Page 54 of The Last Viking

Jillian raised a questioning brow at Merry-Death, who said, “Upstairs. You can sleep with Thea. I’ll use the sofa.”

Jillian’s eagle eyes then swerved to him in speculation.

“Rolf prefers to sleep outdoors under the stars,” Merry-Death answered for him.

Geirolf made a soft snorting sound of contradiction as he passed Merry-Death on his way to relieving Thea of her burdens. She put a halting hand on his arm and whispered, “Will you help me, really? Will you resume work on the project tomorrow?”

“Yea.”

She tilted her head in surprise at his swift compliance.

“All you had to do was ask, sweetling. Not order.”

“Sweetling? How quaint!” Jillian observed.

“Oh, you are the most exasperating man!” Merry-Death said.

He grinned at her and couldn’t resist leaning forward to steal a quick kiss from her parted lips.

“Not lovers, huh?” Jillian hooted.

He jerked back. Merry-Death had a way of making him forget where he was. And how could it be that his lips tingled from that mere touch? Amazing. How much more intense would the tingling be if some other parts of their anatomies connected?

“Lordy, lordy, you two throw off more sparks than a bonfire.”

A rush of pink flooded Merry-Death’s cheeks.

He winked at her, envisioning a hundred different things he could do to make her blush even more. He could scarce wait.

Merry-Death jutted out her mulish chin, not her most attractive feature. As she stormed past him, leading the way to the stairs, he remarked to Jillian, “Your sister needs a lesson in the womanly arts…how to be more biddable.”

Merry-Death stumbled but didn’t look back.

Jillian chortled with laughter.

Thea was walking up the stairs, backwards, in front of them all, grinning from ear to ear.

“You see, Merry-Death gleans all her learning from books, whereas her real-life education is sadly lacking.”

“How interesting!” Jillian opined.

Merry-Death snickered and muttered something about Vikings who were full of themselves.

“You see, men in this land have a perfect hero to emulate—”

“Oh, no!” Merry-Death exclaimed, scowling at him from the upper corridor.

“Tim the Toolman Taylor!” Thea whooped.

Jillian joined Merry-Death in the hallway, her mouth forming a little circle of astonishment.

“Your hero is Tim Allen, the actor on Home Improvement?” Jillian asked incredulously, and then burst into another fit of laughter, throwing an arm over her daughter’s shaking shoulders. Even Merry-Death put a hand over her mouth to stifle a smile.

Why did these thick-headed women not understand the heroic qualities of the much-maligned Tim?

When Jillian’s laughter finally subsided into mere giggles, she slapped her thigh with delight. “And who, pray tell, Mr. Viking, would be the heroic equivalent for women? Who should we emulate to become more—what did you call it?—biddable?”

He did not much relish their laughter at his expense. And, really, females were all half-brained, chirping for explanations about every bloody thing. Well, he would enlighten them, good and proper. “Martha Stewart.”