“You and twenty other men!” Ruby challenged, disgusted with his childish behavior and this whole time-travel experience. She walked back to the canopy area for her personal belongings to be taken ashore.
In a flash, Thork scooped her in his arms and jumped up on the rail, weaving back and forth precariously. Smiling from ear to ear, enjoying the spectacle he made of her, Thork asked his shipmates loudly, “What say you, men? Wouldst she not make good fish bait?”
“Put me down! Stop being so immature,” Ruby demanded. She wasn’t afraid of the water, but heights had always alarmed her. When he refused to release her and continued to rock forward and backward on the rail, Ruby did the only thing a woman in peril could do. Keeping her left arm wrapped tightly around Thork’s neck, she reached down between their bodies with her right hand and pinched his groin area as hard as she could, hoping he would put her back on the deck.
“Arghh! For the love of Freya!” Thork shouted in pain. He lost his balance on the rail, and they both spilled over into the river, lucky to land on their feet.
The water was shallow enough to wade thigh-deep to shore. Hampered by her wet garments, she was still able to walk proudly out of the water, throwing her shoulders back. When Thork came up out of the water with a whoosh, he glared at Ruby’s back. The laughing men stopped all activity to watch the hilarious spectacle.
Outraged, Ruby said a very vulgar word, one she’d never used in all her life.
Thork was laughing when he finally emerged from the water and directed his smirking men to get back to work. He couldn’t believe Ruby had actually said that obscene word. The impudent wench!
“I deserved the soaking for teasing you so,” he admitted, walking up to her, “but did you have to try to emasculate me in the process?”
Ruby turned to face him angrily, and Thork got his first look at the sodden clothing which outlined her body. He swallowed hard before grabbing her arm and pulling her into the trees. “Have you no shame, woman? You look like a wanton, flaunting yourself in front of three hundred men.”
Actually, she looked damned nigh irresistible to Thork with her tunic plastered to her slim form. Her nipples, puckered from the cold water, stood out like sentinels, begging for his touch. Even her short, wet hair hugged her face in an attractive manner, accentuating the sharp lines of her cheekbones, the greenish hue of her eyes, the creaminess of her complexion.
Thork groaned, hoping his men didn’t notice his half-arousal. Lord, the woman would be the death of him yet.
He had seen the hurt in her eyes the past few days. He knew that his decision to marry Elise offended her, but ’twas beyond his comprehension why that should be so. Bloody hell!
“What would you suggest I wear?” she asked, hands on hips in an exasperated pose. “All my dry clothes are on the ship.”
“Stay here,” he directed and went off to get her garments. He saw Selik look at him curiously, glance down, then bleat with laughter like a bloody sheep.
When she’d changed, Thork told her to stay out of the men’s way while they set up camp. The one ship holding their horses was brought as close to shore as possible. Then all the men moved to one side so the boat tipped over on its side in the shallow water, and the animals walked off.
Fires already blazed with caldrons of meat and vegetables in boiling water. Tents were erected, with oil lamps on metal posts in front of some of them. Vats of cheese and butter were opened to be eaten with the bread baked early that morning in Jorvik.
“Do you think our Jomsviking comrades will return to Northumbria with us next year to prepare for the Saxon onslaught?” Selik asked worriedly while they set up camp.
“I know not. ’Tis why I did not tell my grandfather of our hopes. I did not want to raise the old man’s hopes needlessly. As you well know, the Jomsvikings may already be committed to other obligations.”
Selik nodded. “The hesirs you hired will help.”
“Yea, but I fear they will not be enough. That is why in the end I consented to the hated marriage.” He slammed his fist against a tree in frustration.
Ruby raised questioning eyebrows from where she sat some distance away in front of her tent, combing her short hair.
“You do know, my friend, that she will never have you now that you are honor-bound to another?” Selik commented, tilting his head in Ruby’s direction.
“She will have me. Make no mistake about that. And it better be soon.”
Selik snickered, understanding Thork’s meaning well. “And after you take her, then what? Will you leave her in Normandy with Hrolf?”
“Mayhap…if he will have her. If not, providing she pleases as much as I expect, I may offer to set her up for a time in Jomsborg as my mistress, even though I would have to live at the fortress.”
Selik looked incredulous, then laughed uproariously. Bent over at the waist, slapping a hand on his knee, he exclaimed, “My friend, I would love to be a fly on the wall when you make that suggestion to the winsome wench. I wager she may tear your eyeballs out. Nay, better yet, she may yank out your balls and cast them in bronze like the picture on that fetching shirt she wears.”
“Why would you think such?” Thork frowned. “’Tis no dishonor in being a man’s bedmate. I treat my women generously. None have complained afore.”
“I cannot believe you think this woman is of the same mold as any other. Never, never, will she agree to be aught but wife to you.”
Inside, Thork secretly wondered if Selik might not be right. After all, he’d been down this route with Ruby afore. Seduction, pursuit, withdrawal. First she would. Then she wouldn’t. Of course, he had changed his own mind a few times, as well, he reminded himself ruefully.
Ruby watched the two men through narrowed eyes, sensing they were up to some mischief, probably involving her since they kept looking over at her slyly.
They were outrageously handsome men in their knee-length tunics, worn belted at the waist over slim trousers. Selik was slightly taller with platinum hair, which contrasted sharply with his bronze, sun-baked skin, but, to Ruby, Thork was much more attractive. His impressively toned body and finely chiseled facial features were definite assets, not to mention his drop-dead gorgeous smile, but what appealed to Ruby most in this roguish clone of her husband Jack was his unselfish love for his sons and family. Then, too, his quick wit always caught her off-guard, and the boyish hurt he sometimes failed to hide in shuttered eyes drew Ruby strongly. She wanted to help wipe out the years of childhood abuse, to smother him with so much love he would forget he’d never been given much of that precious emotion.
That was before his betrothal to Elise. Ruby knew she would have a hard time resisting Thork now. After all these weeks of attempting to lure him into her bed, she could understand his confusion over her change of heart, but it was the only way.
Ruby loved Thork, and she wanted what was best for his future, even if it wasn’t her. Obviously, it couldn’t be her. If she and Thork made love, Ruby knew from past experience that a full-blown passion would develop between them. It would not end in a few days or even a month, as Thork predicted.
And it would be wrong. Thork belonged to another woman. She belonged to another man.
Oh, Lord!
Then there was the fact that, since she’d probably been sent back in time for a purpose, it would seem that she’d already accomplished those goals. Tykir was in the loving hands of his grandparents. Eirik would be at the Saxon court where he wanted to be—at least safe, if not loved. And Thork—well, he would marry and possibly grow to love his gentle wife if Ruby did not fall into his bed and bind him with invisible ties of love.
Knowing that all these events had been set in motion, Ruby almost feared she might return at any minute to the future, abandoning Thork in the past. And that’s exactly how he’d feel if she let him fall in love with her. Could she hurt him like that? No! This was the only way.
But it hurt so bad.
And the pain grew worse and worse during
the trip to Kingston as he teased and tantalized her with sweet smiles, fleeting caresses, promising glances, and whispered words of sensual fantasies he conjured of her each night in his lonely tent.
“Soon,” he kept telling her; “soon we will be together.”
“No, we won’t. We can’t,” she continually countered, but he ignored her protests with a beguiling, confident smile as they drew closer and closer to the Saxon court.
Chapter Seventeen
They finally arrived in Kingston at dawn on the day of King Athelstan’s coronation. She, Thork, Selik and Eirik went directly to the cathedral, leaving Thork’s men camped along the river, guarding the five ships.
Athelstan’s coronation ceremony turned out to be everything and more than Ruby had ever imagined. Like a page straight out of the Dark Ages court of King Arthur and Camelot, the gentle Saxon prince—the golden dragon of Wessex—was crowned.
Ruby wore the burgundy dress Dar had given her with Thork’s dragon brooches. Thork thrilled her by wearing the blue cloak she’d made for him over a magnificent black tunic and matching trousers, or braies, offset by the now familiar thunderbolt earring, and jewel-encrusted arm rings, brooch, pendant, belt and sword, all suited to a representative of an important Viking king.
Selik turned the eyes of every female they passed, wearing a turquoise short-sleeved tunic which showed off the wicked gleam of his gray eyes and the muscles of his well-developed chest and arms outlined in chunky silver arm bands and neck chains. As they sat down in the church, Selik winked at her, obviously noticing her complimentary appraisal. He blatantly ignored Thork’s frown of disapproval.
Both men looked like barbarian Viking princes and carried themselves accordingly with arrogant self-confidence.
When Ruby smiled at Selik, Thork reached discreetly in the folds of her garment and pinched her behind, whispering, “Behave thyself, wench, or I will carry you off now. Sore tired I am anyway of this waiting for a private place to bed together.”
Ruby started to tell him once again that she would not make love with him, but he placed a forefinger over her lips and said in a low, silky voice, “Nay, you protest too much, sweetling. ’Tis going to happen, and soon. Do not resist the fates that Odin—or mayhap your God—have set in motion. In truth, sometimes I wonder if they are not one and the same—”
“Shush! ’Tis a church, not a marketplace for gossip,” a woman in the pew behind them chastised.
Thork and Ruby sheepishly turned back to the coronation ceremony at the altar, not realizing they’d been speaking so loudly. Athelstan stood godlike for his consecration by the highest archbishops of the church. The churchmen handed him the royal regalia, finger rings, crown and sceptre. “We anoint you, Athelstan, son of Edward, grandson of Alfred, to be the King of the English and ruler of all Britain. May you rule in peace under God’s holy wisdom…”
The slender, flaxen-haired man of medium height, no more than thirty years old, stood solemnly under the bishop’s ministrations. Thork had explained to her earlier that the church’s approval was essential politically to Athelstan’s acceptance as ruler of all the kingdoms he hoped to unite. King Athelstan glanced occasionally to the hundreds of ealdormen, thegns and royal emissaries of many nationalities who came to pledge their loyalty to him at the beginning of his reign. At the end of the ceremony, the charismatic nobleman performed a number of symbolic acts.
“In the name of my favorite saint and ancestor, St. Cuthbert, I restore to the Cathedral Church of Canterbury an estate in Thanet for the help given to me in gaining the English throne.” Before he left the high altar, the new king also freed a slave, Eadhelm, and his children, a public act intended to show his generosity and humility.
When he moved to the second-floor chapel with its outdoor balcony overlooking the vast complex consisting of the royal and episcopal palaces and all their accessory buildings, the young king told the thousands of people gathered outside, “I make three pledges to you, my people: First, I will keep you and those you love in peace.”
A roar of approval went through the crowd, most of whom were sick to death of warfare and the toll it had taken on them and their families.
“Next, I forbid robbery and wrongdoing by all men, regardless of their place in society. All men shall be treated equally under the law.”
At first the stunned people exchanged glances among themselves over this novel idea of justice, wondering whether the king was serious. A cheer began as a ripple, then echoed thunderously as the lowly subjects realized the import of his words.
Ruby, too, began to look at the Saxon king in a new light. These were very democratic ideas for such a primitive society. Why hadn’t she ever heard of this farsighted visionary?
“Finally, I promise a kingdom where the rule of law shall be just and merciful, spelled out clearly in law codes for all to understand and obey. Above all, with your help, we will unite this kingdom, making it the most peaceable, law-abiding land in all the world.”
The king had said the exact words the people wanted to hear, and they cheered wildly as he moved with his royal retainers and guests to the palace where the celebration would begin in earnest. More glamorous and opulent than anything Ruby had seen thus far in these primitive times, King Athelstan’s massive great hall teemed with dignitaries from around the world, each straining to get closer to the new king and ingratiate themselves in his favor. The room was so crowded that Ruby could barely see the walls adorned with priceless tapestries and works of art.
At least five hundred men and women, dressed in the finest garments and jewels, tried to find their places at the tables, arguing with servants about why they were not closer to the dais where the king sat with his highest nobles and visiting heads of countries.
Ruby held tightly to Thork’s and Selik’s arms, not wanting to get lost in the mob. Eirik had been sent off with two servants to find his young uncle Haakon.
There were no wood trenchers at this banquet. Instead, matching ivory-handled gold and silver spoons and knives lay at each place setting, flanking intricately wrought sterling platters shared by each couple.
Enormous subleties, towers of pastries in the shape of castles, complete with battlements and arrow-slitted windows, garnished with nuts and almond paste and topped with sugar knights, were placed on the high table and several lower ones, as well. Who would ever dare to eat them and mar the magnificent culinary works of art? As if reading her mind. Thork reached over and popped a whole knight in his mouth, then winked at her.
Ruby shook her head in disgust and turned to Selik at her other side, but he was engrossed in the daughter of a Saxon ealdorman beside him. When he finally turned to Ruby, he raised his wine cup in toast and said in a low voice, “I think I may get lucky tonight. What think you?” He jiggled his eyebrows for emphasis.
Ruby laughed and looked around the huge hall with its many beautiful women, a large number of whom had already noticed the handsome Viking with the dancing eyes. “The odds are in your favor,” she remarked.
Then Selik leaned in front of her to address Thork. “Think you, friend, that you will get lucky tonight?”
“I think you will be lucky if I do not slit your loose tongue,” Thork said as he sipped his wine.
“Ah!” Selik persisted. “The man dost refuse to answer my question. Methinks he will not be lucky.”
Thork laughed good-naturedly at his friend’s baiting. “Methinks there is naught of luck in it at all, but expertise, which you must lack, or you would not make such an issue of it.”
Selik pretended mock offense. “You wound me with your words.” Then he turned once again to the maid on his other side.
Thork and Ruby laughed at Selik’s humor. Then Ruby jumped when Thork squeezed her thigh under the table.
“Stop that.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“Oh! If you wish,” he said too quickly, then twined the fingers of her right hand with his left and proceeded to
torture her by making slow, sensuous circles in her palm with his thumb, all the time looking toward the dais as if he didn’t know damned well what effect he had on her.
Ruby tried to pull her hand away, but Thork held her firm and whispered in her ear, “Nay, do not pull away from me or I swear I will draw circles on a part of your body that will draw gasps from the women around us and cheers of encouragement from all the men, even the virgin king.
Ruby blushed at his risqué comment and slapped his hand away. Then she asked, “A virgin king?”
“’Tis rumored Athelstan has taken a vow of celibacy and will groom his young atheling half-brothers for the throne. Since he is illegitimate and they are marriage-born, he wants to preserve the royal blood lines.”
“Do you believe that?” Ruby was skeptical that such a handsome, virile man would remain celibate.
“Who knows?” Thork shrugged, then grinned. “Mayhap he would be interested in some of your birth control information. He could achieve his goals without the gelding—so to speak.”
Ruby and Thork shared the same platter and cup of wine throughout the sumptuous feast, far grander than any Viking fare. The food and drink flowed endlessly.
“So, how many multiple orgasms did you have in one night with that fantasy husband of yours?” Thork asked suddenly in one of the conversation’s lulls, showing Ruby exactly where his mind was. She coughed on the wine she’d been drinking, and he clapped her on the back jovially.
“That many, huh?”
“How could you ask such a thing?” she whispered, profoundly embarrassed that someone might have overheard.
“What? You are the one who bragged—”
“I never bragged. I merely told Byrnhil—”
Ruby never got a chance to finish as the king and all his party on the dais stood, announcing he was about to receive the gifts and messages from all the royal emissaries present, after which the entertainment would begin.
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