Page 59 of The Blue Viking

“A cramp?” Rurik mumbled, sitting down.

Stigand’s gaze shot to Rurik’s crotch as if he expected some instant shrinkage for the lie. “A cramp, eh? Excessive bedsport will do that to a man betimes. One time I got a cramp in my cock. Talk about pain!”

Rurik put his face on the table and groaned.

That was when Bolthor walked up. “Did you orgaz her?”

Rurik lifted his head and glared at his skald. “If one more person uses that ridiculous word, I am going to cut off said person’s tongue. Is that clear?”

Bolthor stared at him for a long moment, as if unsure whether it was clear or not. Then, he pointed out irrelevantly, “Your lips are swollen.”

“He’s got a cramp in his neck, too,” Stigand told Bolthor, as if that had some importance.

Bolthor nodded. “I wondered why he kept his hand there. I thought he might be trying to hide somethin’.”

Stigand and Bolthor exchanged looks, then glanced down to check on the condition of his staff. This lying-shriveling nonsense had gone too far.

Rurik was about to swear… a famous Norse expletive … when he saw that all the males who were gathering about the table, no doubt to discuss the battle plans for the MacNabs, were wearing scarlet bows on their forefingers, including the Scotsmen and boys. Even more ludicrous, the size of the bows on Stigand and Bolthor’s fingers would do a dragon proud.

He shook his head at the entire group. Lackwits, all.

The next hour was spent in developing some offensive actions to take against the MacNabs. This was Rurik’s area of expertise, and he relished the drawing of maps and discussion of strategies. In the end, they came up with a plan that just might work, utilizing their undermanned troops to the best advantage.

Standing up and stretching, Rurik asked one of the housecarls to bring a tub and hot water up to Maire’s bedchamber, along with toweling cloths and clean bed linens. Then he asked Nessa, who had just approached and was putting a hand familiarly on Stigand’s shoulder, if she could prepare a tray for him with a goodly amount of food.

“How much food is goodly?” Nessa asked.

Rurik smiled then … a slow, lazy smile of anticipation. “Enough to last a good long while.”

Rurik wasn’t smiling for long. As he departed from the hall with his heavily laden tray, following in the footsteps of the housecarls with buckets of water, he heard Bolthor announce, “This is the saga of Rurik the Greater.”

Once there was a Viking

Who lost his knack,

But soon a Scottish witch,

Taught him how to …

Get his knack back.

Now, in his bedsport,

There is no longer a lack.

Maire had just donned her chemise and was about to step out from behind the screen when Rurik came through the door.

“Wake up, sleepling,” he said cheerily, then observed her in the corner. “Oh, you are already up and about.” Then he added in a disappointed, accusatory voice, “You got dressed.”

“Of course, I got dressed. Did you expect me to he about naked for another whole day?”

“I had hoped,” he remarked. And he was serious. The dolt! Not that Maire hadn’t given him reason to hope. Blessed St. Boniface! Maire hardly knew the wanton who had inhabited her bedchamber this past day. Well, she had regained her senses now. Or, leastways, she hoped she was back to normal.

Just then, she noticed the men standing behind Rurik with buckets of water, all of them grinning. With a little shriek, she jumped back behind the screen. “You could have warned me that you brought others with you. I am not properly attired.”

He glanced around, then shrugged sheepishly as he realized his mistake.

Soon, everyone had left, and Maire was soaking in a large copper tub filled with hot, lavender-scented water. While she lay back, basking in this unprecedented luxury, Rurik amazed her even further by lighting candles about the room and remaking the bed with clean linens. If he had removed all his garments and jumped into the tub with her, flashing his usual grin, she would not have considered it out of the ordinary for his character.