Page 50 of A Tale of Two Vikings

On the other hand, she should not whistle,

Because then Toste’s manpart would not stand still.

But, leastways, on this great journey

Everyone was full of glee.

And is that not the best thing about Vikings—

That they can laugh at themselves?

Well, one of the best things.”

“Bolthor, if I hear you even once repeat that particular saga at Ravenshire, I will make you wish you were a real leper, living in a leper colony far, far away from my menacing presence,” Toste said.

There was a short silence. Then a wounded voice inquired, “Dost not like my sagas, Toste?”

“I like your sagas in general,” Toste lied. Esme didn’t have to see his face to know it was a lie. “But I do not like that one in particular. It makes me out a pathetic, whining kind of man.”

“So?” Bolthor said. Then, “Ouch! Why did you clout me on the head? You almost knocked Sister Margaret’s head rail off.”

Which prompted Sister Margaret to say, “I liked your saga, Bolthor. Do you think you could write a short one that I could use in the selling of my mead in the Jorvik markets?”

“Hmmm. Mayhap.” Within seconds, Bolthor was saying:

“Margaret’s Mead is a wonderful brew,

Sweet as honey, through and through.”

Sister Margaret repeated the poem several times to commit it to memory and promised to have her agent in the Coppergate markets of Jorvik use it as a selling ploy. Bolthor practically sputtered with pride.

“Toste, I have to get up now,” Esme said. “I’m getting a cramp in my back.”

“Not just yet,” he cautioned. “We’ve already entered Ravenshire lands and should be at the keep within the hour. We must be especially careful for a little longer. Keep in mind that Eirik, the lord of Ravenshire, is half Saxon, half Viking, while his wife, Eadyth, is full-blooded Saxon. Many of their guests are Saxons. We do not want word to get out of your whereabouts till we are ready to face your father again.”

“St. Bridget’s breath! I am weary to death of all this chaos. I yearn for peace and quiet. Sad, isn’t it, that a woman of my age wants only a peaceful life? Is it possible this madness will finally be over soon?”

“Well, you will be out of danger for a while, till after the yule season is past, but peace is the last thing you will find at Ravenshire. And as for chaos—well, I suspect chaos reigns there.”

“What mean you?” Esme asked.

“Have you never been in a Viking household over the yule season?”

“Nay,” she answered hesitantly, though she could not imagine anything out of the ordinary in the well-ordered Ravenshire keep. Both its lord and lady were renowned for their hospitality and well-run affairs.

“Sweetling, you may never be the same,” Toste promised, with a pat on her head which pressed her closer to his twitching manpart.

That is for sure.

Let the good times begin…

“Swive me silly, you luscious Viking, you. Awk!”

Four heads in the upper solar of Ravenshire turned to look at the caged bird in the corner. Then three of those heads turned toward Tykir Thorksson.

By the bones of St. Boniface! Will my brother ever grow up? Eirik Thorksson, the lord of Ravenshire, wondered. He couldn’t help smiling, even as he shook his head ruefully. “Have you been teaching Abdul perverted sayings again?”

“What’s perverted about swiving? And everyone knows we Vikings are luscious,” Tykir answered with a grin.