Page 48 of The Bewitched Viking

“’Tis not conceit. ’Tis a fact. I know…secrets.” He would have waggled his eyebrows at her, but he misdoubted she would be able to see them.

“Secrets?” She burst out with a light, ripply laugh. “Is it just you who has these secrets, or all Northmen?”

“Well, I cannot speak for every Viking. But, yea, ’tis said all have the knack. I merely polished it to perfection.”

This time she didn’t even try to hold back her laughter. “Have a caution, Viking. Keep your knack on your side of the furs, or you may find your knack taking a right turn…but not from any witchly spell. ’Twill be from a knock with my fist.”

“A knack-knock? I like it when you talk fierce to me. My knack does, too.”

“Ooooh, this is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever had in all my life.”

“You started it.”

“I did not,” she declared indignantly. Then, “Did I?”

“You did.” He misremembered whether she had or hadn’t, but that mattered neither here nor there. It was always good policy to make a woman feel guilty. They did all kinds of delicious things to make amends.

“Are you seriously saying that you would agree to my terms if I would agree to rut with you?”

Rut? He cringed at her vulgar word. “Nay, I am agreeing to nothing. I merely answered your question.”

“What question?”

“You asked what I wanted from you, and I said the first thing that popped into my head.”

“Well, pop this into your head, my Lord Lech. I will not, now or ever, make love with you. Not for coin. Not for lust. Not for any reason whatsoever.”

Tykir grinned. “Is that your final word?”

“Nay, these are my final words…”

He waited expectantly.

“…you are a troll.”

Yea, I am. Else why would I be considering what I am considering? ’Tis foolhardy. ’Tis a mistake in the making. ’Tis like jumping off a cliff into a stormy sea.

’Tis bloody damn tempting.

Her lips were a hairsbreadth away from his, close enough for a kiss. His wick knack took particular note of that fact, too, and he had to clench his fists to keep from grabbing for her. Best he change the subject, with all haste. He forced himself to yawn widely. “Well, best we get some sleep. I would like for us to be on our way afore midday.”

“Can’t we stay at least another day?”

He shook his head. “Nay. The rowing will be hard as it is for my seamen, especially if there is ice on the oars. Winter is truly on the horizon. I can tell by the ache in my leg tonight. When my battle scar throbs, that usually portends cold weather. Methinks there may even be frost on the bracken come morn.”

“Would that be the leg that has moved into forbidden territory?” she asked waspishly.

He groaned inwardly. He hadn’t realized that his knee had moved instinctively upwards. But what a feckless maid she was to call his attention to the fact. Now, if he moved it, he would appear guilty. But if he did not move it, he would not be able to stop thinking about the heat that seemed to emanate from her there. He chose the latter course. “That would be the leg,” he admitted. “And best you watch your tart tongue, my lady, or you may provoke other of my body parts to move into other of your forbidden territories.”

“Your crudity knows no bounds.” She tried, unsuccessfully, to squirm out of his grasp. “Only you would find a way to bring a discussion of the weather back to…to…”

“Sex?” Oh, that was very intelligent of me. Bring back the unwanted subject.

“Yea, sex, you bloody fool. Sex, sex, sex, that’s all you men think about. Mention plowing, you think of sex. Mention weaving, you think of sex. Mention horse riding, you think of sex. Mention sheep, you think of sex—”

He laughed so hard then that he began to choke. “Sheep? Sheep?” he sputtered. “Oh, Alinor, you are unbelievable.”

“Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re thinking!”