Page 78 of The Reluctant Viking

Thork spent a pleasurable hour with his sons at the pond, for which he was sure he would be sorry later. Dar had many strange knights in his keep these days, any one of which could report back to his half-brother or Ivar or the Saxons.

He turned his back on the boys before entering the water to hide his male parts. He had been in a state of near erection the entire day, thanks to the enticing wench who occupied his mind constantly.

A virgin! By the love of Freya, who would have ever imagined it? Not him! She had the mouth of a seasoned whore and the sexual allure of an experienced woman in the bedding. And all those stories of a husband and two sons had been nothing but lies. He stiffened angrily, to think that he had been so taken in by her guile, that he had thought she might be different from all the other deceitful women he had known. Well, it would not matter much longer. He would be gone from Northumbria soon.

“Is it true that you want to foster at the Saxon court?” Thork asked Eirik on the way back.

His son’s face flushed. “She had no right to tell you.”

“’Tis true?”

Eirik hesitated, then admitted, “Yea, ’tis. ’Twill be hard times coming for the Vikings in Northumbria. ’Tis logical that we must learn their ways in order to defeat them or to live with them, whichever comes.”

Thork was amazed and proud that his ten-year-old son could express himself so well. Before he could tell him so, Tykir interrupted, “Nay, ’twould be better to fight them all to the bloody end. We must become better warriors.” He blushed with embarrassment when his father and brother turned to him in surprise.

“So, Ruby was right. You would choose to be a Jomsviking.”

The imp raised his chin defiantly. “Yea, and I will be, too.”

When he got to his chamber, Thork was still towel-drying his hair when he noticed the basket of fresh peaches on the table. He ate one while he dropped his tunic and codpiece on the floor. He ate another as he dressed and combed his hair.

He shaved in front of a square of shiny metal. There were too many days on board ship and on the battle march when filth and fleas bred in a man’s beard. He liked to be clean-shaven when on land.

He reached for a third peach, reminding himself to thank his grandmother for the thoughtful gesture, when he noticed a peach at the bottom of the basket that stood out because of its discoloration and odd bruising. Could it be poisoned? He looked closer. It had been deliberately marked to draw his attention. Then he saw the scrap of parchment under it. The message said, “I’m sorry. Ruby.”

At first Thork picked up the basket, intending to throw the remaining peaches into the chamber pot, but then thought better of it. He shook his head from side to side. It was not such an awful thing she had done, leaving the fruit, but if she thought to make amends for all her lies with a basket of fruit, she would be sore disappointed.

He was biting into his third peach as he entered the great hall a short time later and caught Ruby watching him. She smiled tentatively at him. He turned away rudely, not about to give her any encouragement.

Throughout the meal, however, he could not help glancing her way down the long length of the tables which separated them. She wore the burgundy gown again, the one she had worn yestereve.

The wench had somehow become near gorgeous in his eyes, even with that silly short hair. What had she called him? Drop-dead gorgeous. Yea, that was what she was. He liked the phrasing and rolled it on his tongue silently. He knew his fellow hesirs did not share his appreciation for Ruby’s beauty, that they found her too slim, too mannish, too coarse-tongued. To him, she seemed damned nigh perfect.

He felt his half-erection come full bloom and swore aloud, then apologized to the cow-eyed maid who gasped beside him at his vulgarity. Thor’s blood! Elise was beautiful. Why had he thought of her as cow-eyed? Because Ruby had referred to her as such, that was why. Thork grimaced. He could not get the bloody wench out of his thoughts.

Thork considered taking Linette back into his bed to appease his raging lust but decided that would be unfair to Linette. She deserved the marriage his grandfather had arranged, and he would do nothing to jeopardize her future. Perhaps he would go to the pond again after the meal to cool his hot blood.

Thork sipped his wine thoughtfully throughout dinner and the endless entertainment that followed as his mind drifted, preoccupied with all he needed to do the next few days before the Althing. He was called jarringly back to the present when he heard Dar ask Ruby to sing a song for them.

“Oh, no, please, not tonight,” Ruby begged off.

“I insist,” his grandfather said, not unkindly.

Ruby balked, and Dar stared her down.

“Just one song then,” she conceded.

She strummed the lute, bemused, apparently trying to pick an appropriate song for the crowd, which was still somewhat hostile after the scandalous show she had put on the night before.

She kept her eyes averted from his, probably thinking he would insult her in front of the guests. Mayhap he would. First he would wait and see if she pulled one of her usual stunts.

“I sang this song for you before and told you it was my husband’s favorite…”

Thork stopped his cup in midair as he was raising it to his lips. She looked directly at him, then turned away quickly.

“…but tonight I dedicate it to another man who, when the winter nights seem long and lonely, will be able to think of this song and any special…memories he may have created with a woman he might have loved…and lost.” Her voice wavered at the end. She sang “Help Me Make It Through the Night” in a husky voice that did not stray off key even once, as it usually did. The enthralled people leaned forward trying to hear all the whispery words. When she finished, Ruby bowed her head slightly in response to the congratulations the people showered on her, declined to sing another and walked stiffly out of the hall and up to her tower room—without once looking at Thork.

Thork’s heart felt like the lead anchor on his ship. He closed his eyes wearily as the entertainment went on around him. How would he ever make it through the night, let alone the next week? Could he resist the overwhelming urge to make love with Ruby? And if he did take her to his bed, would that cure him of this raging fever in his blood? Somehow, he misdoubted it.