Page 83 of The Bewitched Viking

Tykir raised his head to see at least two dozen men arranged in a wide circle watching them with amusement, whilst Alinor hid her face in her hands and Bolthor recited the verse words:

“Kiss, kiss, kiss.

It started with a snowball fight.

It moved on to a kiss.

Did the witch lure the Viking?

Or the Viking lure the witch?”

The man kept watching her.

It was most disconcerting. Every time Alinor entered the great hall that evening, helping Girta and the other women serve dinner, she couldn’t help but notice Tykir leaning back lazily in his chair at the head table, picking at his meal (and it wasn’t even chicken), sipping at his cup of mead and watching her.

His smoldering, golden eyes followed her every move. And, sweet Mary, they were smoldering! Like a dangerous mountain cat, he was, waiting for the right moment to pounce on its prey. There was no doubt which body in this room he had marked as quarry.

What does it mean?

It was probably the kiss. Just because she’d succumbed to a wave of sentimentality…just because she’d waxed under the beauty of Dragonstead and imagined how her life at Graycote could be without her brothers’ interference…just because she’d allowed the lout one kiss…or two…or five…that melted her bones and caused her eyeballs to go up into her head like a mad woman…well, now he must think she’d developed round heels and was anxious to leap into the bed furs with him.

Hah!

Well, he may think himself the mighty hunter and me just small game in the sights of his bow, but I do not intend to be any man’s victim. Not anymore.

She slammed her tray of stuffed pigeons on a table, causing one soldier to jump and spill his ale. Then, walking to the side of the hall, she made direct eye contact with the watching Tykir, jerked her head to the right repeatedly, indicating she wanted him to follow her into the corridor leading to the storerooms.

Tykir put his cup down and frowned as if he did not understand. Well, mayhap she did appear as if she had developed a neck tic. So she tried crooking her forefinger at him.

He grinned.

Lord, spare me from a man with an overblown conceit. He must think I am inviting him for some lascivious play. If he thought she was going to let him kiss her again, she would clear his head in that regard, quickly.

She continued to crook her finger.

Tykir stood so abruptly he knocked his chair over. Which caused Adam and Rurik, sitting on either side of him, to notice the target of Tykir’s attention. Understanding—or rather, misunderstanding—immediately, Adam smiled and gave her a little salute, while Rurik looked as if he’d swallowed a pigeon whole.

Red-faced, Alinor scooted down the hallway toward the food storage rooms, Tykir following. When she glanced over her shoulder, Alinor saw that the lout was staring at her backside.

Oh, Lord! This is not going to be easy.

She clucked her tongue in disgust, a sound that usually annoyed him. Now he just grinned.

Oh, Lord! This is not going to be easy.

She was just about to set him straight on a few important facts when he stepped up close to her, forcing her back against the wall. The smells of smoked meats, honey, fresh ground flour and spices surrounded them. Without warning, he asked, “Wouldst thou like to visit the bathing house with me?”

“Huh?”

He stepped even closer, so that his chest, under his heavy woolen tunic, touched her breasts, under her heavy woolen gown. But it was as if they wore nothing at all, the way her breasts swelled and her nipples peaked. She’d never felt that way before, except maybe in the days just before her monthly flux. Never in the presence of a man.

“Wouldst thou like to visit the bathing house with me?” he repeated.

“Why?”

“To bathe.” His eyes danced mischievously at some secret he was not sharing with her.

“Together?”