Page 30 of The Reluctant Viking

“Is something troubling you?” Gyda asked from the doorway, interrupting Ruby’s painful reminiscence. “Olaf and I heard you moving around.”

“Do Vikings allow divorce?” Ruby asked suddenly.

Gyda looked surprised at her question but answered, “Certainly. ’Tis not a common occurrence, but, yea, ’tis permitted.”

Ruby motioned her to sit on the chair. In the dim candlelight, Gyda looked much younger with her unplaited hair hanging thick and straight down to the waist of her loose nightdress. Gyda sat silently, apparently sensing Ruby’s troubled mind, waiting patiently for her to speak.

“My husband has left me. He wants a divorce,” Ruby confided miserably.

Gyda’s shoulders sagged wearily, and she put a hand to her forehead. “Which husband? Thork? Or the other one?”

“Jack. After twenty years of marriage, Jack left me. Well, actually, Thork left, too, in a way, when he locked me up, and now again in abandoning me here to go to his grandfather’s.”

“Do you really believe all these things you say?”

“Of course. Do you doubt that Jack wants a divorce?”

“No-o-o,” Gyda drawled out hesitantly. “Why did this Jack leave you?”

“He said I neglected him and my sons, that I loved my career more than I loved him.”

“Was he right?”

Ruby sat looking at Gyda dolefully before she whispered, “Yes. Yes, I think he was right.”

Gyda took Ruby into her arms then. Ruby cried out her pain on the Viking woman’s shoulder.

Chapter Six

Three days later Thork and his companions rode their horses into the side yard of Olaf’s home.

Thork’s brows shot up at the sight of Ruby sitting like a bloody queen in the shade of a tree near the river. A dozen giggling children surrounded her adoringly, like loyal subjects pleading for “just one more story.” Ulf stood watchfully off to the side.

After dismounting, Thork handed his reins to Selik, who annoyed him with a pointed smirk in Ruby’s direction before riding toward the barn. He’d already warned the hot-blooded youth to stay away from Astrid if he valued his neck. Cnut followed close behind, barely stifling a laugh.

His friends knew that Thork chafed at the abrupt interruption of a pleasant visit at his grandfather’s manor and had been rubbing it in at every turn on the way back to Jorvik. The forced celibacy of his lengthy sea voyage had fueled his appreciation for the insatiable appetite of a Viking widow, Linette, who lived there, but, more than that, she’d helped him forget the troublesome wench awaiting him in Jorvik. Little did he relish being summoned back to attend a feast at Sigtrygg’s court, especially when he hadn’t yet tired of Linette’s charms.

Hell and Valhalla! It wasn’t so much the absence of Linette that rankled. There were plenty of women in Jorvik. One was much the same as the other to him and ever had been. It was the fawning atmosphere of the Norse court he abhorred.

As he approached the group of children in Olaf’s yard, unnoticed thus far, Thork observed Ruby arranging the children in a line with two of the children standing in front, facing each other with linked, upraised hands. Thork’s heart ached when he saw Tykir at the end of the line, watching him longingly, unable to rush to him in normal childish greeting. He followed his father’s instructions well.

“I know you children will love this game because it’s based on a famous Viking battle…”

What Viking battle? Thork wondered, furrowing his forehead.

“Anyhow, in this battle,” Ruby went on with her amazing tale, “these fierce Vikings not only captured the city of London but they tore down the London Bridge to keep the Saxons from recapturing the city. Wasn’t that clever?”

London Bridge? A Viking occupation of London? What mischief did the witch brew? Thork’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. The woman truly was an enigma. To Thork’s mind, women were ever simple creatures, like cats. Selfish. Little intellect. Definitely lacking in honor and loyalty. This mysterious woman did not fit the mold, and that bothered him sorely.

And she certainly looked different than she had that day he’d first seen her at the harbor. Her hair was still abysmally short and boyish, but it shone like burnished mahogany in the summer sun, accenting a flawless, creamy complexion, high cheekbones, a straight, slightly upturned nose and full, sensual lips.

Gone were the offensive shirt and braies, replaced by a soft, clinging green tunic, probably Astrid’s if he was any judge of women’s sizes. Every time she moved to straighten a child’s arm or to position the youngsters in line, a different part of her tall, slim body was outlined—long, nay, extremely long legs, a waist his two hands itched to span, high, firm breasts, and a round bottom that invited the palm of a man’s hand.

She was not beautiful—nay, far from it—but her attractive, sensual aura drew him involuntarily. Thork frowned at his gut reaction to the wench he sensed could be dangerous to his future. Thor’s blood! He should have stayed in Northumbria longer—until Linette had appeased his hunger.

“London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down,” Ruby sang while the children filed under the “bridge.” She chanted merrily along until her gray-green eyes lifted and connected with his in surprise—at first with welcome, then switching to cool reserve. This woman hid much. He must be careful.

Ruby told Tyra to supervise the game and walked a short distance to where Thork stood. Tyra protested at first, wanting to go to Thork, but obeyed when Thork promised her a surprise later. He nodded imperceptibly to Tykir that he had something for him, too.