Njal glanced over his shoulder. “They approach.The monk is near Magnus’s equal with the crossbow. Know you many holy men with warrior skills?”

And few rivaled their brother’s skill with that weapon.

“Nay. I want him watched.”

Castle Dunsmuir came into sight. Even as he knew ’twould take the winter to set the holding to rights, Ruard couldn’t stop the fierce pride blasting through his insides as he looked upon his property.

No wooden structure Castle Dunsmuir, but built of stone and mortar. The twin towers glistened gold under the rays of the fading sun. The murky waters of the moat shuddered under a stiff breeze, making the castle’s reflection undulate and shimmer.

“’Tis a holding to be proud of even if it stinks.” Njal’s mount pranced sideways impatient at being halted.

The wind changed direction, Rurad braced for the stench from the rotting rushes in the hall.

Njal sniffed. “I smell bread baking.”

“Nay.” Ruard took a shallow breath and saliva washed his mouth. “’Tis indeed similar to that fragrant aroma.” Noticing a line of boys toting buckets of water from the well to the great hall, he kneed his steed and sped through the bailey to the castle steps. Dismounting, he threw his reins to one of the bucket boys, and then raced up the stone stairs.

Before he reached the massive mahogany double doors, they opened.

“Welcome, my lord.” The steward’s usually droning voice held a jovial note.

Ruard peered at the man’s face. Was that a smile cornering his dour steward’s thin lips?

The heavenly scent of a fattening loaf captured his attention. He glanced in the direction of the kitchens and blinked.

“’Twould seem your bride should have many names, Catriona the Siren, Catriona the Housekeeper, nay, Catriona the Miracle Worker.” Njal clapped Ruard on the shoulder. “If you could add Catriona the Cocksucker to that, then you have won a prize indeed brother.”

He barely heard Njal. His gaze swept the hall, taking in all the changes.

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