Page 82 of The Reluctant Viking

“Mayhap you have lost your mind completely.”

The next night Thork decided to retire immediately after the meal. He had no intention of returning to his grandfather’s estate after the Althing, so he had spent an exhausting day loading wagons with the last of the trading goods for his ships.

He noticed Ruby’s absence from the evening meal.

“Mayhap her stomach ails and she could not sup,” the thrall Ella said, shifting her eyes slyly when he asked about her whereabouts.

“’Tis nervous she is about the Althing and wanted to rest,” his grandmother offered and also averted her eyes from Thork’s direct gaze.

“How should I know?” his grandfather snapped. “Think you I know her every move?”

“I will probably find a snake in my bed,” Thork grumbled as he walked away, excusing Dar’s abrupt manner as regret over his imminent leavetaking.

Thork yawned widely as he opened the door of his darkening chamber. He laid his sword and knife on a chest, lit two soapstone lamps, then yawned again. It would be a long day tomorrow with all the wagons and guests who would travel with them to Jorvik. He hoped to get an early start. He turned then and jumped.

“Thor’s blood, woman, what do you here? Wouldst thou fright me to death to accomplish thy goals?”

Ruby stood at the far end of the room in a dim corner wearing a magnificent bright blue cloak with fine embroidery around the edges. ’Twas odd, though, because it dwarfed her with its massive folds, and its hem hugged the floor.

Thork narrowed his eyes suspiciously and started back toward the door, not wanting to tempt fate by being in the same room with the wanton wench—virgin though she may be. And where was that cursed Vigi? He was supposed to be guarding Ruby at all times, keeping her away from him.

“No, don’t go,” Ruby said and wobbled toward him, probably hampered by the oversized garment, Thork thought. “I just want to give you a going-away gift. This cloak. I made it for you and did all the handwork myself. Do you like it?” Her voice wavered nervously.

“’Tis a fine cloak, but why wouldst thou make me a gift?” Truly, the garment was a work of art, as fine as any he had ever seen in his travels. Thork glanced at her suspiciously. “Do you bribe me now?”

“No. This gift has no strings attached. It’s just a memento of our time together. I offer it as sort of an apology for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

Like all Vikings, Thork appreciated the giving and receiving of gifts. It would be rude to deny her offering. Thork nodded his acceptance. Besides, ’twas true she had caused him much trouble.

“Turn around so I can put it on your shoulders and see if it fits properly.”

Thork turned away from her and felt her reach up and place the cape on his shoulders. Actually, he was glad she was taking their parting so well. ’Twas best to part with a woman amicably, no bad feelings left to ferment. He was a man slow to forgive his enemies, but Thork was in a magnanimous mood on the eve of his departure for Jorvik, and, after all, the wench had not really done anything that evil. True, she had lied about her virginity and more, but ’twas no different from any other self-serving female he had encountered. ’Twas the nature of the species. He turned to tell her that and gasped in astonishment, “Holy blood!”

Ruby had stepped away from him and stood next to the bed holding on to the bed post as if for support. She wore this…this thing that pushed her breasts up and out at the top and exposed her legs from the hip bone all the way down to her…oh, my God!

“What the hell are those things on your feet?” The wench leaned precariously on wobbly legs. No wonder! Her feet were encased in leather slippers with wooden stilts.

“High heels. Do you like them?”

“What purpose do they serve? Can you walk?”

“Yes…no. Well, normally I could, but your village woodworker made one heel shorter than the other. Men in my country think it makes a woman’s legs look sexy. Don’t you?”

“I am not sure. Come near so I can see.” Thork had trouble controlling the twitch in his lips.

Ruby moved closer, using the balls of her feet in a sliding motion so she wouldn’t limp. That gave him a better view of the garment she wore. For the love of Freya! The black silk and lace wisp barely covered her from the tips of her breasts to the vee at her legs, pushing in and out at strategic places. He could see the shadow of her nipples and the dark curly hair that covered her womanhood through the thin lace. Never in all his years of travel had he seen such a marvel—not even in the Eastern harems.

Thork gulped and looked again. It appeared as if she’d shaved part of herself there to accommodate the revealing lines of her garment. He was no longer in the mood for laughing.

“Turn,” he directed through a suddenly dry throat.

The thought that Ruby would go to so much trouble to entice him touched Thork with the force of a rolling boulder. His heart constricted oddly in his chest. No one had ever shown so much caring for him afore.

When she turned, Thork felt the blood drain from his face at the sight of her nether cheeks half exposed by the slant of the outfit’s bottom edge. A burgeoning arousal pulled sharply at his groin.

“Do you like it?” she asked uncertainly when she faced him again.

“I like it fine.” Holy Thor! Was the wench blind? Could she not see just how much he liked it?