Page 48 of The Reluctant Viking

Thork didn’t laugh for long.

When Esle came to his sleeping chamber at the palace that night, he turned her away. Too many thoughts plagued him.

He’d been careless. Tonight, for the first time ever, he’d passed over that fine line he’d drawn long ago for his relationships with women.

Risks! He’d talked about taking risks with Ruby. By the blood of all the gods, what had he been thinking of? His own danger concerned him little. Death rode ever at his side, a constant companion, but he cared too much for Eirik and Tykir to jeopardize their well-being.

And Ruby? He knew that involvement with him would endanger her, as well. Did he care? Thor’s blood! Of course, he did. The seductive witch had wedged her way into his heart like a jagged splinter. He closed his eyes in self-loathing and weary recriminations. It had to stop immediately. Surely it was not too late.

If nothing else, his more than ten years of Jomsviking had taught Thork self-discipline. By morning, he had himself under control, firmly determined to keep his distance from the tempting wench. Women abounded to warm a man’s bed. He needed nothing more.

But the sight of Ruby’s attractive bottom bouncing up and down on her pony in front of him as they began the first leg of their journey caused his throat to dry. Even the dark tunic she wore for traveling could not hide her graceful neck, nor the slimness of her waist and hips. Freya’s bloody flux! he swore silently, then dug his heels into the sides of his mare and rode to the head of the small entourage. He refused to look at Ruby as he passed.

It was for the best—the only course of action a man of honor could follow. Still…

Thork’s cold demeanor had cut Ruby deeply that morning as the horses had been saddled and panniers had been placed over the small ponies’ backs, overflowing with clothing and accessories for Olaf’s family and the others in their traveling caravan.

At first she’d been unable to fathom the abrupt change in Thork’s mood from his laughing exit the night before, but then had rationalized it as reaction to the chaos that had overtaken Olaf’s barnyard.

Olaf had roared out an order to his seven daughters, including Tyra, who’d been running off to chase a wayward duck. “If any of you moves a hair’s width from the spot on which you now stand or speaks one more word, that person will be left behind with Ulf. Heed me well, for I have had enough of screeching, giggling, wandering, waspish children for one day, and it not yet begun.” He’d sworn at Selik then when he’d defied him by making cross-eyes at Tyra.

Ruby had almost doubled over with laughter as they’d ridden only a short distance to the edge of Jorvik and Tyra had asked her mother, “Are we almost there?” and soon after had whined, “I have to use the garderobe.”

But Ruby’s laughter died now as Thork rode by her and gave no greeting. Encased in leggings, his muscular thighs guided his large horse expertly. He held his head high, with supreme self-confidence, but a tense muscle jumped in his stubbornly jutting jaw as he deliberately snubbed her.

Ruby wouldn’t have been surprised at his coldness after his tirade in Olaf’s hall yesterday if he hadn’t come to her room later and laughed about the scene at Sigtrygg’s palace. His hot, then cold, changes of emotion were driving her crazy.

Putting aside her hurt feelings, Ruby turned to Gyda. “I’m sorry for all the misery I’ve brought you, especially the way Olaf spoke to you.”

Gyda clucked her tongue at Ruby’s words. “I want naught of your apologies, girl. Leastways, I have not laughed so much in years, nor has Olaf or Thork, though ne’er would they admit it. Did Olaf and I mishear Thork in your room yestereve?”

Ruby told her about Thork’s account of the events at Sigtrygg’s court. When she ended, Gyda giggled with delight, then embellished the story with more from Olaf’s version of the court activities. “The funniest part was when they first arrived at the court, and Sigtrygg raged at them all, shoving this gray wrinkled thing into Thork’s hand, asking if he knew what the thing was.”

“Oh, no!”

Gyda laughed out loud now. “You will never guess what happened next. The thing Sigtrygg handed him—’twas Freydis’s condom, the one with red and gold embroidery, and, Ruby…,” Gyda sputtered, having to stop to control her giggles, “oh, ’twas so funny. You see, Freydis had added tassels to the end.”

“No-o-o-o!” Ruby exclaimed.

Ruby rode back to help with the children. She couldn’t help but notice the dozen armed men flanking their traveling party at the sides and rear, with Thork, Dar and Olaf at the front. She tied her horse to the back of the cart and crawled into the straw with the children. For the next few hours, until they stopped to eat at midday and water the horses, Ruby had amused them with stories and catchy songs. The only children’s songs she could think of were Christmas carols, so the children’s voices on this sunny, late summer day rang out incongruously with “Jingle Bells” and “Deck the Hall with Boughs of Holly.”

Thork glanced her way several times as she, Gyda and the children sat on a large boulder eating their cold fare. Did he feel the bond between them? Even if he didn’t believe her stories of the future, of a life they shared together, surely he didn’t deny this instant chemistry that ignited every time they touched. But Thork’s blank face betrayed nothing of his feelings, and Ruby felt sadly forsaken—again.

They expected to be at Dar’s manor before nightfall, but the long, tiring journey had turned the travelers weary and listless by midafternoon. The fortunate Tyra slept soundly in one corner of the cart after hearing Ruby repeat the nursery rhyme about the old woman who lived in a shoe six times.

Everyone jolted out of their complacent lethargy with surprise when a group of six horsemen thundered out of the woods and headed off Dar, who rode with Selik near the end of the human train. The horsemen had to have been trailing them for a long time to have caught Dar at just that vulnerable moment when he’d left his grandson’s side at the head of the caravan.

“Move the women and children off the road,” Thork shouted anxiously to the tune of some vicious swear words directed at the hesirs who’d failed to see the enemy approaching. “Selik, stay here with Eirik and Tykir and guard the women.”

Grim-faced, Thork and Olaf galloped off with six of the men. For more than two hours, which seemed like days, Ruby wept and prayed and worried over Dar’s fate, as well as the safety of Thork and his men.

When the somber-countenanced party rode back into the hastily made camp, Ruby quickly counted. They’d all returned, including Dar—thank God!—who appeared unharmed, except for a grimy face, torn tunic and baggy hose.

In addition, two bloodied strangers rode in their midst, arms tied behind their backs, wearing pants and nothing more. Deep whip welts covered their bare backs and chests. A sword wound in one man’s shoulder bled profusely, and an enormous bruise swelled on the other man’s forehead. They had obviously been beaten after their capture to obtain information.

When their horses came to a halt and they dismounted, Thork addressed Selik. “Two dead, two escaped.”

“Any information?”