Page 36 of The Reluctant Viking

Thork bared his white teeth in a devastating smile. “Oh, sweetling, ’twould be more than one night, I wager, afore our appetites were sated.”

No doubt about that, Ruby thought. Every inch of her skin pulsed with want of him.

Impatient, Thork asked once again, “Will you share my bed tonight?”

“Will you admit to being my husband?”

Thork tilted his head questioningly. Then his eyes stormed over as realization hit him that she wanted more from him than he was willing to give.

“Never!” Thork said vehemently, pulling back from her. Suddenly his passion turned cold. He slammed a fist into his palm angrily. “I should have known. Ever do women want something from a man. Never do they give their love unconditionally.”

“That’s not fair.”

“’Tis the fool I am for thinking you showed honest emotion when, in fact, you sought payment for favors given. Marriage vows in exchange for your body! Hah!” His blazing eyes raked her body scornfully. “It appears you were well named after the harlot in your bloody name-song, after all.”

“Thork, that’s not true,” Ruby cried, but he’d already turned and left. She touched her fingertips to kiss-swollen lips to stop her sobs.

Would this man ever stop hurting her?

Chapter Seven

For the next few days, thoughts of Thork tormented Ruby. No matter what she was doing—helping Gyda to put away summer produce, marketing with Astrid under Ulf’s ever-present surveillance, playing with the children, singing and telling stories at Sigtrygg’s court each night where she’d gained an unwanted popularity—Ruby couldn’t stop thinking about this Viking prototype of her husband.

She should have felt guilty, having such adulterous feelings for another man. She didn’t.

The rational side of Ruby’s brain told her Thork was not her husband. The other side of her brain, however, the one with a pipeline directly to her heart, saw no difference between Jack and Thork.

Ruby needed to talk to Thork, but he avoided her like the plague—rarely coming to Olaf’s house and leaving whenever she saw him in Sigtrygg’s hall, usually with the blonde she likened to Dolly Parton.

Somehow she had to convince him she came from the future and that, for some reason known only to God, she’d been sent to him. Then, too, Thork’s sons demanded her attention. She must convince Thork that his neglectful behavior hurt the boys. They needed him almost as desperately as she did.

And what about Jack and her own two boys? Was Jack sorry now that he’d left her? Did he think she’d died? She couldn’t bear to picture Eddie and David at her funeral, having to live without a mother. But then, Jack planned to look for another woman. He’d already told her so. As painful as the thought of Jack with another woman was, Ruby hoped his second wife would be a good mother for her sons—if she didn’t return.

Ruby swiped at her eyes and glanced at Gyda who’d been chattering away while Ruby’s mind wandered. A guard, Ulf, followed close behind as they walked toward the Norse castle.

“’Tis a puzzle to me yet why Sigtrygg’s latest mistress, Byrnhil, would summon us. And midday, at that! ’Tis the busiest time of the day. Leastways ’tis for honest folk.”

“I don’t know any more than you do. Believe me, I would as soon stay far away from your king and his volatile moods. I’m afraid he may behead me yet.”

When they got to the palace, the empty great hall echoed with silence. A servant escorted them to an upper chamber where a dozen well-dressed women of Sigtrygg’s court eagerly awaited their arrival.

After the preliminary greetings, Byrnhil, a big-boned, Amazon-like woman, whose size probably suited Sigtrygg well, got directly to the point.

“I sat in the hall the first night you arrived and saw those scanty underthings you wear. Could you show them to us again, here in private?”

Ruby and Gyda exchanged looks of surprise.

“Why?” Ruby asked.

“I like nice things,” the obviously vain mistress said, pointing around the room where luxurious garments lay haphazardly across chairs and chests. Fine tapestries adorned the stone walls and a Persian carpet hid a portion of the rush-covered floor. “Also, I saw the look in some of our men’s eyes when you disrobed. Mayhap such garb would suit me, as well.”

“I guess it would be all right,” Ruby said hesitantly. “I own a business that makes fine lingerie, you know.”

Byrnhil and her ladies clapped their hands in delight.

“Wonderful,” Brynhil declared. “You can make some for me. We will raid Sigtrygg’s treasure room for fabrics.”

When Ruby modeled her black silk and lace panties and bra for the ladies, they oohed and aahed, touching the fine lace, asking what other fabrics could be used and whether different styles would suit.