Page 95 of Viking in Love

Amicia moved ahead of them then, gleefully enjoying her stroll through the great hall, hips swinging from side to side, as Caedmon’s men dropped their jaws, then made lewd remarks.

“Bloody damn hell! I told them that she is to be Lady Amicia tonight and that they were not to pay any particular notice of her when she comes in.”

“Hard not to notice the transformation,” Breanne replied.

Caedmon nodded, bent his neck to the left, then to the right. “I do not think I have ever seen a female rump that size afore.”

Liar, liar, your braies are on fire…

Caedmon seated Breanne and Amicia at the trestle table closest to the dais, just below the salt. Instead of being insulted, Breanne looked scared to death, and Amicia was having the time of her life.

He did not know if Dunstan would be offended by having the two women within view of his seat at the high table, but at this point, he just did not care. He was done groveling to satisfy every little whim of the cleric, like his bed remade with special scratchy linens he carried everywhere with him as a sort of self-flagellation, or incense burned in the chapel to purify it from Father Luke’s death, or a lamb to be slaughtered and cooked for him, specially, instead of the usual fare. He had even ordered one of Caedmon’s irate servants to launder and iron all his garments, including some finely laced vestments, and have them done within three hours.

“Do not be afeared,” he told Breanne, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. I am afeared enough for both of us. “Dunstan will leave tomorrow for Heatherby.” Even if I have to push him out the door.

“I have a bad feeling.”

You have no idea. “Do not be looking for trouble. A good soldier knows to take one battle at a time to win a war.”

“That sounds like something Rashid would say,” she replied with a laugh.

Yea, that is me. A wisdom skald. More like a lackwit skald. He shrugged. “You look pretty tonight.”

She cast him a skeptical glance. For some reason, she had ne’er been confident about her beauty. And she was beautiful.

Her hair was loose with a fillet of braided gold holding it in place, across her forehead and scalp. The red strands sparkled from the light of the wall torches. She wore a crimson gown with Norse embroidery along the wrists and along the edges of the sleeveless surcoat of the same color that covered her almost to her ankles. The gold brooch that held a short shoulder mantle, the gold-linked belt that tucked her kirtle to her waist, and the gold stars that dangled on thin chains from ear ornaments bespoke the wealth she had hinted at earlier in the day, when Dunstan had asked about her dowry. A well-dowered bride she would be for some man. Too bad he was not in the market for a bride.

Just then, he noticed something glittering on her hand. It was his signet ring.

His eyes shot up to meet her gaze, and held.

“How do you do that?” she husked out.

He tilted his head in question.

“Make me tingle.”

He smiled. He could not help himself. “Where?”

“Where what?”

He squeezed her shoulder where his one hand still rested. “You know very well. Where do you tingle?”

“As if I am going to answer that, rogue!”

“If it is any comfort to you, you make me tingle, too.”

They were spared any further discussion on the matter by the arrival of Archbishop Dunstan, who was followed by his retinue of sycophants and clergy. Most of them took seats on this lower level, but the three priests were obviously going to the dais.

Dunstan stopped when he saw them.

“Lady Breanne,” he said with a nod. “And this, I assume, is Lady Amicia. You were derelict in your duty today, m’lady. I hope it will not happen again.”

Amicia looked puzzled. “Dairy Lick?” Then outraged. “Is he sayin’ I lick cows?”

God’s breath! Would everything be ruined by a mere choice of language?

“She had a fierce megrim,” Caedmon said quickly, “no doubt due to the chastity belt that was put on her by her father long ago.” He rolled his eyes meaningfully at the archbishop.