Page 47 of The Bewitched Viking

“Five hundred marks, then.”

Now that surprised him. “Alinor, how in the name of your holy saints would you obtain five hundred marks to give me?”

“You do not need to know the how of it. But if you must know, sheep.”

“Sheep,” he repeated drolly. “Your familiars would bring the coin here?”

“Familiars? Blessed Lord! You can’t be that lackwitted. I have many folds of sheep…just animals. Nothing magical about them, except the fine fabrics to be gleaned from their fur.”

“There is that much to be gained from those smelly beasts?”

“My sheep do not smell, I tell you.” If she’d been standing up, she would have stamped her foot, Tykir would warrant.

“I don’t want money from you,” he said.

“Well, what do you want from me?”

Oh, she should not have asked that. She really should not have. “Let’s make love,” he blurted out in a voice that sounded husky, even to his own ears.

She inhaled sharply with shock, then scoffed, “That is lust speaking.”

“Yea.”

“Really, what is it about men and sex? Three minutes of bouncing atop a woman—one minute of which is spent in trying to get the wick to stand up properly—and they’re in a swoon.”

“Three…three minutes?” he sputtered. “Oh, Alinor, you have been cheated.”

“Humph! That’s another thing about men. They always deem themselves better than all others in the bedsport. Well, let me tell you, if they think to impress women with such boasts, they are sorely mistaken. Women do not care one whit about the size of the wick, or how long it can burn.”

“Do not cast me in the same mold as all men, my lady. As to wicks, I am more like a whole candle. And I assure you, I can burn for a looong time.”

“Talk, talk, talk.”

“You know what they say, don’t you? It’s not the size of the stick, but the magic in the wand. Luckily, we Vikings have the size and the magic.”

“Oh, really! Wicks, sticks, wands, it matters not to me. I am not impressed, or moved to any great rapture.”

“Well, you keep on talking like that and you may find more than you wagered for.”

“You wouldst take me without my free consent?”

“Nay, I would arouse you till you begged for my…wick.”

“If you are so desperate for a woman, why didn’t you go with Rurik and Bolthor?”

“Desperate would be too strong a word. It’s been more than a sennight since I have lain betwixt a woman’s thighs, and—”

Her body went rigid with alertness. “A sennight? How could that be? You have been nigh plastered to my side every minute of every blessed day for two sennights now. The only time you were out of my sight was the afternoon I went to Gyda’s house in Jorvik to bathe…” Her tirade dwindled off as realization struck. Then she punched him in the arm. “The afternoon? You rutted with a woman in daylight? You are a pig.”

He had to laugh at that bit of ignorance on her part about the mating habits of men and women. “So, do you want to make love or not?”

The only answer he got was a grinding sound, like the gnashing of teeth, which he took to be a refusal. “’Tis just that my body is tense and restless. I doubt me I will be able to fall asleep. So, I thought—”

“—you thought to poke at me, to relieve your boredom.” Her contemptuous tone didn’t bode well for his prospects. “What am I? A receptacle for your seed? I…think…not!”

“You would enjoy the poking, this I guarantee.”

“Oh, I swear, you have conceit enough for a dozen men!”