Page 36 of The Blue Viking

“Oh, ’tis a MacNab pig.”

Startled, he choked on a piece of manchet bread. She clapped him hard on the back. Finally, he asked, “You stole from MacNab? With all the animosity that already exists betwixt your clans, you provoked him even more with thievery?”

“ ’Twas not thievery,” she said, as if he’d dealt her a great insult. “My clansmen were merely reaving, and the MacNabs have forty-eight acorn hogs to spare. All Scotsmen engage in a little reaving now and again. ’Tis a part of our way of life. We expect it of each other.”

“Like a Norseman going a-Viking?” She pursed her lips in disapproval of his comparison.

“I love your lips,” he said of a sudden.

She had been nibbling on a piece of haggis and a slice of oat cake when he threw out that bit of seduction. She started to choke and had to take a drink of uisge-beatha to stop. “What is there to love about lips? They merely hold the teeth in the mouth and keep the tongue from lolling out.” Maire was quite pleased with that saucy rejoinder of hers, but not for long.

“Maire, Maire, Maire,” Rurik said in a sinfully husky voice. “The best thing about a woman’s mouth … about your mouth … is the way it yields and gives back good kisses to a man, or the way it presses against a lover’s ears and whispers erotic encouragements …” He mentioned a few that had her sputtering and reaching for her drink again—things so perverted she nigh swooned. “Or the way they skim over that vee of hair from a man’s chest down past his navel, or the way they take into their mouth that…” What he said then was so far beyond the range of Maire’s experience and imagination that she just gaped at him, speechless and slack-jawed.

With a laugh, he put a forefinger under her chin, and closed her mouth for her, but not before pressing a quick kiss there.

“I would never do that.”

He arched a brow at her. “We shall see.”

“Never!”

“We shall see,” he repeated. Then, “But as to Stigand, I tell you true, we were raised by a pig herder and his wife, Hervor, the meanest hag this side of Hel. Stigand was my only friend, and Thumb-Biter was his only friend … till that evil Hervor discovered him playing with the piglet one morning. The next day, we were served Thumb-Biter for our evening meal… the first meat we’d had in many a month. After he’d finished retching up the entire contents of his stomach, Stigand ran away, and I ne’er saw him again till three years ago when he joined my troop.”

Maire’s heart nigh broke at this image of two misfit orphan boys. There was a lot to be mulled over in what Rurik had disclosed to her, and in what he hadn’t said as well. She would have to talk to Stigand later to glean more of the missing details. Her heart went out to the little boy that Rurik had been.

Before she could say anything, though, there was a gasp behind her, and she realized that Nessa had been eavesdropping on their conversation. She dropped the dirty trenchers she’d been gathering and exclaimed, “Oh, that poor, poor man. The wee laddie mus’ have suffered so.” Maire believed she was referring to Rurik and prepared herself for his angry reaction to any sign of pity. But it soon became clear that it was not Rurik, but Stigand, who’d touched Nessa, for she was already making her way across the hall, clucking and tsk-ing, and out into the bailey to comfort the berserker.

Rurik looked at her.

She looked at him.

Then they both burst out laughing.

“God help poor Nessa if she tries to approach Stigand in one of his rages. He’s liable to lop off her head. Should I go help her?”

Maire shook her head. The Viking did not know Nessa when her inner sensibilities had been outraged. “God help the berserker.”

Chapter Seven

“Did ya know that a pig’s orgasm lasts half an hour?” Stigand’s question was followed by a loud belch as he grinned at those around him.

Maire was pleased that Nessa had been able to lure Stigand back into the great hall, but his comment now had her wondering how wise that decision had been.

Everyone at the head table burst out laughing at the berserker, who, since he’d returned to the hall, had imbibed a vast amount of ale, after Nessa had cut off his supply of uisge-beatha, and that on top of enough food to fill a bear’s stomach before winter hibernation. At the urging of Nessa, who hovered about him like a mother hen—or a devoted lover—he’d even eaten some haggis, and he didn’t vomit, either.

“Blindfuller!” Rurik remarked with a rueful grimace at his friend. “Drunk as a lord!”

But even Rurik could not stop himself from joining in the mirth that burst out around them. Everyone was laughing. Except Maire. “What’s an or-gaz-him?”

As one, every male at the table leaned forward, turning right and left, to stare at Maire. Slow grins crept over all their lips, and their eyes then turned to Rurik to provide the answer.

“You did not or-gaz her?” Stigand asked Rurik incredulously. “But you always gave the impression of being a great lover.”

Maire had no idea what or-gaz-ing was, but apparently all of Rurik’s men knew that he had lain with her that one time.

“Or-gaz? Or-gaz? What kind of word is that?” Rurik stammered.

“ ’Tis what talented Viking men do to bring their women to orgasm,” Toste explained to Rurik as if he were a dimwit. His lips twitched with a suppressed smile as he spoke.