Page 118 of The Bewitched Viking

“Alinor!”

She looked up, and the joy he saw there made his heart leap. All the pain of the past few sennights melted away. Mayhap he’d been wrong. Mayhap everyone didn’t leave him after all. “What are you doing here?”

Her face fell.

Had his voice been sharp or less than welcoming? Oh, God, he wanted to say the right thing, but he couldn’t think. He could only feel, and what he felt was the most intense happiness and relief.

“Eating gammelost.”

“Huh?”

“You asked me what I was doing here, and I told you. I’m eating gammelost.”

“Willingly? No one is torturing you?”

“Notice that I am not amused by your jest.” She put another hunk of cheese into her mouth. Cheese with a golden syrup on top, which she licked off her fingers.

“You are eating gammelost with honey?” He gagged at the prospect.

“Yea, and horseradish, too.” She glared at him, as if waiting for him to laugh at her.

He forced himself not to laugh.

“Would you like some?” she asked softly.

“Nay, I just ate on the longsh—”

Someone jabbed him in the back and hissed, “Lackbrain.”

“Actually, I might try a bite,” he said, but before he sat down he turned on his following and gritted out, “Get out of here! All of you!” He heard muttered oaths and the scurrying of footsteps behind him, followed by the slamming of a door. Then silence, except for the sounds of Alinor’s munching.

She stopped for a moment and put a slap of gammelost on his palm, oozing honey and topped by a dollop of horseradish.

“I missed you, Alinor,” he blurted out.

She looked up at him. Was she pleased or just surprised by his blunt words? Mayhap stunned, because she seemed unable to speak.

“Did you miss me?” he inquired. God, I am pathetic in my need for her. Why doesn’t she speak and put me out of my misery? Is her throat clogged with that bloody cheese?

“Well,” she said hesitantly, “I missed Dragonstead.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“Because you did not ask me to stay, you dunderhead.”

Now, this was interesting. He cocked his head to the side, studying her. And for the first time he noticed the changes in her. Her face seemed fuller—all that cheese, no doubt—but the skin under her freckles had a certain bloom to it. A lovely hue, actually. Mayhap she had been out in the sun. Yea, that was probably it. And her breasts, were they fuller? But it was hard to tell with the full gunna of green wool she was wearing.

“Stop staring at me.”

He smiled. “I like staring at you. But, Alinor, I would know this: If I had asked you to stay at Dragonstead, would you have?”

“I don’t know,” she wailed, and big fat tears filled her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks.

“You’re crying! Why are you crying?” He started to take her hand in his, but he still held the cheese in his palm.

“Because that’s what I do,” she keened. “That, and sleep.”

Sleep? What has sleep to do with aught? This was the most ludicrous conversation he’d ever had in all his life.