Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 01]

by The Reluctant Viking

  Thork’s attention was diverted to the bailey where Tykir was jumping up and down over a rope that he swung over his head, counting all the time. Each time he missed he started over again, laughing delightedly in a way Thork had never heard.

  Thor’s blood! Not Tykir, too!

  His eyes narrowed. It was Ruby’s doing, he was sure. She was turning his family and his life upside down. “Selik, get the hell back to the practice field and take the rest of these milksops with you,” Thork yelled.

  Selik jumped guiltily.

  Then Thork smiled and complimented Tykir, “Very good,” as he passed him before going to the well for a drink of water.

  Thork stifled an impulse to seek Ruby out and demand to know what she was up to, but that was probably just what she wanted. In fact, she probably stood at one of the windows now watching him. He stuck out his tongue at the nearest window, just in case, then sheepishly ducked his head when he recognized his grandfather’s gray hair.

  “Testing for rain?” Dar asked, sticking his head through the window.

  Thork shook his head from side to side. The wily wench would make him as strange-headed as she was by the time he finally departed. And, Lord, he was beginning to realize just how much he was going to miss her. He could not imagine a time when he had not known her. He hated to think of how empty his life would be without her. When he finally arrived back at the practice field, he roared at his men, “You men have become bloody weaklings. Perchance I have not worked you hard enough. Today, I swear, we will work all the kinks out or die in the trying.” He ignored the grumbles of complaint and those men he heard griping, “’Tis all the fault of the wench from hell.”

  Ruby wasn’t watching Thork. She was in her room, working frantically to complete his cloak. In two days, they would all leave for Jorvik and the Althing.

  She’d always been a fine seamstress and enjoyed working with her hands, especially when the material was as fine as this wool. Ruby had made her career based on a sewing talent, so making a cloak for Thork was an easy task. She cut and sewed the voluminous garment in half a day, including the finely stitched hem. The embroidery took much longer. Ruby decided to alternate the thunderbolts worked in silver thread with Thor’s gold hammer called Mjollnir, or lightning. The cloak would be stunning. Ruby expected to complete it by tomorrow night.

  At dinner that evening, Thork made no pretense of his interest in Ruby and disinterest in the shy maid beside him. Ruby squirmed uncomfortably under his constant gaze from the head table but refused to kowtow to the warning messages he sent. She knew the baseball and jump rope had become an instant hit among young and old alike.

  Thork probably interpreted her gifts as further goads aimed at him. That wasn’t true. She had other things in mind to rattle the arrogant Viking.

  Thork surprised her by approaching her end of the hall after the meal. “No more tricks tonight from your bag of sorcery? No peaches or toys? No special meals to tempt the mouth?”

  “I decided to give you a rest for tonight,” Ruby replied enigmatically.

  “Were you not warned to stop pushing me?”

  “I’m not afraid of you. The Althing and Sigtrygg and some of these other vicious Vikings—yes, I fear them—but not you.”

  Thork gritted his teeth, and his face turned stormy.

  “Do you question my manhood?”

  “Are you kidding? That’s the last thing I would question, but I think you care for me, more than you realize. You wouldn’t harm me.”

  “Wench, you are above yourself. If I thought for one moment you spied for Ivar or were a threat to my family, I would kill you in a trice.”

  “That’s just it. I’m none of those things.”

  “But a liar you definitely are. That was proven when I discovered your virginity.”

  “Oh, Thork!” she sighed woefully. “Why won’t you just give in and marry me?”

  Thork laughed at her persistence. “Nay.”

  “Will you stand up for me at the Althing?”

  “Why should I?”

  “To save me from being killed.”

  “Save your breath, wench. I will not betray my fellow Vikings to save your skin. And think again if you consider yourself aught but an enticing piece of flesh to me. Never will you win this battle.”

  “Never say never, sweetheart,” Ruby challenged cryptically and walked away from him haughtily, swaying her hips in exaggeration. She heard several hesirs laugh behind her, but realized too late what Thork planned. He reached out and tweaked her behind, ensuring he got the last laugh from the hooting hesirs.

  Ruby turned back indignantly. “You are a vulgar, vulgar man.”

  “Nay, wench, you asked for that, swishing your arse like a dockside tart,” Thork defended himself with a laugh.

  “I did not,” Ruby declared lamely and left the hall, her prideful chin still held high.

  Ruby finished the cloak the next day, then went to the village to pick up her leather, high-heeled sandals. They weren’t quite what she’d planned. The woodworker had somehow made one of the heels slightly shorter than the other, causing her to hobble when she walked. There was no time to fix them since they left for Jorvik the next day.

  “Do you try to get Thork’s pity by making him think you are a cripple?” Ella inquired.

  “No, men in my country like to see women in high heels. They think it makes a woman’s legs look sexy.”

  Ella eyed her skeptically. “Even when they walk like a crone?”

  “No.” Ruby laughed. “Women can walk fine in them. In fact, it causes them to sway when they walk in sort of a sexy way.”

  Ella rolled her eyes.

  “Perhaps I’ll just pose in them. Now that I think about it, moving around in these primitive high heels probably isn’t a great idea.”

  “Mayhap you have lost your mind completely.”

  The next night Thork decided to retire immediately after the meal. He had no intention of returning to his grandfather’s estate after the Althing, so he had spent an exhausting day loading wagons with the last of the trading goods for his ships.

  He noticed Ruby’s absence from the evening meal.

  “Mayhap her stomach ails and she could not sup,” the thrall Ella said, shifting her eyes slyly when he asked about her whereabouts.

  “’Tis nervous she is about the Althing and wanted to rest,” his grandmother offered and also averted her eyes from Thork’s direct gaze.

  “How should I know?” his grandfather snapped. “Think you I know her every move?”

  “I will probably find a snake in my bed,” Thork grumbled as he walked away, excusing Dar’s abrupt manner as regret over his imminent leavetaking.

  Thork yawned widely as he opened the door of his darkening chamber. He laid his sword and knife on a chest, lit two soapstone lamps, then yawned again. It would be a long day tomorrow with all the wagons and guests who would travel with them to Jorvik. He hoped to get an early start. He turned then and jumped.

  “Thor’s blood, woman, what do you here? Wouldst thou fright me to death to accomplish thy goals?”

  Ruby stood at the far end of the room in a dim corner wearing a magnificent bright blue cloak with fine embroidery around the edges. ’Twas odd, though, because it dwarfed her with its massive folds, and its hem hugged the floor.

  Thork narrowed his eyes suspiciously and started back toward the door, not wanting to tempt fate by being in the same room with the wanton wench—virgin though she may be. And where was that cursed Vigi? He was supposed to be guarding Ruby at all times, keeping her away from him.

  “No, don’t go,” Ruby said and wobbled toward him, probably hampered by the oversized garment, Thork thought. “I just want to give you a going-away gift. This cloak. I made it for you and did all the handwork myself. Do you like it?” Her voice wavered nervously.

  “’Tis a fine cloak, but why wouldst thou make me a gift?” Truly, the garment was a work of art, as fine as any he had ever seen in his travels
. Thork glanced at her suspiciously. “Do you bribe me now?”

  “No. This gift has no strings attached. It’s just a memento of our time together. I offer it as sort of an apology for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

  Like all Vikings, Thork appreciated the giving and receiving of gifts. It would be rude to deny her offering. Thork nodded his acceptance. Besides, ’twas true she had caused him much trouble.

  “Turn around so I can put it on your shoulders and see if it fits properly.”

  Thork turned away from her and felt her reach up and place the cape on his shoulders. Actually, he was glad she was taking their parting so well. ’Twas best to part with a woman amicably, no bad feelings left to ferment. He was a man slow to forgive his enemies, but Thork was in a magnanimous mood on the eve of his departure for Jorvik, and, after all, the wench had not really done anything that evil. True, she had lied about her virginity and more, but ’twas no different from any other self-serving female he had encountered. ’Twas the nature of the species. He turned to tell her that and gasped in astonishment, “Holy blood!”

  Ruby had stepped away from him and stood next to the bed holding on to the bed post as if for support. She wore this…this thing that pushed her breasts up and out at the top and exposed her legs from the hip bone all the way down to her…oh, my God!

  “What the hell are those things on your feet?” The wench leaned precariously on wobbly legs. No wonder! Her feet were encased in leather slippers with wooden stilts.

  “High heels. Do you like them?”

  “What purpose do they serve? Can you walk?”

  “Yes…no. Well, normally I could, but your village woodworker made one heel shorter than the other. Men in my country think it makes a woman’s legs look sexy. Don’t you?”

  “I am not sure. Come near so I can see.” Thork had trouble controlling the twitch in his lips.

  Ruby moved closer, using the balls of her feet in a sliding motion so she wouldn’t limp. That gave him a better view of the garment she wore. For the love of Freya! The black silk and lace wisp barely covered her from the tips of her breasts to the vee at her legs, pushing in and out at strategic places. He could see the shadow of her nipples and the dark curly hair that covered her womanhood through the thin lace. Never in all his years of travel had he seen such a marvel—not even in the Eastern harems.

  Thork gulped and looked again. It appeared as if she’d shaved part of herself there to accommodate the revealing lines of her garment. He was no longer in the mood for laughing.

  “Turn,” he directed through a suddenly dry throat.

  The thought that Ruby would go to so much trouble to entice him touched Thork with the force of a rolling boulder. His heart constricted oddly in his chest. No one had ever shown so much caring for him afore.

  When she turned, Thork felt the blood drain from his face at the sight of her nether cheeks half exposed by the slant of the outfit’s bottom edge. A burgeoning arousal pulled sharply at his groin.

  “Do you like it?” she asked uncertainly when she faced him again.

  “I like it fine.” Holy Thor! Was the wench blind? Could she not see just how much he liked it?

  “Only fine?” Her lips turned down in disappointment.

  “What do you want from me, wench?” Thork grated out between gritted teeth. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take or even if he wanted to resist anymore.

  “I think you know.” She looked up at him hopefully through the shadows of her half-lowered lids.

  “I cannot,” he groaned.

  “Why?” she asked softly, tears welling in her eyes.

  “You would want more than I could give.”

  Ruby shook her head. “For tonight I call a truce. I will ask no more than you are willing to give.”

  Thor’s blood! The woman was a tempting negotiator. “And tomorrow?”

  She smiled and shrugged. “I can’t make promises about what I’d do after today.”

  “’Tis a trick.”

  “No, just a man and a woman…making memories.”

  Thork’s heart lurched at her words. He moaned thickly in surrender and started to move toward her. He was stopped short by a loud pounding at the door.

  “Thork! Come quickly,” Olaf yelled.

  “Go away,” Thork shouted menacingly.

  “Nay. ’Tis important. Someone set fire to one of the trade wagons. Men were seen on horseback riding away from the keep.”

  Thork cursed and opened the door slightly so Olaf could not see Ruby in her scanty attire. “Where were the guards when the fire started?”

  “It happened so quickly. ’Twas little damage, but the attackers are long gone, probably back to Ivar. Only he would try these cowardly hit-and-run tactics.”

  “I will be right down. Do not bother sending men out searching tonight, but put a double guard around the keep.”

  When Thork closed the door and turned back to Ruby, he saw her sitting in a chair by the cold fireplace, weeping silently. The sight tore at his innards like a barbed arrow.

  “Why do you cry, sweetling?” he asked, kneeling in front of her.

  She sobbed loudly now. Between gasps, she told him, “I wanted us to be together before the Althing. Tonight was our last chance.”

  Ruby’s tears touched him even deeper than her intense sexual magnetism. “Mayhap I can come back to my sleeping chamber later…if you would wait.”

  “No,” she sniffled sadly, “once you leave this room you’ll have second thoughts and convince yourself this is for the best. Probably decide I had something to do with the attack on your wagons.” She dried her tears on the edge of the new cloak.

  Thork nodded unhappily, acknowledging she was right. Still, he kissed away her tears, kneeling at her feet. He wanted to prolong this bittersweet moment with her as long as possible, endlessly, sensing there would never be another. Finally he tore himself away, but the image of her in the wispy garment stayed with him through the night as he stood guard, prisoner to his conflicting emotions. When he returned near dawn, he saw the blue cloak folded neatly on his chest.

  Ruby was gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Several miles outside Jorvik, they arrived at the wide plain where the national open-air court would assemble. Aud had explained to Ruby on the day-long trip back to Jorvik that district Things, or courts, were held several times each year, though not as often as in the old days, while larger Althings were held only once a year.

  Hundreds of bright tents—stripes, checks, solids, in all the colors of the rainbow—fluttered throughout the wide-ranging fields in the manner of a giant fairground. Instead of wild animals and hurdy-gurdy shows, these tents housed the fierce, law-loving Vikings who came from many miles around to socialize and participate in the primitive justice system.

  As Dar’s household began to erect their own tents, Olaf and Gyda said good-bye to Ruby. They would be staying at their home in Jorvik.

  “’Twas a pleasure meeting you,” Gyda said, hugging Ruby warmly. “We did not get to spend much time together at Dar’s manor, but I bid you the best of luck at the Thing. I wanted you to know that I wish you no harm.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been so kind to me. I can never repay you.” Ruby’s voice choked on the last words.

  “Think naught of it. Leastways, you more than repaid me with the yellow undergarments.” Gyda rolled her eyes in Olaf’s direction. “They were a huge success. Mayhap they will result in another son come spring.”

  When Gyda’s words sunk in, Ruby grabbed the Viking woman and gave her a quick squeeze. “Congratulations! Another baby! How I envy you!”

  Olaf stepped up next and shifted uncomfortably. “I will stand behind you at the Thing,” he informed her in a blustery fashion. “A strange wench you surely are, but not a spy to my thinking. If thrall you are declared, I will offer to buy you.”

  Ruby accepted his oblique support with a nod, then turned to the girls. She embraced each of them in tur
n, including Tyra who couldn’t wait to get home and see her ducks and kittens.

  Later, after they’d eaten their hastily prepared meal outside the tents, Ruby walked with Thork, Eirik and Tykir around the campsite, stopping often to speak with their old friends. Since last night at Ravenshire when they had almost made love, Thork seemed to have softened toward her.

  They were almost like a family.

  Eirik had brought his bat and baseball and soon had a game going. Since it was still summer, the skies would not darken for another hour or two. Ruby sat on the grass watching Eirik explain the rules to each of the newcomers who approached.

  Thork’s casual stance as he watched his sons emphasized the lines of his powerfully muscled body under a coal-black tunic. Through half-shuttered lashes, Ruby admired his long, sinewy legs—like bronze marble—beneath the thigh-high garment. She yearned to touch the silken blond hairs just barely revealed at the open laces of his neckline.

  “You were always a good baseball player,” Ruby recalled, tipping her face up to him as she lay back on the sun-warmed grassy slope. “Why don’t you play?”

  Thork’s handsome face split into a quick, open grin at her words. “Me? Playing children’s games? Never!” He dropped lithely down to the ground and lay on his side watching her, propped on one elbow. The sparkle of his lazy smile kindled a fire in her.

  “Surely you played games as a child,” she commented, increasingly distracted as Thork’s long, skillful fingers traced invisible, sensuous circles on her arm, starting at the wrist and moving slowly upward.

  “Hah! The only games I recall were hiding from my brother Eric, and that was more a deadly pursuit.” His slowly stalking hand had reached her collarbone, which he tenderly brushed with featherlike strokes.

  Ruby swallowed hard and tried to change the subject. “Men play baseball in my country, as well as children. In fact, the really good ones get paid a fortune for it.”

  “You make these tales up as you go, I think.” He smiled wickedly as his fingertips crept under the loose collar of her gown and began making little spiraling circles on the ultrasensitive skin. The light caresses ignited delicious tingles wherever they touched.