Page 79 of The Bewitched Viking

Having lost that argument, Rurik tried again, “The lady pushes the bounds of impudence. Why, she whomped Bolthor over the head with a salmon just this midday when he was passing by the scullery. All he did was mention something about a saga involving trolls, witches and raspberry body parts.”

Tykir threw back his head and laughed heartily.

“I can see you remain unconvinced,” Rurik said with disgust. He sighed deeply, then informed him, “If the rest of what I’ve related does not weigh heavily against the witch, then hear this: The wolf packs have come down from the mountains. You must admit ’tis too early in the season for that. Some of the village folk claim the beasts howl all night long. I say they are the witch’s familiars come to do the beckoning of their sorceress mistress.”

It took several moments for Rurik’s words to sink into his thick head. When they did, Tykir stood abruptly. “You fool! Are you saying that you let Alinor walk the lake, alone, when there are wolves about? Best you say a prayer, or twelve, on those bloody crosses you keep carving. I swear, if she is harmed in any way, I will hold you responsible.”

With that, he grabbed a heavy fur-lined cloak and his broadsword, buckling it on as he stomped toward the double doors leading to the bailey and down to the lake. He could scarce breathe under the intense fear that overcame him.

It was he who prayed then. Not Rurik.

Please, God. Let her be safe.

No sooner did Tykir pass through the outer bailey than he saw Alinor approaching around the bend of the closer bank of the lake. Thank the gods, she was not far away. Though he was feeling much better and his leg hardly pained him, he probably would have been incapable of a long jaunt around the lake.

A quick glance back over his shoulder showed that Bolthor, Rurik and a dozen soldiers had donned light armor and weapons, about to follow after him. No doubt Rurik had told them of his concern about the wolves. By the wisdom of Odin! There should have been patrols guarding the area anyhow, if not for Alinor, then for the villagers who might be at risk.

He waved them back for now.

Alinor did not notice him yet, nor did Beast, who was racing up and down a slippery wooded path after a large rabbit. Alinor had stopped, her attention caught by the beautiful scene before her. Earlier that day it had snowed heavily. Now the lake and the snow-capped trees presented a vision of pure white under a bright blue sky. The air was chill and windy, but bearable. In truth, he could not blame Alinor for wanting this bit of fresh air whilst the light lasted. Although it was only early afternoon, it would be dark soon.

All that Tykir could see of Alinor was her face, in profile, covered as she was by his heavy, hooded, fur-lined cloak, which dragged on the ground behind her. For some reason, his heart constricted, watching her admire that which he held in such high regard, in his hidden heart of hearts.

He was thirty-five years old—a man of middle age—and still the old hurts stayed with him. It was foolish, really, how he could not let them go. The first eight years of his life he’d struggled like a scrappy pup, seeking affection from anyone who came within sight of him. Yipping, yapping, “Love me, love me.” How many times had his hopes and heart been battered?

Oh, his father had never intended to wound him so. Staying away from him and Eirik had probably saved their lives, as intended. And his mother, who’d abandoned him asababe…she would have been a poor mother if she’d stayed. And his stepmother Ruby had had no choice in leaving him. And Eirik had had every right to go off afostering in the Saxon court, leaving him at Ravenshire with two grandparents, Dar and Aud, who’d died soon after.

What a poor Viking he was with all these weak-sapped needs! Sniveling and yearning over emotions best left to women and children…and small dogs. Actually, he had learned good lessons from all that heartache. Never care enough to be hurt. Never let any other know that you are vulnerable.

But there was one small weakness he allowed himself: Dragonstead. If he could not trust his feelings to another person, he could at least harbor secret affection for a place. And, Lord, he did love Dragonstead…every stone and timber of the keep, every drop of water in its lake, every tree and animal that marked the forests, and from a deliberately kept distance, even its people.

“Well, the troll has come a-walking.”

Tykir jolted to attention. Apparently, the lady had finally noticed him. He took the several more wide strides needed to reach her side. “Good day to you, as well, witch.”

“What brings you out of your cave?”

“You.”

“Me? Oh, God’s tears! You’re not going to start that captive nonsense again, are you? There’s nowhere for me to escape here if I tried, lest you suggest I try swimming.”

Tykir fought a grin. “Can you swim?”

“Of course I can swim. Otherwise, my brothers would have drowned me on more than one occasion as a child. They put the same worth on me as kittens and other small animals, subject to their cruelties.”

Damn! I am going to have to wring the necks of those two Saxons one of these days. Mayhap when I return her to Graycote, I will teach Egbert and Hebert a few lessons, Viking-style.

“Don’t you be looking at me with pity, you lout. Any man who owns paradise and punishes himself for some lackwit reason by staying away a good part of the year is the one to be pitied. All for the sake of a-Viking or a-wandering or a-trading or—”

“—a-raping and a-plundering?” he suggested, not even bothering to deny her assertion that he was a fool to stay away from a home he loved. She saw too much. Or mayhap he allowed her to see too much. Now that was a dangerous possibility.

“At least you have not neglected your home. I will give you that,” she declared, sniffing haughtily. “The estate is run efficiently, inside and out, even in your absence.”

When had he asked for her approval? The bold wench! “And how would you know about the workings of Dragonstead? Its fields are covered with snow. Its stores are locked up in outbuildings. Its animals are snug in their winter stalls.”

They’d begun to walk side by side back toward the keep. Somehow his hand had linked with hers as they ambled along. Or had her fingers laced with his? Either way, she acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And, blessed Lord, it was. He could not remember any time in his life when he’d gotten joy from such a simple thing as holding a maid’s hand…and she was well past the stage of being a maid.

Mayhap she did have witchly powers.