Page 83 of A Tale of Two Vikings

No wonder they said Vikings were many-talented men.

No wonder Norse women walked around with smiles on their faces.

No wonder she was falling a little bit in love with Vagn Ivarsson.

The naked-in-a-crowd nightmare…

Helga was in the great hall by mid-morning eating her third bowl of raisin porridge and second piece of manchet bread slathered with butter, accompanied by a huge wooden cup of ale. She was ravenous, for some reason.

“Helga, what ails you?” her father asked. “I have ne’er seen you eat so much at one sitting.”

“Must be the storm and all this inactivity inside.” Now, that was an ill-thought-out answer. Everyone knew that just the opposite was true; activity bred appetite. Oh, well.

He stared at her disbelievingly. “Your face is flushed, and your lips are puffy. Are you sure you are not ill?”

Rona made a snorting sound as she passed by just then, and Finn, who sat on her father’s other side, said, “She looks like a maid who’s been well-tu…” His words trailed off, luckily, at the glare of warning from Helga. He grinned pointedly, however, as he sipped his own ale and watched her squirm.

“Nay, I am not ill. Cannot a lady eat to her content without everyone gawking at her?”

Everyone turned away, but she could see from the corner of her eye the frown of confusion on her father’s face.

Just then, Vagn swaggered up.

Oh, good gods! Did he have to swagger? Everyone will suspect what went on, if they don’t already.

Then she noticed his collarless tunic, which exposed the bite mark on his shoulder near the curve of his neck. She hoped no one would notice, but no such luck! A quick glance found her father, Finn, Rona and several others staring at said mark and grinning.

Her father had not yet connected the mark with her, though, because he remarked to Vagn, “Appears that your celibate life has ended, boy. Good for you! A man must needs release his body humors on occasion, lest he explode.”

Vagn grinned and winked before sitting down beside her.

She put her face in her hand and groaned.

“I am starving,” Vagn said. “I don’t know why, because I ate several hours ago, and a tasty repast it was, too.”

She groaned again.

Under the table, she felt Vagn’s hand on her thigh and it was creeping upward. Her head shot up and she glowered at him. But did that stop him? Nay. He pretended to be listening to something her father said about a wild boar being seen near the keep the night before. And while her father and some of his guardsmen discussed a hunt planned for later that morn, Vagn ate with one hand and brought her to peak with the other.

Finally her father glanced her way, then glanced again. “Helga! You are definitely looking flushed, and now you are breathless. I insist you go back to your bed and rest. I will be gone for several hours and will check on you later.”

“Perhaps you are right,” she said, standing on wobbly legs.

As she nodded her farewells to everyone, she started to walk away. That was when she heard Vagn tell her father, “Actually, I think I must pass on the boar hunt today. My wound has been aching all night, and my head is beginning to pound. Methinks I should take to my bed, as well. Do you mind?”

“Nay. Go on, boy. There will be other boars.”

After they left, everyone looked at each other at the high table, then burst out laughing. Gorm laughed hardest of all. And the wagers flew hot and high.

Chapter Eleven

Oh, the webs we weave when first we deceive…

It was the second sennight of December. Snow and ice storms had made prisoners of them all at Ravenshire, except for Eirik, Tykir and Bolthor, who’d gone off before the weather change to Winchester to address the Witan. And except for Toste, who was, of course, a real prisoner these past five days.

Toste’s “disappearance” had raised no alarm bells the day after Esme had tricked him into going to the woodcutter’s hut. Everyone assumed that he had gone with Sister Margaret and was off somewhere searching for his brother’s killer. Actually, a stableboy had traveled with Sister Margaret, thanks to the release of another of Esme’s precious coins.

Esme’s plan was not going at all as she’d expected. In fact, she felt as if she’d put her head in the mouth of a tiger, and now she didn’t know how to pull it out. As a result, she had taken to biting her fingernails to the quick and wringing her hands in nervousness—gestures which did not escape Eadyth and Alinor, who assumed that Esme was distressed over potentially bad news their husbands might bring back from the king. If they only knew! That was the least of her problems at the moment.