Page 23 of The Blue Viking

Rurik cocked his head to the side, and his mischievous eyes skimmed over her body with a boldness that made Maire squirm uncomfortably on her already shaky perch. “Bolthor contends that witches dance in the forest, naked. Mayhap you should try that, to see if some of your powers come to the fore.” The libertine looked as if he would appreciate that spectacle immensely.

She slanted him a condescending scowl. “Not in this lifetime, and certainly not in front of you.”

He shrugged, grinning unrepentantly. “Why can’t you consult other witches in your… uh, coven?”

She glanced up at him where he still stood, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, arms folded over his chest, the blade of grass dangling from his lips. Then she laughed. “I’m not that kind of a witch.”

“What kind of witch are you?”

“A solitary.”

“Maire, Maire, Maire. You lie through your teeth.” She bristled.

“Methinks you know exactly how to remove the blue mark from my face, but you defy me willfully.”

“To what purpose?”

“To gain the advantage in using me and my men against your enemies.”

“I do want your services … your fighting services,” she added quickly when she saw a grin tug at his lips, “but I do not lie when I say that I know not precisely how to remove the mark. To tell you the truth, I am a witch, but not a very good one.”

He still appeared skeptical.

“For example, if I focused hard enough on that tree on which you lean, I might very well be able to split it in two, right down the center. On the other hand, it’s just as likely that I would put a permanent part down the center of your hair.”

She saw the moment that enlightenment crossed his handsome face. It was not surprising that he moved away from the tree then, just in case. “Ah! That is why everyone snickers when I mention your witchly arts … the MacNabs, your clansmen, even your serving women, and the children hereabouts,” he said.

She nodded. “Oh, I am able to practice herbal remedies, and sometimes I even get the witchly spells correct, to everyone’s advantage, but I have to admit that there have been some disasters,” she told him woefully. “I have failed my people.”

“Who says you have to be a witch?”

“There is no one else.”

He seemed about to argue with that contention, but changed his mind. Instead, he spat out the piece of grass, straightened himself from his leaning stance, and walked toward her. His walk was lazily seductive, but the expression on his face was suddenly hard and resolute … threatening, actually.

When he stood directly in front of her, he gave the stone an abrupt push with his boot, which caused it to rock backward, and she with it. On the forward rock, she was still propped on her elbows, trying to sit up, but he gave the slab another shove.

“What are you trying to do?” she demanded.

But he was leaning over her now, arms braced on the flat stone, on either side of her shoulders … so close she could smell the mint on his breath and the male sweat of his skin from a day of strenuous exertions. His left knee was on the boulder, while his right leg still touched the ground and kept the rock moving, front to back, front to back.

Her voice was no longer demanding, but breathy. It wasn’t exactly fear. No, it was something else too disconcerting to name. “Rurik? What is it?”

“You. That’s what it is.”

“Me?” she barely squeaked out.

“Yea. I’ve put you on the judgment stone, and it has pronounced you guilty.”

“Ha, ha, ha. That’s not how it’s done.” She tried to get up, but was fenced in by his arms, and could not get her balance with the constant motion of the stone.

He shrugged indifferently. “Whether a stone deems you guilty or not matters not a whit to me. The important thing is that I still have the blue mark. You expect me to put my life and that of my men at risk, whilst you give naught in return. Well, no more. You have put your mark on me. Now I intend to do the same to you.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“I mean that I intend to have you, witch. My mark will be put on you … inside you … in the way that men have been marking women for ages. By the time I leave the Highlands, you will yearn for me like an opium eater for his pipe. That is how I will mark you. In essence, your virtue is forfeit from now on.”

“That is so outrageous, it does not merit discussion. You are far too pretty for such as me.”