Page 91 of Viking in Love

After that, things went downhill faster than a snowball in a Norse avalanche, ending with the archbishop saying, “I will bless your betrothal this evening, my children.”

With this ring, I thee tup…

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Breanne hissed at him as soon as they left the solar.

“Shhhh!” he said and put a fingertip to her mouth to indicate silence until they put distance betwixt themselves and Dunstan.

She attempted to bite his finger.

He was almost certain it was not a love bite.

“Have a caution, wench. I am in no mood for your antics today.”

“My antics?”

He nigh dragged her along with him through the keep and up the stairs to his bedchamber, where they would not be overheard. Along the way, he nodded to various housecarls of his and members of the archbishop’s retinue, as if his yanking on a reluctant woman was usual fare at Larkspur. They probably thought he was going to beat her. Shoving her inside his room, he closed and locked the door.

Dazed, she glanced around. “Why did you bring me here? Oh, you randy goat! If you think I am going to—”

“Hush, Breanne! I brought you here for privacy, and naught else.” Although now you mention it, mayhap there would be time for a bit of bedplay.

“Lady Amicia? A betrothal? How could you, Caedmon?”

“I had to think quick, and that was the best I could come up with. Dost think I have any desire to be married again? I would sooner cut off a limb.”

“Dumb, dumb, dumb.”

“At least I tried. What did you offer, except a bit of stuttering?”

“I do not stutter.”

“Stutter, stutter, stutter.”

“How immature of you!”

“Listen, we are accomplishing naught with this bickering. We need to decide what to do next.”

She inhaled and exhaled several times, then sat on the edge of the bed.

He sank down into a chair, close by.

“I will do my best to make Amicia into a lady,” she said.

He had to grin. He just had to.

“’Tis not funny.”

“I beg to differ. You must needs find a gown long enough to fit her and with wide enough shoulders, but beyond that, who will shave her mustache?”

“Tsk-tsk!” she clucked, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at her lips. “Amicia has a slight fuzz above her lip, but not enough to be called a mustache.”

That was debatable. “We cannot let her speak. If Dunstan insults her the way he does all women, Amicia is likely to tell him to go bugger himself.”

“I will tell her to pretend that she is folk-shy.”

They both rolled their eyes at that.

“Why in the name of all the gods did you tell him we were betrothed?”