Page 120 of The Bewitched Viking

“With my babe?” He was incredulous.

She slapped him on the arm. “Who else’s, troll?”

“Lord, how I love it when you call me troll,” he said with a hoot of laughter and pulled her upright into his arms, swinging her around and around with the sheer joy of the moment. “You are carrying my babe!” he kept saying over and over as he hugged her and kissed her wet cheeks and hugged her again.

“Put me down, you lunkhead,” she finally cried out, “or I will be spewing gammelost all over your shoulders.”

He set her on her feet and knelt before her, pressing a palm to her stomach, which was barely a little hillock at this point. But his babe grew there, and tears filled his eyes at the wonder of it.

“Oh, Tykir!” she said softly, and he hugged her about the hips, laying his cheek against her belly. He imagined he felt a heartbeat there. A fanciful notion, that!

“Do I take it that you are happy at the prospect of fatherhood?” she asked as he stood once again and stared at her with amazement.

“Ecstatic! What a talented woman you are, to take my seed into your body and make it grow.”

“Did I have any choice?” she observed drolly.

That gave him pause. “How do you feel about your pregnancy, Alinor?”

“Ecstatic,” she echoed his word.

A heavy load lifted from his heart. “Will you be content to live here at Dragonstead?” His breathing stopped as he waited for her reply.

“Ecstatic.” She repeated, never hesitating in her answer.

He let out a whooshy breath. “You will marry me, of course.”

“Is that a proposal?” She lifted one brow.

He laughed. “Yea, ’tis. Was I putting the ship afore the ocean?”

“Something like that.” She was smiling, but the smile did not reach her eyes, and Tykir knew he had other words that needed to be spoken.

He sat down once again on the bench and pulled her onto his lap. “Alinor, all my life everyone leaves me. Nay, do not think to argue with me on this. I have known from a young age that everyone leaves. I learned early on how to survive, though: Do not care. Let no one get too close, not even my family or friends, though they have been nigh pestsome in that regard of late. And it worked for all these years. Until…”

She was weeping again. “Have I been pestsome, too?”

“The most pestsome of all,” he informed her, “because try as I might, I could not stop myself from loving you. There. I have finally said it. I love you. Are you happy now?”

“Yea, I am happy.” And she was happy. He could see that by the way she was laughing and crying at the same time.

So he repeated the words, just to see how they would feel. “I love you.” It was easier this time.

“I love you, too, Tykir.” She said the glorious words with a fervency, holding his eyes the entire time, and cupping his face tenderly with one hand.

“You do?” he choked out. Who knew those words would feel so good, in the telling and the receiving? All these wasted years when he had missed them. Nay, deep inside he suspected he’d been waiting for just the right woman to say them to. Alinor.

“Yea, I love you, troll that you are. And I will tell you this one time and one time only, so listen well, Viking. I will never leave you. Never.”

He could not speak, so overcome with emotion was he.

Then elation filled him and he scooped Alinor up into his arms. Life was good. He was home, at Dragonstead. His babe would arrive in a few short months. And…

He grinned and headed toward the staircase.

“Tykir! What are you doing?” Alinor said, clinging to his neck as he rushed up the steps, three at a time.

“I have never made love to the mother of my child afore, Alinor,” he told her with a husky growl, slamming the bedchamber door behind him with the kick of one booted foot. “And that is something I intend to remedy right now, heartling.”