Page 11 of The Bewitched Viking

“Perchance I could gather together a few coin,” she offered. The furtive cast in her eyes told him clearly that she hid something. Hmmm. Now that he thought on it, the number of sheep and cattle he’d seen on the fells, along with the well-cultivated fields, bespoke a more prosperous estate than exhibited in Graycote’s austere keep or in Lady Alinor’s jewelless attire. Mayhap she hoarded her gold. But for what purpose?

Really, it was no matter to him whether she was wealthy as a Baghdad sultan or poor as a landless cotter.

He shook his head. “I promised Anlaf a witch, and a witch he shall have.”

“All for the sake of a horse?” she scoffed.

He’d told her moments ago about all the trouble he’d gone to since the king’s emissary had come to him in Birka, including Anlaf’s wily inducements to seal the mission. Her scoffing tone irritated him. Whether he’d been barmy or not to take on this mission was his concern, and whether he did so out of boredom or for a fine stallion did not merit her criticism.

“Do not forget the slave girl,” he pointed out in a deliberate attempt to rattle her composure. “The one with the bells.” For some reason, he’d mentioned the horse and the jingling Samirah, but he hadn’t told her about Adam. The less people who knew the better, especially his sister Rain and her husband, Selik. They would go off in a rage if they discovered Anlaf’s perfidy regarding their adopted son. In fact, their rage might cause a whole bloody war over an incident that Tykir could handle by simply delivering a witch.

Her upper lip curled with contempt. “Men are the same everywhere, are they not? It does not matter if they be Norseman or Englishman, men are led by the tail betwixt their legs.”

Tykir was startled by her blunt words and realized that she was referring to his slave girl comment. He was not accustomed to such crudity from a lady, but he forced his face to remain expressionless. “My lady, you exceed yourself. You would do best not to earn my scorn. Speaking of tails, how much trouble does yours cause?”

“I…am…not…a…witch,” she repeated, a refrain that was becoming tiresome to him.

“I would think it could pose problems when you attend your needs in the garderobe,” he said, as if she had not even spoken. He’d already noticed that she hated it when he ignored her words. “Or riding a horse. Oh, oh, I thought of something…”

“Now, there is a rare event.”

He frowned at her impertinent interruption. “I am loath to ask, but…do you have a mood tail?”

He could tell she did not want to ask but could not help herself. “A mood tail?”

“You know…does it wag of its own volition when you are in a happy mood, like a puppy? And droop when you are in a despondent mood, like when the blood curdles in your witchly cauldron?”

“I find no humor in your foolery.” She bit her bottom lip with frustration. There was something appealing about the woman when her feathers were ruffled, but he just could not see past those hideous freckles. And even though a crisp wimple covered her bright red hair, he knew it was there underneath, just waiting to spring forth. Moreover, she had no breasts to speak of, as far as he could tell. His preferences did not necessarily lean toward the buxom, but flatter than two eggs on a hot rock held little enticement, either.

“Keep your eyes in their sockets, Viking,” she admonished.

Aha! Another feather ruffled. He liked ruffling her. So he added, “Oh, Holy Thor! How could I have forgotten the most important thing? What do you do with your tail when you spread your legs for the bed sport?”

She gasped, then quickly masked her shock with a bland face. “Since I have been a widow for a year and more, bedsport is hardly something I engage in. Have you all-knowing Vikings found a way to engage in bed sport without a mate?” She batted her eyelashes at him as if she was serious, while in fact she mocked him. “Verily, there was not all that much mating even when I had a mate…not that I ever complained about that.”

“Oh, lady, that is exactly the kind of provocative remark you should not make to a Viking.”

He grinned at her lasciviously.

She glared at him.

“So, do not distract me with tempting propositions. We must be on our way.”

“Tem-tempting,” she sputtered.

“By the by, Rurik and Bolthor and I were wondering if you ever dance naked in the forest.”

“Dance…dance…oh, you are the most ill-bred, insufferable, loathsome, lecherous lout I have ever encountered in all my life. And believe me, I have met more than a few.”

“Well, yea, but enough compliments for now. We have no time for man-woman banter.”

She drew herself up with affront. “Turn aside whilst I gather my undergarments. ’Tis not meet that you should ogle my intimate apparel.”

“Ogle? Me?” Tykir stiffened. “Lady, despite my mention of temptation, do not delude yourself. Your intimate apparel holds no allure for me. Nor do your intimate parts. Your virtue will not be forfeit in my company, I assure you.”

Just then, Bolthor approached from the corridor. “I have gathered provisions from the kitchen, and Rurik says the horses are ready.”

Tykir looked toward Lady Alinor, eyebrows arched in question of her readiness.