Page 67 of A Tale of Two Vikings

Esme was a strong person, much stronger than people gave her credit for. When she wanted something as much as she wanted her home at Evergreen, she would stop at nothing—nothing—to attain that goal. Hadn’t she spent eleven years in a nunnery to prove that point? Hadn’t she fought off her father’s marriage and death threats? But it was time to go on the offensive, and if it meant stomping over a roguish Viking to get what she wanted, then so be it. Toste might think he could force her to his will, but he was sorely mistaken. Sad to say, she could be as ruthless as her father if pushed to the wall.

“The stables are the only place where a person can get any privacy here,” Toste finally responded in a grumbling tone, still dragging her along. “There are people everywhere at Ravenshire, mostly busybodies who have naught better to do than interfere in other people’s affairs.”

“They do it out of affection,” she argued.

“Hah! You have no idea how Alinor and Eadyth meddled in the life of our friend Rurik till he settled down with Maire in the Scottish highlands. He should have left her hanging in a cage from her ramparts, if you ask me.”

“A…a cage?” she sputtered. That was one of the few things her father hadn’t tried with her, probably because he’d hadn’t heard of such.

“Once, Alinor even pretended to grow a tail to scare Rurik into believing she was a witch.”

Esme would have loved to see that.

“Eirik and Tykir are just as bad. Especially Tykir. A more jestsome man there never was! Ask Tykir sometime how he kidnapped Alinor because she put a curse on King Anlaf’s male staff, causing it to make a right turn.”

Esme’s eyes went wide. Then she fought back a smile. She would have liked to see that, too. She was beginning to realize how stale and boring her life had been thus far. By necessity, of course. Still…“I like them…all of your friends.”

“I like them, too. In small doses.”

“I especially like Alinor and Eadyth. They are exactly the type of independent woman I want to be when I regain Evergreen.”

“There is independence and there is independence. Eadyth is an accomplished merchant, but she organizes everything. No doubt she even organizes the bedsport with her husband, though he does not seem to complain in that regard. And Alinor, hah! Alinor may very well be a noted weaver of fine cloth, and she breeds prize sheep with exceptional wool, but I would not want to live with the witch. By thunder, her blathering would drive a sane man mad.”

Esme was amazed at Toste’s longwindedness with regard to his friends. He usually didn’t divulge so much personal information. “Her husband, Tykir, does not seem to mind.”

Toste shrugged. “He is besotted, for a certainty, even after all these years of wedlock.”

There was something endearing about both brothers teasing and openly showing love for their wives, and vice versa. She’d never witnessed such before—not that she would want it for herself. Such caring would weaken her, and that she could not allow, not if she hoped to win the fight before her. Even so, she asked, “What have you against wedlock?”

“’Tis fine for some men. Not me. Though I admit there are a few examples of good marriages, my father and brothers more than prove it is a sad state, to be entered into for family profit. And I have seen marriage used more often as a political ploy than a source of happiness. More trouble than it is worth.”

Sadly, he had a point there. “Do you not want children?”

“Not particularly. Do you?”

“I have not thought much about children. I have concentrated so much these past years on avoiding my father’s scurrilous marriage plots that the prospect of my body increasing from such ventures seemed intolerable.”

They had walked all the way to the end of the aisle. Now they stopped near an empty chamber, and he leaned against the wall. He still held her hand, fingers entwined, and she did not have the vigor to protest. Or the desire, truth to tell. In the back of her mind, still unformed ideas swirled…how best to use this man for her purposes.

“You do not favor a child of the loins of Lord Rotting-Cock?” Toste asked with a soft smile.

There he goes, teasing me again. I swear, his smile must be magical. It makes me tingle in the oddest places. And tingling is definitely a weakness I cannot allow. Blessed St. Beatrice, next I will be swooning. “The thought of making a child with Oswald of Lincolnshire turns my stomach.”

“Actually, that is why I have brought you out here,” he said hesitantly.

“To discuss children?”

“To discuss marriage.” The expression of surprise on her face must have scared him, because he immediately amended his statement. “Not to me.”

She laughed.

His face was flushed with embarrassment over his misleading phrasing. God forbid that he should offer marriage to some unwitting maid, especially an overaged almost-nun like Esme. “Do not heed Alinor and Eadyth’s plot to coax you into marriage,” he elaborated. “Outward appearances can be deceptive. Eadyth and Alinor mean well, but they can be devious and relentless when they get a bit between their teeth.”

Why would he care? Could he be jealous? Nay, he has no interest in me that way. Even so, he is speaking in circles. “Why are you stuttering like a dolthead? Speak your mind.”

He took a deep breath, then said, “You must make me a promise that you will not succumb to their matchmaking efforts whilst I am gone.”

Must? Since when must she do anything he decreed? Then his other words sank in. “Gone? Where are you going?” Her voice was shrill with distress. During this brief time at Ravenshire, she had felt at peace. Now Toste was going to pull away her anchor? When had he become so important to her well-being? She was the one who would steer the rudder of her life course, but she refused to let him jump ship. If it would not have been too obvious, she would have stamped her foot.