Viking in Love

by Sandra Hill

  He shrugged. “If you say so. Still, ’tis not for me.”

  “Nor me.”

  “Why? A woman’s place is in the marriage bed, big with child, keeping her husband’s household.”

  “Is that so, lunkhead?”

  He grinned, and she knew he was teasing her.

  “Why have I ne’er wed? I will tell you why. I am not beautiful, like my sisters, and—”

  “I think you are beautiful.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “’Tis true I have a sizeable dowry, but the men who have come courting with that in mind have not gained favor with me. In truth, I would rather not marry, and instead use my dowry to open a woodworker’s trading stall in Coppergate, have my own home, be dependent on no one, especially not a husband. I make special hand-carved chairs that would do well for a start. And I could make matching tables and benches.”

  He put up his hands, as if in surrender. “I did not mean to give offense.”

  “Yea, you did. You enjoy pricking me to ill temper.”

  “May I say one last thing on the subject without you flaying me with your tongue?”

  “Why stop now?” Is that what I have become? Am I now a shrew?

  “You are a passionate woman. Do not try to deny it. I have seen and felt the evidence of that passion. How will you do without?”

  I do not yearn for sex play. I yearn for you, fool. “What makes you think that I will deprive myself now that I have tasted of this forbidden fruit?”

  “Am I your forbidden fruit?”

  Hah! If we were in that Christian Garden of Eden, you would be the apple AND the snake. “You are at the moment, but I am sure there will be other fruit in my future.”

  She could tell he did not like her answer, for he heeled his horse into a gallop and rode off.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Some knots are harder to unravel than others…

  There was so much hugging and weeping between Breanne and her sisters that you would have thought they had been separated for years, not days.

  Caedmon had never yearned for a close family, not having experienced it himself, growing up the third son of a third son of a hardened man always struggling for daily bread. It was through his mother’s side of the family that noble blood flowed through his body, and then just a trickle. ’Twas only mischance that his maternal uncle had no heirs, thus granting him Larkspur. Mayhap that was why he was so quick to welcome all those children into his “family,” because in truth that was the only family he would ever have. Mayhap that was why Larkspur was so important to him, small as it was by other standards.

  The archbishop and his group had already dismounted and gone inside with Geoff, who had rolled his eyes at him when Dunstan was not looking. The women had not yet reunited, and Lady Moreton had been delayed by some lastminute clothing disaster…soot on a white apron, or some such thing.

  Dunstan had seen Rashid, though, and made a remark about heathen Arabs. Rashid just pretended to speak no English.

  Rashid walked up to Caedmon now, and they both stared at the women.

  “What is it about women and tears?” Caedmon mused, not really expecting an answer.

  However, Rashid never was one to be without an opinion. “’Tis not just women. Men cry on occasion, too, even if they keep the tears inside.”

  Caedmon raised his eyes skeptically. He could not recall the last time he had succumbed to leaking eyes. Mayhap when he was nine and his mother had died.

  “If there were no tears, our ribs would burn,” Rashid pontificated.

  What a load of rubbish! “Tears are a sign of weakness.”

  “A thousand pardons, but I notice how your gaze keeps going to Lady Breanne,” Rashid observed. “And one of your men mentioned something about a betrothal ceremony. Is there a need for such?”

  “Huh?” Does he mean pregnancy? “Oh, good Lord, nay. ’Tis just a ruse we have concocted to account for the princess’s having been at my castle without a chaperon.” At Rashid’s disapproving expression, he added, “No offense to the princess or her family, but I have no intention of marrying ever again. Twice was enough, thank you very much.”

  “He who is bitten by a snake is ofttimes scared of any rope on the ground.”

  By the time Caedmon figured out what he meant, the Arab was off on another subject, “Have you heard from Lady Havenshire?”

  He shook his head. “Do not fret, though. She is in good hands with Wulf.”

  “And with her two Norse guards,” Rashid added.

  “That, too. ’Tis my hope that she is on a longship back to her father in the Norselands. Edgar and Dunstan would have no way of reaching her there.”

  Rashid frowned. “But then it will appear as if she is guilty. Never will she get a fair hearing to prove that she had just cause.”

  “If there is such a thing as a fair hearing for a woman killing a nobleman! Nay, I think ’tis best to go on as they started. If there is no body, there can be no proof of murder.”

  “From what I have been told of Oswald’s cruelties, he is in the proper resting place. Allah be praised!”

  “Leave it to a woman to think of putting a piece of shit under a pile of shit.”

  They grinned at each other.

  Caedmon sighed. “I cannot imagine where this will all end.”

  “Every knot has some way to undo it, my friend.”

  Caedmon looked up then and saw that Breanne was staring at him. As their gazes held for a long moment, his heart swelled, and yea, he began to tingle in all his extremities, one in particular.

  He realized in that moment that the biggest knot in his life was standing before him, with wisps of red hair blowing in the breeze and green eyes liquid with some emotion he could not name. It was a knot he feared would never unravel.

  A short time later, Geoff came up to him with two cups of mead. The idiot was wearing a gold-embroidered green samite surcoat over a black tunic and braies with a gold-linked belt. Dumb as a goose! Did he not realize that fine apparel would make Dunstan greedy?

  They sat down on a low bench in the bailey, which was bracketed on either side by wild rosebushes. Drifa’s handiwork, he supposed, wondering how soon Breanne would be itching to build something. If so, it had better be something religious, like a life-size crucifix.

  “You are smiling, Caedmon.”

  Caedmon smiled wider. “I was just noticing all of the princess Drifa’s live decorations. For your wedding?”

  Geoff nodded. “Inside, as well. Flowers everywhere, even in the garderobe. And the food! We will all grow fat as lazy summer bears. But Sybil is pleased, and that is what matters.”

  Caedmon arched his brows. “No second thoughts?”

  “None. I did not realize how much I yearned for land of my own, but beyond that, Sybil and I are well suited.” Geoff’s cheeks flushed of a sudden. “The ceremony takes place day after tomorrow. Will you stand with me?”

  “Of course.” He studied the still-blooming color on Geoff’s face. “You are smitten. God’s bones, you are!”

  “Not smitten, precisely, but I must needs thank you for stepping back and allowing me this opportunity.” He squeezed Caedmon’s forearm.

  “You are wrong, my friend. Sybil had eyes only for you from the beginning.”

  “Speaking of which, I notice that you and Lady Breanne cannot keep your eyes off each other. Mayhap ‘smitten’ is in the eye of the beholder.”

  Caedmon felt his face heat, too. “The woman is driving me barmy.” Instead of mentioning the one, most important, way in which Breanne was making him crazy, he told Geoff about the whole scenario with “Lady Amicia,” even the clenching woman-muscle business.

  Geoff was howling with laughter by the time they noticed a lone rider on a fast horse approaching Heatherby. The man was an advance guard, carrying the Golden Dragon flag of the House of Wessex. Turns out the folks at Heatherby were to be given a great—some might say dubious—honor. King Edgar, two thanes, an ealdorman, and a tr
oop of four dozen hirdsmen would be arriving for the wedding.

  “That wily slyboots! It appears Dunstan has his own hidden agenda,” Geoff observed.

  “You have no idea!” Caedmon proceeded to tell him of the archbishop’s request for land to build a monastery. “I daresay he knew all along that the king was on his way, to reinforce his grab-land appetite.”

  “They bode ill for Heatherby and Larkspur.”

  “For a certainty!”

  “And for us,” Breanne said, coming up to them. “I suspect the disappearance of the earl of Havenshire is in this mix, as well. Now that we are forewarned, however, we can concoct our own plans to deflect their questions.”

  Plans? She and her lackwit sisters are going to make plans? Caedmon turned to Geoff. “Shoot me with an arrow through the heart and put me out of my misery right now.”

  “Oh, nay, you do not escape so easily!” Breanne put her hands to hips and glared down at him. “If we are going to suffer, you are going to suffer with us.”

  So, Caedmon said, “What the bloody hell!” and, with Geoff’s hoots of encouraging laughter, he did what he had been wanting to do all day. He pulled Breanne forward so suddenly that she fell against him with a squeal, a sure sign that she wanted him, in his opinion. Leastways, that is what he told himself. Then he bent her back over one arm and kissed her.

  And kissed her.

  And kissed her, openmouthed, with teeth, and tongue, and hard-pressed lips, until both of them stood on wobbly legs staring at each other, dazed. Only then did they realize that they had an audience, with one important member.

  Archbishop Dunstan had come back outside.

  He was not pleased.

  Warts and hunchbacks and big butts, oh, my!…

  Several hours later, Caedmon was entering the Heatherby great hall with Geoff at his side. What they saw nigh caused them both to fall over with shock.

  “Oh, good Lord!” they said as one.

  Other than Breanne, Archbishop Dunstan had not yet met any of the women, including Lady Moreton. All of them were evading the priest. No surprise there! Everyone within a sulong of Heatherby would like to go into hiding for the next sennight or so, Caedmon included.

  Especially in light of what Geoff and Caedmon now beheld.

  First there was Breanne, with red spots covering her face and neck and an ugly wart on the tip of her nose that resembled green snot. How can she be beautiful to me, even with a wart? My brain must be melting. Ingrith had doubled her weight and now had a back end that rivaled Amicia’s. I wonder if she can get through the scullery door. Drifa had done something to blacken all of her front teeth, and she was cackling. That is all we need…a slant-eyed crone with leaky black teeth. And Sybil had a hunchback. I wonder if she knows her pillow back is slipping?

  Rashid, passing by with a stack of firewood in hand, was not surprised. He remarked blithely, “The heart of woman is given to folly.”

  He and Geoff stared at the women, slack-jawed, for a long moment before Geoff said, “By thunder, Caedmon, I forgot how much fun it is to be around you.”

  “I had naught to do with this.” Turning to the four women, he asked, “What in bloody hell is going on?”

  “You told us to beware of King Edgar when he comes,” Breanne defended herself to Caedmon.

  Sybil addressed Geoff in her faint lisp, “You said Edgar would tup a goat if it could stand on two legs and have breasts.” On her tongue, breasts sounded like “blests.”

  “I am not so sure that a hunchback would deter our king,” Geoff remarked.

  “Mayhap I could put some malodorous substance on my gunna,” Sybil offered. “Like manure.”

  “That would do it,” Geoff replied.

  “Nice freckles!” Caedmon said to Breanne.

  “These are not freckles, you lackwit!” she replied indignantly. “They are spots.”

  “Oh?”

  “Caused by the red pilfin bush I touched when we stopped to water the horses today. Very contagious.”

  Caedmon turned to Drifa, the plant expert. “Red pilfin?”

  Drifa cackled and winked at him. Not an attractive sight.

  “I take it there is no such thing.”

  “No matter!” Breanne interjected. “As long as Dunstan and the king believe there is, they will not want to get close enough to check.”

  “I will be in the kitchen helping cook with the wedding feast preparations,” Ingrith said. “Methinks lutefisk and a heap of gammelost would be enough to turn the archbishop and the king off my food.” At his frown of puzzlement, she explained, “Gammelost is a cheese so stinksome that legend says some warrior kings fed it to their men afore battle to turn them berserk.”

  “That is all we need…a berserk archbishop.”

  With a mischievous grin, Ingrith waddled away. They all stared at her huge bottom, transfixed.

  “I need to gather flowers for the bridal head wreath.” Drifa made for the outer door.

  “Will you help me fix my hump?” Sybil asked Geoff.

  “You want me to hump you?” he inquired with mock innocence.

  “Have you ever made love with a hunchback afore?” Sybil glanced up at Geoff as he wrapped an arm over her hump.

  “Not lately.”

  They were both laughing as they walked off.

  “’Twould seem that Geoff and Sybil are a good match,” Breanne remarked.

  He shrugged. “Both of my wives were biddable afore the weddings, too. You cannot trust women that way. They change afore a man’s very eyes. From angel to devil’s spawn in a heartbeat.”

  “That is the kind of drivel Archbishop Dunstan would spout.” She smacked him on the arm. “You do not believe that. Besides, since when is a biddable woman an asset to be desired?”

  “Oh, I do not know about that. I am thinking of something right now where I would bid and you would agree.”

  “Can you think of naught else but bedplay?”

  “Nothing so enjoyable.” He winked at her. “What is that thing on your nose?”

  “Porridge and peas, smashed together.”

  “It is sliding off.”

  “Not to worry. I have spares.”

  He leaned in closer, sniffing. “And that fruity scent?”

  “Raspberries. I used the juice to make my spots.”

  “I love raspberries.” He licked a line from chin to ear. “Yum!”

  She sighed, swaying on that line betwixt stubborn and biddable.

  I am so good! Really, I amaze myself betimes.

  “Stop it! I will have to repaint myself now.” Her words were strong, but her voice was weak.

  One more push and she will sway right over that line. “Let me lick you all over, and I will help you respot yourself. In fact, there are several special places I am inclined to paint on you. Using a feather.” How do I come up with this stuff? Must be one of Geoff’s talents wearing off on me.

  Her tongue darted out and flicked across her suddenly dry lips. He had caught her interest. Even so, she resisted. “After the blistering lecture Archbishop Dunstan gave us over the kiss out in the bailey, I have decided to be good.”

  Oh, please, do not! “There is no fun in that.”

  “There is no fun in being labeled a strumpet, either.”

  The cleric had warned them of temptation, fornication, impure thoughts and deeds. And laid most of the blame at her door.

  “He ne’er used the word strumpet.”

  “He implied it. And did you notice his mention of Eve’s wicked ways, but no mention of Adam’s wicked ways?”

  “He did mention women being Satan’s whips.” Caedmon chuckled.

  “’Tis not funny. You would have thought I was a harlot, all because of a mere kiss.”

  “It did not feel ‘mere’ to me, sweetling.” In fact, hot and wild would be a better description.

  “To me, neither,” she conceded.

  “Will you come to me tonight?” He ran a hand along her arm, from shoulder to wris
t, caressingly.

  She shook her head, even as she nigh purred at his touch. “I am sharing a bedchamber with my sisters and Sybil. I cannot imagine you having your own room with all the guests here or about to arrive.”

  “You are correct. Geoff, Rashid, and I have reserved one horse stall in the stables for ourselves.”

  “A step down in the world for you.”

  “Not so much. The straw is clean, and believe you me I have made my bed in worse places, especially when off to war.”

  “Everything is happening too fast.”

  He nodded. “Will you be returning to Larkspur with me once the wedding is over?” He had no idea where that question had come from, but suddenly the answer was very important to him.

  “I do not know. It depends on whether Dunstan and the king are satisfied with our explanations for Oswald’s disappearance. The safest route would be for me and my sisters to return to Stoneheim, except for Tyra, of course, who lives at Hawkshire with her husband. Are you worried that I have not fulfilled our bargain?”

  “Yea, you do owe me four more nights. Or is it five?” He grinned at her, then twined the fingers of one of her hands with his and raised the fist to his mouth where he kissed the knuckles.

  She just stared up at him, aroused already, he could tell.

  “Come, let us walk outside. Soon, the king will arrive, and there will be no opportunity,” he said.

  “’Tis a good thing you did not bring the children. With all the tension here, the least bit of misconduct might set off a disaster.”

  “For a certainty. And they will be safe under Hugh’s guidance, along with Amicia and Mary.”

  “I will miss them when I depart Northumbria. They are fine children, Caedmon, even if they are not all yours.”

  “You will miss the children? What about me? Will you miss me, wench?”

  She laughed and swung their linked hands between them. “Fishing for compliments, are you?”

  “You do not give them readily…not to me, leastways.”

  “Yea, I will miss you.”

  He gazed at her for a long moment. “Would you stay if I asked?” Damn, damn, damn, I must be daft to mention such a possibility.

  “As what? Nay, do not answer. No matter how I might feel, my father would consider it a grave insult if you wanted me only for a mistress. Wait …do not get your bowels in an uproar. I am not asking for matrimony from you. That was understood from the beginning. So, long way of getting to my answer. Nay, I would not stay if you asked.”