Page 7 of The Last Viking

He kept his pace deliberately slow, shoulders thrown back, so she could get a good look. Mayhap now she would appreciate the honor he bestowed in taking her as bedmate.

“Come back here,” she shrieked like a banshee. “And put your clothes back on.”

“Nay, in my lands we do not bathe wearing garments.”

“We don’t wear clothes when we bathe here, either, you idiot, but the pool heater hasn’t been turned on yet. The water’s freezing.”

“Hah! ’Tis obvious you have ne’er taken a winter bath in a fjord in my homeland. The water is cold enough to turn a man’s cock into an icicle. This can be no worse.”

“But…but why not use the warm shower inside the house?”

He halted at the edge of the moat and dipped his big toe in. A shiver rippled upward, all the way to his scalp, raising skin bumps in its wake. His proud staff shriveled with dread. The coward. Bloody hell, the water was freezing. “What is this ‘shower’?” he inquired casually, not wanting her to think him too weak-sapped for a frigid bath.

“Come on. I’ll show you. But cover yourself, for God’s sake. Where did Jared and Mike find you anyhow? Some jungle?”

He halted suddenly. “I just realized something. I’m not wearing my belt.”

“No kidding!”

“Your sarcasm ill-becomes you, my lady. I meant, I’m not wearing the belt, and I can understand your strange tongue.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, looking as baffled as he felt. Her eyes skimmed downward as she spoke and then immediately jerked back up. Scarlet flames bloomed on her cheeks.

“Do you blush, wench? Odin’s breath, you do!” He liked it when she looked at him there. And there liked her scrutiny, too.

In truth, her timidity was rather endearing for a woman of her advanced years. “You’ll lose your shyness once you become accustomed to me,” he assured her, being in a magnanimous mood.

“No, no, no, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not becoming accustomed to anything. You are going to play by my rules.”

“Hah!”

Glaring at him ferociously, she failed to watch her step and tripped over Ingrid, letting loose a vile expletive. He was reasonably confident he knew what the exclamation meant, even without the talisman translator.

“Tsk-tsk,” he said sweetly, repeating a favorite sound of his mother’s, which fit this occasion perfectly. “Do you have a creaking of the bones that causes you to be so clumsy?”

She straightened in affront.

“Or perchance it is your overlarge feet?”

She gurgled with outrage.

Good. ’Tis best to put a woman in her place from the start. “And where can we put Ingrid so she will remain safe from your stumbling ways till I attach her to the prow of my longship?”

“What longship?” Merry-Death asked, rushing to keep up with his long strides.

He waved a hand in the direction of the field next to her keep.

Her green eyes shot up with surprise when she saw that he referred to the half-completed vessel. “You are not putting breasts on the prow of my ship. I already told Mike that. Apparently he didn’t relay the message to you.” She sniffed with indignation, and then his other words seemed to register. “Your longship? Are you serious? That boat belongs to the Trondheim Foundation and Oxley College.”

“And a poor specimen it is, too. But, ne’er fear, I will right all the mistakes made thus far. ’Twill be the finest ship to sail the seas.”

“You will? You can?” she asked with breathless expectation. “Are you saying that you have the skill to build a Viking longship?”

“For a certainty. I’ve done so many times. My ships are the most favored in the world. Kings from distant lands have come a-begging for my skill. In fact, just last year, King Aethelred of Britain requisitioned one of my knorrs…that’s a larger trading longship.”

“King who?” She put a hand on his arm to halt his progress. When her eyes inadvertently dropped lower to his man parts, she snapped, “Can’t you at least cover yourself while I talk to you?”

With what?”