Page 114 of The Reluctant Viking

“I was just thinking how happy I am,” she answered, pleased to see the joyous leap in his eyes at her words. “You know, I had a professor in college who was discussing the poet John Milton and his principle of ‘cloistered virtue.’ Milton contended that the truly virtuous person is not the one who hides from the world in a monklike fashion, but who lives in the midst of life’s muck and still manages to be moral—”

“Oh, Ruby,” Thork said with a laugh, pulling her onto his lap once again. “You make my mind fuzzy with all your confusing words. What have monks to do with love?”

Ruby slapped his arm playfully. “Let me finish, you rogue. I just meant that Milton’s philosophy could be extended to include ‘cloistered love.’ Don’t you think the stronger love is the one which has been tested and forged by adversity, rather than one which has been sheltered and based on unrealistic expectations?”

“What makes you think, dearling, that I do not have high expectations for our love?” Thork said in a soft, serious tone. “But, yea, I agree that our love will be stronger for having overcome some…obstacles.” He grinned then and blew teasingly in her ear. “There are some obstacles I expect you to overcome for me…and soon. I have missed you sorely, sweetling.”

Ruby sighed and forced herself to turn back to the banquet. Fidgeting in Thork’s lap, she tried to take in all the events—jugglers on one side, skalds on another and a musical group composed of a lutist, two harpists and a singer.

Thork cradled Ruby in his arms as she turned constantly to view all the activity in Hrolf’s hall. Truly, Ruby’s grandfather had been gracious in providing such a lavish wedding feast, especially while harboring such ill will toward him. But, damn the merrymaking. He wanted to be alone with Ruby. It had been more than six weeks since he had left her bed. Six long, celibate weeks!

“Are you truly happy, sweetling?” Thork whispered, remembering with a smile her words of, what was it, “cloistered love.” Holy Thor! The woman was a fount of high-flown, foreign words.

Ruby beamed at him, and Thork’s heart slammed against his chest. He closed his eyes for an instant on the almost painful intensity of emotion the sweet witch stirred in him. The deep green pools of her eyes were so open in their love. Even if she tried to hide it with the lush length of her auburn lashes, as she did now, he could still see how much she cared. No one had ever loved him so unconditionally afore. He truly did not deserve it.

“Happier than you can ever know,” Ruby answered, turning misty eyes on him which glistened with the tears of her joy. The muted green silk gown that Poppa had given her as a wedding gift swished enticingly as she twisted once again in his arms. Suddenly her movement struck Thork as odd, pain-ridden.

Thork put his hand gently on her arm and asked, “What ails you, wife? You are as jittery as a cat on hot coals.” Wife! Lord, that word had a sound to it he liked. He rolled it silently on his tongue. He touched Ruby’s hair gently, no longer repulsed by the short style, and moved his hand smoothly down her back, then stopped abruptly below her shoulder blades where a rough object protruded slightly. “What in the name of Freya is that?”

“Whalebone.”

“Whalebone! You never cease to amaze me. Is it a talisman or such that you wear?”

“You could call it that.” Ruby smiled enigmatically at him through half-veiled lashes.

In an instant, Thork understood and burst out laughing, hugging her to him. Dar and Hrolf turned to see what amused them so.

“Oh, sweetling, have you been wearing that teddy all day? For me?”

“Yes, and you better appreciate it, you brute. I can hardly breathe.”

“Mayhap we best go to our chamber and remove it at once afore you expire of suffocation,” he said with a devilish grin.

“My thought exactly.”

But Hrolf and his guests would not allow them to leave so hastily, demanding that Ruby sing at least one song for them. Ruby balked, but Hrolf insisted it was the least she could do after saddling him with Harald’s get for a grandson-in-law. Thork pinched her to comply.

The sly vixen challenged ominously, “I’ll show you.” She darted a meaningful glance at Thork as she stood and picked up a lute. “Since this is my wedding night, I think it would be appropriate if I sing a song for my new husband, just in case he doesn’t know quite what to do,” Ruby said with mock sweetness as an introduction to her ballad.

The men in the hall roared with laughter at her jest and called out ribald remarks to Thork about a woman having to teach him such. But then Ruby poked fun at the masculinity of all the other men, as well, by saying, “Actually, from what I’ve heard from the Viking women, a lot of you men out there could use a lesson from this song. So listen well. You, too, Selik,” she called out and actually caused the rascal to blush.

She announced a Pointer Sisters song, then looked directly at Thork as she began in a low, husky voice to tell of her need for a lover with a slow hand. Several stanzas later, he began to understand the graphic message of the song.

Slow hand! Easy touch! Heated rush!

The entire hall twittered, then burst into full-blown laughter by the time she ended the song. A few of the women turned red with embarrassment, but most of them nodded their heads in agreement with her sentiments.

Ruby grinned impishly at him.

“Perchance, are those Pointer Sisters acquainted with that Kevin Costner person?” Thork asked dryly.

Ruby laughed. “I doubt it.”

“So, I do not satisfy you in bed?” Thork had trouble holding back the twitch of amusement in his lips.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh ho! Now you back down. ’Tis a slow hand you asked for, and that is precisely what you shall get,” he warned seductively.