Page 73 of The Blue Viking

Turgid? Oh, my! If they had not been before, they were now.

“… and I recall the taste of suckling them. Surely nectar of the gods!”

Maire could swear she actually felt the rhythm of his lips pulling at her.

“And when you walk away from me, buttocks moving ever so slightly, I remember how well they fit into my hands when I lift you for my entry. And then … for the love of Freyja … how that woman part of you clasps my manpart in joyous welcome.”

“God’s Teeth!” Maire exclaimed then. “Ne’er have I heard of lovemaking without one speck of bare flesh touching another.”

“Word sex. ’Tis one of my many talents.” He chuckled, and squeezed her hand.

“I never know when you are teasing me, or telling the truth.”

“Do you like word sex, Maire?”

“Are my eyes rolling back in my head?” she said with a snort of disgust at herself.

“You are priceless,” he hooted. “Nay, your eyes… your beautiful, emerald eyes … are straight. But how about mine? Are they staring at the back of my skull yet?”

She had to smile at that, even as she shook her head. There was satisfaction in knowing Rurik shared her bodily distress.

“I do feel a bit of a tremor coming on, though,” she told him in a saucy tone, her eyelids half-lowered. Heavenly hosts! Where and when had she developed a talent for flirting?

“Me, too,” he said, but his voice and expression were stone-cold serious.

“Oh, Rurik,” she breathed, unable to say more.

“Precisely,” he breathed back, understanding perfectly … so sensitive was this thread that was developing between them, fiber by emotional fiber.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, their attention was diverted then. At the far end of the hall, a group of her clansmen were laughing at the antics of her son and a few of his friends.

Callum had just passed through the hall, ahead of them, his head twitching to the right as was its wont ever since he’d suffered a head blow at the Battle of Dunellen. He was the same age as her brother Donald, who’d been his boon companion, and was once a fine soldier—in fact, an expert archer—but his marksmanship was no longer dependable because of the incessant jerking of his head. Bolthor had been working with him on methods to regain his center of balance and compensate for the twitch; to Maire’s amazement, it worked sometimes. Eventually he might regain many of his old abilities.

Now, Jamie was leading his pack of rascals, imitating Callum—strutting and jerking their heads at the same time. Really, she was going to have to sit her son down and have a long talk with him. His wild behavior had grown out of control these past weeks since he’d been living in the forest cave with the men.

But Maire had no more time to dwell on improving her son’s manners, for Rurik had dropped her hand and risen in his seat with a loud roar of outrage. His face grew red and his fists were clenched as he stared wide-eyed at something. At first, she couldn’t fathom what had evoked such fury in him. Her eyes scanned the hall, but she could see naught but her son and …

Oh, my God! It was Jamie that had flamed his anger. And Rurik was already strides ahead of her before she’d risen from the bench and hurried after him. “Rurik, wait…”

Rurik had already reached the laughing boys and grabbed Jamie by the scruff of his neck, mid-twitch. His legs dangled far off the rush-covered floor. Before the startled child could blink up at him, Rurik delivered a smart slap to his buttocks and growled, “That will be enough of that, boy.”

Now, Maire was outraged. How dare he take a hand to her son! How dare he!

By the time she reached the chaotic scene, clansmen were lined up as spectators, little boys were scrambling to run away before Rurik inflicted a similar punishment on them, and Jamie was rubbing his bottom with one hand and using the other to wipe tear-filled eyes as he howled loud enough to raise the rafters. You’d think he’d had a broadax laid against his backside, instead of a callused hand.

Jamie was standing now and Rurik was hunkered down in front of him, one hand on each shoulder. “I thought we’d come to an understanding, Jamie. You are to be laird here one day. Is this any kind of example for you to set—making mockery of another?”

Jamie shook his head, but said nothing, probably too frightened of another blow to his bottom.

“A real man does not need to make himself bigger by reducing the value of another… especially one who is smaller, or suffers some bodily disadvantage.”

“But I was only playin’,” Jamie blubbered defensively.

“ ’Tis no excuse. Know this, a bully as a boy grows up to be a bully as a man, and that is not a noble goal to set for yourself. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The boy nodded and, seeing an opportunity for escape, ducked under Rurik’s arm and bolted for the courtyard door. A small smile curving his lips, Rurik let him go, motioning to Stigand to follow him and keep guard over the wayward child.

Rurik turned then and noticed Maire standing behind him. He smiled, as if expecting her to congratulate him on the way he’d handled her son.