Page 44 of The Blue Viking

“Nay, like witches.”

Rurik put his face in one hand and counted to ten for patience. Then he asked, “Did you go in and check?”

Bolthor stepped back and straightened his shoulders indignantly at the question. “Me? Get involved with witches and such? I… don’t… think … so! I’ve already got a shrinking manpart to worry about, and I only have one working eye as it is. I am not daft enough to chance some further spell that might imperil other body parts. Nay, I have performed my duties. I reported to you on the cackling, and that’s the end of my involvement. You investigate the cackling.”

With a grunt of disgust, Rurik waved Bolthor off to his sleeping pallet in the great hall and waited till he was sure the foolish man was gone. A few moments later, from the short distance down the stairway to the hall, he heard the skald say in an overloud whisper, “Stigand, wake up. I need a word that rhymes with cackling.”

Stigand sleepily muttered a crude Anglo-Saxon word for fornication.

Even from up the stairs, Rurik could hear the affront in Bolthor’s voice as he replied, “That doesn’t rhyme, Stigand. Tsk-tsk! Good thing I am the skald, and not you.”

Rurik shook his head and smiled as he opened the heavy oaken door to Maire’s bedchamber. Instantly, he staggered backward at the intense heat that hit him. There were three dozen candles burning about the room. And the odor! Thor’s Toenails, the cloying scent in the air reminded him of a church in Jorvik where they burned incense as part of the services.

Aha! Maire must have been engaged in some ritual or other. Could she have been trying once again to remove his mark? Could it perchance already be gone?

Rushing to the side chest, Rurik picked up her polished brass mirror and checked his face. Immediately, his shoulders slumped with disappointment. The mark remained. Well, either she’d failed once again, or it was another spell she was working on. Hah! If that were the case, no doubt it was a spell to make him disappear.

As he walked about the chamber, blowing out candles to lessen the heat, he glanced toward the bed where Maire slept soundly. Although she wore only a thin shift, he could tell that she must have fallen asleep practically on her feet because she still wore her hose and shoes. In fact, one leg dangled over the edge of the mattress, and there was a brush in her hand. She was snoring softly. Grinning, he made a mental note to remind her of that less-than-feminine habit. He was sure she would appreciate knowing she made sleep sounds not unlike a snuffling piglet.

She’d better not think she was going to escape him by falling asleep. He fully intended to exact his pound of flesh from her this night. He put a hand to his groin as a reminder of what was to come. He continued to be half hard for the wench, despite having been gone from her presence an hour or more. Perchance it was a lingering effect from Maire’s levitating demonstration.

After he’d finished with the candles, he sat on the edge of the bed on the same side as Maire, and began to remove her shoes and thin hose. It was not that he was being especially considerate of her comfort, he told himself. Nay, ’twas just that he wanted naked flesh next to his when he brought her to orgasm… as he most certainly would, or forever give up his word-fame as a lover. As he began peeling her hose down her legs, which were very long and very well shaped, he imagined where those legs might be when she screamed out her first ecstasy. Wrapped around his waist? Or over his shoulders? Better yet, she could be kneeling on said legs, on all fours, and he could be taking her from behind like a stallion with a mare. That ought to shock the secret of the blue mark from her.

He smiled wickedly to himself at all the possibilities as he resumed undressing her.

He was not touched he told himself, by the numerous darn marks in her stockings, or the blisters at the back of her heels from the heavy, utilitarian brogues that she wore. Leastways, not very much.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, he removed his own boots, then stood to unbuckle his sword belt. As he yawned again, Rurik walked to the other side of the chamber—it was still sweltering—and dropped one item of apparel after another till he was naked as the day he was born. But not as weak and puny as he was as a babe, Rurik reminded himself, gazing down at the work-honed muscles that defined his abdomen and stomach and arms and thighs. He was in perfect physical condition, and he knew it. Except for the blue mark.

Troubling thoughts swirled within Rurik as he eased down onto the mattress. Was there a sickness inside of him that made physical appearance so important? He didn’t judge his friends on how they looked. Far from it. And, although he admired a beautiful woman, he did not consider a flawless form or face to be necessary in a mate. Consider Tykir’s wife, Alinor. She was covered with freckles from head to toe, but in Tykir’s eyes, she was a goddess. And Rurik barely noticed her plainness anymore, either. Nay, it was only himself he was so harsh with. And he knew why. It all stemmed back to his childhood and the mockery and brutality inflicted on him because he was not superior in physical attributes. Rurik recognized it was unreasonable to carry over all these old insecurities, but in some ways he had good reason. He was a man with no family name … no home … though that latter should change soon with his marriage. He had wealth enough, but treasures could be as easily lost as won. Nay, his self-identity was wrapped up in his strength as a warrior and his bodily appeal. In essence, all he had was who he was, physically.

Ah, such deep thoughts when I am so weary. He shifted restlessly on the bed, trying to ease his aching bones. It had been a long, long day, and this was not an overlarge bed. He had to nestle up against Maire, who faced away from him. A real hardship, that. He smiled with pleasure at the way they fitted together. His still painful left arm rested on the pillow, his right hand cupping a deliciously full breast, his erection cradled dead center in the crease of her buttocks. He tried but was unable to stifle another yawn. He was going to awaken Maire in a moment and show her just how well they fitted together… in all ways. For now, he was gaining immense satisfaction just holding her and anticipating what was to come. Here in the dark, in this moment frozen in time, it mattered not how he looked, or what he had to prove. He was merely a man … with his woman. And it felt so very right.

Just before he floated off to sleep, he heard the oddest sound.

Cackling.

“Oh, Maaiirre.”

Maire came instantly awake at the sound of the male voice crooning hot, breathy words against her ear. In the semidarkness, she sensed it was probably close to dawn, but she knew exactly where she was and who was plastered against her back. With the fingers of one hand playing with her nipple and his “Lance” poking her behind, the toad from Norway was clearly identifiable.

“Oh, Maaiirre.”

Perhaps she could pretend to be asleep.

“I know you’re not asleep, witchling. When you sleep, you snore, and you’re not snoring now.”

I do not snore, she wanted to tell the brute, but she was still faking slumber, lying motionless, which was a really hard thing to do when he was rolling her nipple between a thumb and forefinger, causing the most peculiar sensations to ripple through her body. And it hardly seemed possible, but his thick male member was growing thicker. She’d like to whack his wicked fingers and his member. Pretending to be asleep was getting harder and harder.

“Guess what, Maire?”

Guessing games now? She could only imagine what silly amusement he was planning, especially with the deviltry that rang in his voice.

“It’s raining,” he announced.

It was not at all what Maire had expected him to say. She hoped someone belowstairs had exercised the foresight to place a few strategic buckets about the great hall where the roof leaked.

“In fact, this storm should prove to be a real fjord-filler … the kind of incessant, hard-driving summer rain that could go on for … oh, let’s say, all day, and perhaps even tonight.”