Page 32 of The Blue Viking

Rurik braced himself.

“Ye’re one of us now, son.”

“Nay,” he exclaimed with alarm, even though he was unsure what the man was jabbering about. “I am not.”

“Aye, ye are a Campbell now.”

“Nay, nay, nay!”

“Aye, aye, aye!”

“But I do not even like Scotsmen all that much,” he stated with a grunt of disgust.

“What has that to do with anything? We Scotsmen are not overfond of Vikings, either.”

He gave Old John his fiercest glare. “I am a Viking, pure and simple.”

“That may very well be, but ye are an honorary Campbell now, too. We voted.”

“Who voted?” he demanded.

“All the Campbells. That’s who. Ye should be proud. It’s an old and respected clan we are.”

“I don’t doubt the honor you do me, but…” Rurik rubbed the fingers of one hand across his furrowed brow, trying to find a diplomatic way of extricating himself from this latest mess. “Did Maire vote, too?”

Old John chuckled. “Nay. Only the males of the clan vote on such matters … in our clan, leastways.”

“I’ll bet that rankles her.”

“What did ye say?” Old John asked, leaning closer to hear better. It was hard to be heard over the din of hungry Campbells.

“Did that manure-mouthed whelp of hers get to vote?”

Old John nodded, not even needing to ask whom he referred to. “Wee-Jamie voted agin ye, I’m sorry to say,” he informed Rurik with a sad face, then brightened, adding, “but luckily, he was outvoted.”

“Lucky me,” Rurik muttered. This ridiculous notion of the Campbells adopting him had gone far enough. Perchance it was a flummery on someone’s part. Still, he did not want to offend unnecessarily. “It’s great homage you pay me, but I must respectfully decline. It’s a Norse tradition,” he lied with suden inspiration. “We cannot be adopted by any other ountry.”

But it was already too late. Bolthor was standing nd clearing his throat, a sure sign he was about to peak.

Rurik braced his elbows on the table and put his ace in his hands. God must be punishing him for ome misdeed. A big one.

“This is the saga of Rurik the Greater,” Bolthor oomed out.

“Greater than what?” Young John could be overead asking Murdoc at the table just below the dais.

“Damned if I know,” Murdoc answered. “The Men f the North be an overblown lot, if ye ask me. hey’re always thinkin’ they be greater than anyone lse on God’s earth, when everyone knows Scotsmen e the greatest.”

He and Young John grinned at each other.

Bolthor did not like to be interrupted when he was erforming; so, he started over again. “This is the iga of Rurik the Greater,” Bolthor repeated, slicing scowl of warning at Young John and Murdoc. Sometimes known as Rurik the Scots Viking.”

Hell… and… Valhalla!

There once was a Viking,

What became a Scotsman,

What learned to love haggis,