Page 68 of The Bewitched Viking

“I have no knowledge of a relic known as the Virgin’s Veil. This is one of five blue headrails I own, all cut from the same English cloth. ‘By the Virgin’s Veil’ is an expression, that’s all.”

“What explanation have you for all the frightful events that occur in your vicinity?” Anlaf asked belligerently.

“Coincidence.”

“Hah!” Anlaf responded. And under his breath he muttered, “Bloody witch!” She could see equally dubious grimaces on the faces of many of the men.

The lawspeaker stared at her for a long moment, then sighed loudly. “This is a dilemma. We have three versions of a dispute, all different. Let us think on this problem and come up with a just solution.”

About five minutes of contemplation followed then, as the men presumably thought through all aspects of the case. Some of them spoke to neighbors. There was much nodding and shaking of heads.

Those five minutes felt like five hours to Alinor, whose fate weighed in the balance. Surely, in the end, Tykir would come to her rescue…if rescuing became necessary. Her instincts about him as her God-sent champion—her guardian Viking angel, ludicrous as that sounded—could not be so far off the mark.

Finally, the lawspeaker’s crinkled face brightened, as if inspired. He banged his staff on the floor for attention. “All good men know when to compromise,” Styrr the Wise began. “It occurs to me that we have been told how a witch attempts to seduce mortal man so she may lose her tail. And I remind you that Tykir has told us he does not believe the Lady Alinor is a witch. Therefore, I suggest that Tykir prove his claim by marrying the witch.” He smiled broadly through his toothless mouth at what he obviously considered a brilliant settlement.

Tykir’s face first went pale with shock, then purple with rage. He sputtered with disbelief.

“Those are wise words Styrr has delivered…and well worth pondering,” King Anlaf offered quickly. After only a moment of contemplation, he shouted, “Yea! A perfect solution!”

And the entire body of free men and chieftains voted their favor with whooping cheers and the raucous clatter of their weapons against shields, the vapnatak. “Prove she is not a witch, Tykir. Marry the wench,” many of them hollered.

“Nay! I refuse,” Tykir bellowed.

“You refuse a decision of the Thing?” the lawspeaker inquired stonily. “Do you choose decision by combat instead?”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” Alinor said. “Let me talk to Tykir in private for a brief moment.”

“I have naught to say to you,” he said in an ice-laden voice when she pulled him off to the side. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault?” she snapped, but then softened her voice. She needed to have him on her side, not alienate him further. “Listen, Tykir, marrying me is a perfect solution.”

He made a snorting noise that was most offensive. She would have whacked him on the head if she did not need his help in this matter. “Really. Marry me to end this absurd problem with Anlaf. You take me away to Dragonstead for the winter, and I will return to Graycote come spring. It’s a perfect solution for me. We will be wed, but not really wed. My brothers will be forced to end their marriage machinations. And I will not have to worry over having a bothersome husband about….” Her words trailed off as she realized how insulting her plan sounded.

Tykir was shaking his head at her, as if she’d lost her mind. “And what would I gain from this so-called marriage?”

“Well…well…” she faltered. “It would be the noble thing to do.”

“Hah! More like the angel thing to do.”

“That, too,” she said brightly.

“I am not a saint.”

“I know.”

“Nay, Alinor. You do not know.”

“I could…you know…” Her face burned hotly.

“Nay, I do not know. Tell me.” He was not making this easy for her at all.

“Well, I could be your…um, bedmate for the winter.”

At first his mouth dropped open with surprise. Then he laughed. The lout laughed. “What have you to offer that Samirah, or some other wench, could not provide…without all the bother?”

“You wanted me before…in Hedeby.”

“A moment of madness.”