Page 68 of The Caged Viking

She drew away to survey him. He wore a clean, dark blue tunic over black braies. His hair was clubbed off his face into a long braid. And he’d shaved. “Looks to me like you’ve already bathed.”

He took her hand and stood, pulling her with him. “I may have missed a few spots on my body. You can help me find those secret places, and I’ll find yours.”

* * *

A man can never be too clean…

One day home at Haukshire had impacted Hauk in ways he hadn’t expected. He felt like he’d come to a turning point in his life and he wasn’t sure what the future held for him.

He’d already been carrying a persistent burning in his gut of guilt over Bjorn. When he’d seen the state of neglect at Haukshire for the first time this morn, the fire flamed higher. But the sight of some of his cotters wearing ragged tunics and gunnas, living in hovels, some of the children looking undernourished, well, he feared for the state of his innards with all this heat.

Shame was a close cousin to guilt, and that was untenable. He was a Viking. Vikings did not go all weepy over their mistakes. In fact, they rarely admitted their mistakes. Even so, Hauk had come to the conclusion that he must drop anchor and stay put at Haukshire until he made things right, mayhap even permanently. A landed Viking he would become. No more sailing the seas for battle, or trading, or adventure…not until he got things under control here at Haukshire. Unfortunately, when he thought of his future, an image of his new wife came into his fool head, especially after seeing all the good she’d accomplished in his home after only one day.

“This is heavenly,” said wife murmured, jarring him from the reverie. Hauk had almost dozed off on the bench in the bathing hut, which was basically a small longhouse, where he sat watching his wife. And no wonder, it had been a long day and the humid heat here was relaxing him a bit too much. Even though he’d teased Kirstin about bathing together, he was frankly too tired to take off his clothes, bathe, and put them on again, even if there was some sex play in between. He would never admit that to his male comrades, of course. A Viking too tired for sex? Never! Actually, he was looking forward to making love to his wife again in the comfort of a bed with the time and energy to enjoy it to the fullest.

Kirstin was submerged up to her neck in the small stone pool, leaning her neck against the surrounding ledge.

“Heavenly, is it?” he said. “Mayhap I should join you after all, and we can be naughty angels in heaven.”

Instead of reacting to his teasing words, she commented, “This bathing place really is a unique marvel for this time period. I know from having lived in the Norselands until I was fourteen and from my research, that some estates in the Scandinavian countries made use of natural hot springs on their properties, but I’ve never heard of any making use of a well.”

Oh, good gods! She is going to give me another of her lectures. Even so, he told her, “My grandsire designed this many years ago to please his new bride. I think he saw something similar in Frankland.”

Only about three arm-lengths wide, the bathing pool held three or four adults in a tight fit, or a half dozen children. A plug on the one side drained all of the dirty water out, or regulated how much hot water could be added without overflowing. There was another smaller pool in the bathing house, built over a fire pit. Water came into that pool from a deep well outside, where it could be warmed up, then added to the larger pool via a covered clay trench.

“I agree,” he said, “Very ingenious. It’s lauded by everyone who ever uses it. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is one of the reasons Ingolf envies my property.”

Soaping up her arms and neck, she sniffed and made an expression of distaste. “Your soap is so harsh. It’s the lye in it, which is fine when washing clothes and pots and pans, I suppose, but really not very good for the skin. I wonder if I could experiment with adding oil, or even lard, and then some scents. Floral would be one possibility, but maybe pine from all those evergreen trees out there would appeal more to men. Fruit, too, would good, but out of season now. Ooh, ooh, maybe some of those wilted apples down in the storeroom would work. And honey, definitely honey.”

His wife did talk a lot, he noticed, not for the first, or fiftieth time. Even so, he had to smile, “You would have us virile Viking men smelling like apples?”

“Better that then BO,” she replied vehemently. “That’s body odor. Pee- you!”

“Actually, I do know a man…Brandr Igorsson, who married a strange woman who made scented soaps. Mayhap I can introduce you next spring.”

“Why do you say she is strange?”

“She can rappel up and down the outside of a castle, and she taught the ladies at Bear’s Lair how to dance in a line to some song about achy breaky hearts. Come to think on it, you sang a song for us by that name, didn’t you?”

“What? Oh, my God! Maybe she’s a time traveler, too.”

“Nay, I don’t think so. Ne’er have I heard mention of her moving up in the air through a twirling funnel.”

“That’s not the only way…oh, never mind. Back to soap…I have to admit, Vikings do have an appreciation for cleanliness, far more than men of other countries.” She grinned and added, “No wonder women from other countries welcome them to their bed furs.”

He put a hand over his heart, as if wounded. “I can think of some other reasons why women welcome us to their bed furs.” Then he ogled her body with fake lasciviousness.

“I know. From personal experience,” she said, disconcerting him with her directness. Then further disconcerting him when she added, “We’ve only made love two times, but I have to admit you have a few moves.”

“A few?” he exclaimed with a laugh. “’Twould seem I have work to do.”

Standing, he began to remove his clothing. Suddenly, he was not as tired as he’d thought.

* * *

Oops, she did it again!...

Despite all her best intentions not to have sex with Hauk again after his kidnapping her, Kirstin had succumbed to the man. Again!