Viking in Love

by Sandra Hill

  Oh, no!

  It was the mouse.

  Or is she the cat?

  I wonder if her tongue is abrasive when she licks.

  Does she purr?

  Does she scratch when in the throes of…

  Nay, nay, nay! I am not thinking THAT.

  He stood, as did Wulf and Geoff.

  “M’lord. I wish to speak with you.”

  Stick out your tongue, sweetling. I just want to check…God’s breath! I am losing my mind! “Uh, mayhap later.”

  “Now!” she demanded, and shoved Wulf aside with her hip, sliding into his chair.

  Caedmon arched his brows at her action, which had Wulf smirking as he displaced Henry from his position in front of the next chair. Truth to tell, Caedmon had to admire the lady’s persistence, even if it was at his expense.

  “Have a caution, Breanne,” Rashid spoke up. “Spurs that are too sharp make even the mule rear.”

  “Shut your teeth, Rashid,” she said.

  “Is he referring to me as a mule?” Caedmon asked.

  “Jackass would be more appropriate, I would think,” Breanne said sweetly.

  “Wouldst care for some boar?” he inquired just as sweetly, picking up the whole, half-eaten shank and plopping it on a wooden trencher between the two of them. Some of the juice splashed up onto her gown. “How clumsy of me!” He dipped a linen square into a cup of water and began to dab at her bodice. Immediately, he felt her nipple bud under his whisking fingers, and his fingers started to tingle with heat.

  She slapped his hand away. “You oaf! I mean, that is not necessary, m’lord. It happens to all of us betimes.”

  And betimes it happens deliberately. “Getting aroused?”

  “Oh, you are insufferable! Spilling something, that is what I meant. Blessed Freyja! How can you make the most innocent remark sexual?”

  With ease.

  “Mayhap because he always has sex on his mind.” Geoff leaned forward to speak across him to her.

  ’Tis true.

  Geoff continued, “My friend is very virile…”

  Oh, good God!

  “…in case you had not noticed all the bratlings that abound here.”

  How can you miss them?

  She glared at Geoff as if he were something objectionable beneath her shoes. Apparently being the blond god did not give him license to be a clod.

  Caedmon glared, too, though he knew it would not stop Geoff when he was on a teasing tear.

  “Where is your bride-to-be?” Breanne asked Geoff.

  “Busy fluffing up the marriage bed.”

  Good retort!

  She bristled. “Does she know what she is getting herself into?”

  “Oh, yea, she does, but ’tis more like what she wants me to get into. A tight squeeze, if you get my meaning, but, not to fear, she is well-satisfied with what I got into.”

  “Coarse lout!” she muttered. Then turning back to Caedmon, she smiled.

  A smile from the witch? I do not think so. “Why are you smiling?”

  “Can a lady not smile if she wants?”

  I smell the devious turns of a vixen’s mind. “Do I have boar meat betwixt my teeth?”

  “Nay! Stop picking your teeth. I was just smiling because…because I just want to talk with you. Pleasant talk.”

  Talk, talk, talk. She is ever chirping about talk. “You are never pleasant to me. Must be you are up to something. What?” Look how she is gritting her teeth to stifle her temper. How odd! “Did you go up on the roof again?”

  “Of course not.”

  There is no “of course not” with you, m’lady. “Did you rethatch the entire village betwixt building me a new chicken coop? Or did you just make me a dozen benches in your spare time?”

  “Do you enjoy making mock of me?”

  Tremendously. “You wound me with your accusations.”

  “You make it very difficult to carry on a pleasant conversation.”

  Jabber, jabber, jabber. “Let us put aside all this flummery. What do you want from me?”

  “A few weeks’ respite.”

  Respite? That is a new word for being a bloody nuisance. “Explain yourself.”

  “My sisters and I need…I mean, want…to stay here a bit longer.”

  “Nay.”

  “Can we talk about it?”

  “Nay.”

  She picked up the table knife and examined it closely, then glanced up through half-lidded eyes at him.

  “Are you thinking about putting that through my heart?”

  “Do you have a heart? I am weapon-skillful, you know.”

  He laughed.

  “I could spear you through your laughing mouth.”

  “If you want a quick death, best you aim for the fat line. That is the section betwixt neck and crotch.”

  “Who says I want a quick death for you?”

  Her sister Vana rushed up. “Breanne! You are supposed to be nice to him, not kill him.”

  Huh?

  Another sister, Drifa, was shaking her head at Breanne as if she were a lost cause.

  Ingrith, who had just come from the kitchen, assessed the situation from across the hall, then came running up. She, too, chastised Breanne. “That is not what you are supposed to do.”

  Huh?

  Amicia, his cook, whispered something in Breanne’s ear that sounded like, “Do not slice the lout, seduce him.”

  Seduce? Seduce whom?

  Breanne’s shoulders slumped. Then she straightened and turned, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “Wouldst care to walk in the garden with me?”

  Oh, nay! She could not mean to seduce me. Never in a million years! Although… “What garden?”

  “The rose garden.”

  “I have a rose garden?”

  “Forget the bloody garden.”

  Progress! I got the wench to swear.

  “Dost want to walk or not?” As if an idea had come to her belatedly, she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  With any other woman, he would think she was flirting. With Breanne, he had to assume she had soot in her eyes.

  “We will walk,” he said, standing suddenly and holding his arm out for her. He was intrigued to know what she was up to.

  She stood and ignored his arm, swanning ahead of him to the end of the dais and across the great hall. He had to admit that she did have a nice bottom, which swayed from side to side. Just then, he glanced back and saw Geoff and Wulf watching him watch her backside. They grinned and gave him salutes of encouragement.

  He caught up with her halfway and grabbed her hand, twining her fingers with his. She tugged, but he would not release her.

  He led her then, not outside to any garden, but instead up to the wall walk on the ramparts, which were pleasant this time of night.

  “Before we go any farther, there is something I must tell you,” Breanne said.

  “Oh, God! Not another secret.” If she killed another person, I swear I will kill her.

  “Not exactly a secret. Not my secret, anyhow. “Tis about your son Hugh.”

  He stopped in his tracks, displeasure heating his blood. “You have no right to interfere with my family.”

  “I must speak up since he will not tell you himself. You are punishing him unjustly.”

  “The boy ran away from his fostering.”

  “Do you know why?”

  Woman, you overstep yourself. “Of course I do. Earl Graystone told me that he could not accept discipline.”

  “Pfff! One of Earl Graystone’s hersirs was trying to abuse your son.”

  Shock swiftly turned his displeasure to white-hot anger, mostly at the wench who dared to suggest such. “Mayhap he put a switch to his arse when he turned laggard in his duties.”

  “Oh, Caedmon! Do I have to speak explicitly? ’Twas not a switch the hersir wanted to put to Hugh’s arse.”

  It took a long moment for her suggestion to sink in. Nay! Nay, nay, nay! It cannot be so! “Are you saying that some man tried
to sodomize my son?”

  She ducked her head with embarrassment at his blunt words, but then she raised her chin with defiance. “Yea.”

  “Did he succeed?” His shoulders slumped.

  “Nay, Hugh ran away first.”

  Thank you, God! “Why would Hugh not come to me?”

  “He was ashamed. And I suspect you started yelling afore he could begin to explain.”

  “I will set things aright,” he said. Then, grudgingly, he added, “I appreciate your telling me.”

  She nodded acceptance of his apology.

  He resumed walking then, taking her with him.

  “I like to come up each evening, just before dusk,” he said, leaning on the ledge. He still held her hand in his, which he could tell rankled her, but was all the more reason not to let her go. His mind still dwelled on the horrific news she had laid on him.

  “It is pretty, especially with all that larkspur.”

  “Pretty is fine,” he said, “but it is land itself which is important to me.” For me, and for my children. For Hugh.

  She tilted her head at him.

  “I was landless, like Geoff and Wulf, with no prospects, being a third son, but then my Uncle Richard died ten years ago and bequeathed Larkspur to me. An unexpected gift.”

  “But one you cherish.”

  “Yea, I do. You have to be homeless to appreciate what having a home means.”

  “Homeless? Really?”

  He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Not really homeless, but I moved about from place to place, wherever my military skills were needed.” And my son Hugh, little bigger than Piers at the time, still with his reluctant, negligent mother, a chambermaid in my father’s home, who put the babe in peril more than once. What a fool I was! A careless fool.

  “And that is why you went a-wooing this past sennight…to gain more lands. Why then did you bow out to Geoff?”

  “’Tis enough that I have a comrade-in-arms in place at an adjoining property. And Geoff needed a home.”

  “You are a good friend.”

  “A compliment? Forsooth! I must mark this date in stone.”

  It was she who squeezed his hand then as she leaned slightly against him. She probably did not realize that her body pressed against his side, from upper arms to thighs. The faint rose scent wafted up to him from her hair. He had never been over-fond of red-haired women, but hers was amazing, taking on different lights through the day, from darkish blonde to deep crimson. Tonight, in the dimming light, even in its long single braid, it was more like burnished silk. Forgetting himself, he reached out a hand to touch it, but caught himself just in time.

  “And that is why you and your sisters must leave on the morrow.”

  She stiffened and put a small distance between, as much as she could with her hand still restrained. “What has one to do with the other?”

  “Everything. I walk a tight line betwixt ownership of Larkspur and duty to my king. Edgar’s court is like a vipers’ pit, awash with greedy land-hungry men. If I offend my king, he could take my lands away.”

  “Surely the law would not allow that.”

  He shrugged. “The Witan would make the final decision, but many of the noble members are the king’s puppets.”

  “Chances are he would never find out, either that Lord Havenshire was killed, or that we are responsible.”

  “Suspicion is enough. Mayhap if you had all stayed at Havenshire to answer questions—”

  “Nay. ’Twas impossible. Other than our two Norse guardsmen, we had no one to support us there. My father and my family-by-marriage have friends in high places, but until they were at our backs, the best plan was to leave.”

  “No one accused you?”

  “Nay, but everyone knew how Oswald was treating his wife. It was a natural conclusion that she would have just cause to get rid of him. Women have been executed for less.”

  He nodded. “Guilt by accusation.”

  “All we are asking is that you let us stay a few sennights more until…” She let her words trail off.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I noticed that your two Viking bears are back. Ah! You have had word, have you not? And it is not good.”

  Even though the light was fading, he could see her blush.

  “The truth, wench,” he demanded.

  “I hate it when you call me wench.”

  “I know,” he said. “Enough evasion!”

  She made a clucking sound of disgust. “Ivan and Ivar brought a missive from my sister Tyra.”

  He released her hand. “Give it to me.”

  Reaching into a side flap on her gown, she took out a piece of crackling parchment, which she unfolded. “Can you read?”

  Saying a foul word under his breath, he grabbed for the letter. Once he had read through quickly, he read it again more slowly.

  Handing it back to her, he stared at her with consternation, fisting his hands at his sides to keep from throttling her. “When did you receive this?”

  “Several days ago.”

  He swore again. “Search parties are out,” he repeated from the letter, “not just for the earl of Havenshire, but for Vana, as well.” He glared at her. “The same Vana who is residing under my roof?”

  “You know it is.”

  Reading again from the missive, he said, “Dunstan is on a rampage.” Then he tipped her chin up so she could not avoid his gaze. “You are aware that Archbishop Dunstan nigh sits on Edgar’s shoulder. If he comes here, and it appears he will be coming for Geoff’s wedding—”

  She gasped, having been unaware of Dunstan’s upcoming visit to Heatherby.

  “…do you not think he might stop by Larkspur?”

  “We could hide Vana,” she suggested.

  “Where? In the new pigsty with the flower carved trim?”

  “Do not be snide.”

  “Snide? I will give you snide. How about the rest of you? Am I to hide four princesses? And if I am found out, what then?”

  “Listen, we could pay you well.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yea, we could. Tyra and Vana’s dowries are long gone, but Ingrith, Drifa, and I still have substantive dower wealth. We could pool our coins and give them to you.”

  “Not that it matters, but how much?”

  She quoted a figure that gave him pause, but only for a moment. “And if any of you decides to marry, what then?”

  “I am sure our father will be so happy to have Vana back, he will replenish Ingrith and Drifa’s dower, and as for me,” she waved a hand dismissively, “I have no intention of getting wed-locked.”

  I should not ask. “Why?”

  “Well, look at me. I am not a great beauty…”

  Oh, I do not know. I see a certain attraction.

  “…and, besides, I plan to open my own market stall in Jorvik.”

  “How will you do that if you give me all your coin?”

  Red flags appeared in her cheeks. “That is a problem I will solve when the time comes.”

  Typical female illogic. In other words, she would give me her future. “You insult me with your offer, woman.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, so outraged was he by this whole situation and by her most of all, for laying the solving in his lap. He had not realized how hard he was shaking her until he heard her teeth chattering and looking down, saw that her breasts were jiggling. Whaaat?

  He shook her another time to double-check the jiggling business. Definite jiggling. “I did not realize your breasts were so big.”

  “They are not,” she said, squirming out of his grasp and folding her arms over her chest.

  “They look big to me.” Wouldst like me to check?

  “Oh, please, can we stop talking about my nonexistent breasts?”

  Must we? “If they are not breasts, what are they?”

  “Aspics.”

  That is the first I have heard them called that. Despite her slapping hands, he pressed a fingertip into one of them, and,
truth be told, it was the texture of aspic.

  He could not help but laugh.

  She glowered at him for finding humor in her…bosoms.

  “Why would you put aspics on your chest?” In case your lover gets sudden hunger pangs whilst in bed?

  “Please, can we drop this subject?”

  When it is just getting interesting? “Not a chance!”

  “Amicia said men are attracted by big jiggling breasts.”

  “And you wanted big jiggling breasts to attract…oh, good Lord! Me?”

  “Well, not precisely. I mean, yea, you, but not because…Oh, what is the use!” She threw her hands in the air, as if in surrender. “Seducing you is a lost cause, and one which I find extremely distasteful.”

  “If that was seduction, you could have fooled me. You drew a knife on me, woman. And telling a man he is ‘extremely distasteful’ is not an inducement to do anything.”

  “I did not draw a knife on you. I only contemplated knifing you.”

  “Oh, that makes it better, then.”

  His lips twitched with humor, which would probably earn him a slap if he let it show. “Why, pray tell, were you trying to seduce me, if you find me so repugnant?”

  “Not repugnant. Just insufferable.”

  His lips twitched some more.

  “You are laughing at me,” she accused.

  “Not at you. It is the whole situation.”

  Her lips twitched with humor, too. “It is funny…that I could attract such as you, let alone tempt you to our cause.”

  “I do not know about that.”

  She raised her brows at him.

  “You are tempting, all right.” He ran his knuckles over the smooth skin of her cheek, then rubbed a loose strand of hair between thumb and forefinger. It was silky.

  They both stared at each for a long moment, transfixed.

  Her shoulders dropped then. “Is there really nothing we can offer that would change your mind?”

  “Nay.” Except…nay, I will not think of that.

  “I would do anything.”

  He should have said nay then. He should have turned and walked away. He should not be entertaining mind images of a naked red-haired witch, spread-eagled on his bed with a come-hither smile on her face. “Anything?”

  “Yea. Just name it.” Her face bloomed with hope.

  God, stop me. Quick, afore I jump into the quicksand of lust. All you saints, can you not put a lock on my tongue afore I say something I will surely regret? Unfortunately, all the celestial beings must have been busy elsewhere. As if drawn by a compulsion beyond his control, his fingertips traced the skin of her collarbone exposed by the round neckline of her gown. How can a collarbone be so sensual?