Page 39 of A Tale of Two Vikings

especially ones

that jiggle on lasses?

Oh, ’tis not new,

this love of curves

that mark the female

and men unnerves.

Why, truth to tell,

some say Adam said to Eve

in the Garden of Eden,

‘Great arse!’ Leastways, that’s what I believe.

So, ’tis not strange

that Viking men,

who are experts in female bodily appreciation,

would home in on this greatest of the gods’ creation:

the female arse.”

Mother Wilfreda and Sister Mary Rose actually laughed, and Father Alaric, too. He must have come up behind them.

Toste chuckled. “Well said, Bolthor! You have surpassed yourself. Truly, that is the best saga you have ever created. Will you repeat it for us at Ravenshire?”

Esme shoved herself out of Toste’s embrace, about to berate him for suggesting such a thing. But the words never got past her tongue, so astounded was she by the sight she beheld when she turned around.

Toste was dressed as a nun, too. And what a nun!

Like Bolthor, he wore the traditional nun’s garb—brown robe and matching veil over white wimple, crucifix on chain, prayer beads hanging from rope belt—and he’d shaved closely. But that was where the similarity ended. Not a single blond hair was exposed on his head, and he’d darkened his eyebrows, with charred wood, no doubt. Although he was tall and had wider shoulders than the average woman, Toste’s face was beautiful. Really beautiful. He had nicely sculpted cheek and jaw bones, smoky blue eyes, and full lips. And not a sign of leprosy, either.

“What think you of Sister Tostina?” Bolthor asked, slapping his thigh with mirth.

Esme arched her eyebrows. “Sister Tostina?”

“Yea, but you may call me Tina,” Toste said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“This is never going to work.” Esme groaned with dismay. “First, I can’t fit into a barrel. And now, you two look like…like…I do not know what.”

“I have noticed that many nuns display masculine traits, if that is what bothers you, m’lady.” Bolthor patted her arm with comfort. “No offense intended,” he added for the benefit of Mother Wilfreda and Sister Margaret.

“No insult taken,” her aunt said with a laugh. “In truth, many clerics have feminine traits, as well.”

Father Alaric puffed out his chest as if to show he was not one of those.

“Enough about all that. We must get started on our journey,” Toste told Esme.

“But I can’t fit,” she said, practically in tears.

“Never mind, we’ll find another way. Sister Margaret is going with us. It won’t be convincing otherwise, that three nuns, two of them unfamiliar ones, are transporting her brew into the city.”