Page 37 of The Reluctant Viking

“Why are your legs so prickly?” one lady asked with distaste.

“I haven’t shaved in two weeks.” Ruby grimaced.

“You shave your legs? Why? What is your meaning?”

“In my country, most women shave their legs up to the top of their thighs. Some even shave a bikini line,” Ruby explained, demonstrating with a slash of her hands.

“Oh!” several of them gasped. “Does it not hurt?”

“Not at all—when you use soap lather and a sharp blade. And the legs feel as smooth as silk.”

The skeptical women questioned the wisdom of such a habit, especially when Ruby told them it had to be repeated every other day.

The treasure room overflowed with bolts of fabrics, laces, braiding and threads from all over the world, in every color imaginable. She’d known the Vikings’ reputation as traders but never had she imagined such fine taste.

Realizing that paper was at a premium, Ruby pulled aside a bolt of stiff white fabric to use for patterns. She restrained the women from being too greedy and selected only a half-dozen silk fabrics—black, bright red, green, white and two shades of blue—along with matching trims. She had an especially hard time convincing Byrnhil that wool would not be a good choice for underwear, even for winter.

“I can only work on one set today,” Ruby asserted. “Perhaps if the others watch carefully, they’ll be able to make their own patterns.”

Without hesitation or modesty, Byrnhil stripped to the buff and stepped forward to the middle of the room. The woman’s magnificent body rivaled the finest female athletes Ruby had ever seen, and she told her so. “What do you do for exercise? Do you ever jog?” Ruby had to explain jogging then and was pleased at Byrnhil’s unfeigned interest.

“In Dublin, I practiced for battle with my brothers. Twice have I gone a-Viking with them.” She beamed proudly. “’Tis harder here. Sigtrygg forbids my joining his men on the practice field. Afeard he is that I will best his men with the short sword, I wager.”

She added slyly, “Little does he know I take my servant Hedin to the outskirts of the city where I make him train with me.” Then she advised Ruby, “A woman must protect her own interests.”

Tell me about it!

“Mayhap I will join you in this jogging one day.”

“Not if Olaf has anything to say about it! He’s forbidden my jogging.”

Ruby wasn’t about to risk more punishment, even to satisfy the whim of Sigtrygg’s mistress. She told Byrnhil about the jogging episode.

“Many times have I been locked in my chamber,” Byrnhil boasted. “Sigtrygg even takes a hand to me occasionally. ’Tis naught, imprisonment or a beating, unless a bone be broken or the face marred. That I will never abide.”

Ruby used ribbons to take the place of hooks and eyes on the bra and of elastic at the gathered waistband and legs of the panties. After three hours of measuring, cutting and sewing, Byrnhil stood resplendent in flame-red bikini pants trimmed with black lace. The bra, also of red silk, teased the eye with peek-a-boo black lace in strategic places.

Byrnhil pirouetted in front of a large sheet of framed polished metal, proclaiming Ruby’s creation a huge success. “You will make me a dozen more of these garments tomorrow,” Byrnhil directed two seamstresses at the edge of the room.

Byrnhil walked over to a lacquered Oriental chest in the corner and dug deep, tossing aside one object after another before she found what she wanted. Returning to Ruby, she handed her an emerald the size of an almond, hanging from a fine gold chain. “With my thanks.”

“Oh, my goodness! I couldn’t accept this. It…it was my pleasure to make the lingerie for you.” But Gyda nodded her approval, and Ruby accepted the priceless gem. On the way home, Gyda and Ruby giggled like young girls over their strange afternoon.

“I must thank you for this, Ruby—never have I been invited to the palace by any of the royal misses or mistresses.”

“It seems a dubious honor to me.”

Gyda smiled, their earlier difficulties forgotten for the moment. Then she sheepishly asked, “Do you think you could show me how to make such garments for myself?”

Ruby broke into a fit of laughter, and Gyda reddened.

“’Twould be foolish I would look in such garb, is that not so?” Gyda peeked up at her shyly.

“Of course not, Gyda. I know just the design that would be perfect for you. I laughed because of my ludicrous situation. Here I am in a strange country, worried about keeping my head on my shoulders, and still I’m drumming up business for myself. My husband Jack would say my priorities are out of kilter, as usual.”

“’Tis hard for you, is it not,” Gyda asked kindly, “being away from your family? I know you have your own business and could probably start another one here with no trouble, but family—well, that is everything, is it not?”

Ruby thought about Gyda’s words, then offered hesitatingly, “In my country, women are liberated. They believe that no woman should be defined by a man—or by the children she bears. She should have her own identity.”