Page 64 of The Bewitched Viking

He needed to get away and think. Alone. Once he was home at Dragonstead, his mind would become clear once again. He would remember why it was essential that he shield his emotions because, for the life of him, he couldn’t stop the ice around his heart from melting now. Much more of this and he would be as vulnerable as a wingless bird.

Besides that, his thigh wound was throbbing with more pain than he’d experienced since the Battle of Brunanburh, when it had been inflicted. He feared he was doing irreparable harm to his leg, hobbling around on it when the limb needed to be elevated and the scarred skin packed with hot poultices. His sister Rain would flail him alive with angry words if she saw how he’d abused her good work in saving his leg fifteen years earlier.

“Tykir,” Alinor said softly with a little sigh of sympathy.

Sympathy now? Aaarrgh! He glanced up to see her staring at his thigh, where he was unconsciously kneading it.

Before he had a chance to rebuff her, she swatted his hand aside, laid his cloak over his lap and began to massage the sore muscles underneath herself. At first he was too shocked at the boldness of the wench. But then he could only melt as her expert ministrations brought blessed relief. It was as if her flexing fingers imparted heat to his tortured flesh.

“You must, indeed, be a witch,” he murmured, but there was admiration, not condemnation, in his voice.

She shrugged and smiled shyly at him.

Shyness? From the boldest wench in all England? His heart lurched and expanded with a most disarming fullness.

Fortunately, their attention was diverted by the banging of the lawspeaker’s staff on the floor at the head of the room.

“Hear one, hear all,” Styrr the Wise called out in a surprisingly strong voice for one of his age. “Peace be to you, freemen of Trondelag. Come ye to judge your fellows according to the ancient laws laid down by good Norsemen through the ages.”

“Hear! Hear!” the crowd roared.

“Remember our gods and their great esteem for wisdom. Remember how Odin sacrificed one eye to drink from the well of knowledge.”

Many nodded at that reminder of their High-God’s reverence for law and order.

“But I am remiss. Many of you follow the Christian religion, as well. Dost your God-book not say, ‘The tongue of the just is as choice silver’?”

“Amen!” some of the men responded loudly.

“It is the custom that all men differ in opinions. But the goal of all is justice, and in this Thing, justice will prevail.”

A loud clamor of assent rang through the assembly.

“All freemen will have a vote. No army will there be enforcing the decisions of the Thing…not Anlaf’s, nor any other’s. Order depends entirely on the willing acceptance of those in judgment, which will be shown by the vapnatak, or weapon clatter.”

Hundreds of men rattled their swords against shields to demonstrate the method by which votes would be cast.

“This, too, I pronounce. The decisions of the Thing shall be final and accepted by one and all, in peace…”

Again, the assembly voiced their agreement with shouts of “Yea!” or yipping yells.

“…unless the need arise for verdict by combat.”

The assent this time was a wild cheer.

Alinor stopped massaging his thigh and snickered. “As if a bloody nose proves anything.”

“Or a dead body,” he added with a grin.

“I hope they don’t expect me to wrestle Anlaf to prove my innocence.” ’Twas her feeble attempt at humor, he supposed.

Damn, but he was developing a fondness for her sharp tongue…and her brave front in the face of what had to be the most frightening ordeal of her life. “Nay, they would expect you to have a champion fighting in your stead.”

He immediately wished he could snatch the words back. Too late! He braced himself for trouble.

Her trembling lips stilled, then spread into a wide smile, just before she slipped her hand in his.

Trouble…I am in big trouble.