Page 81 of The Reluctant Viking

She’d always been a fine seamstress and enjoyed working with her hands, especially when the material was as fine as this wool. Ruby had made her career based on a sewing talent, so making a cloak for Thork was an easy task. She cut and sewed the voluminous garment in half a day, including the finely stitched hem. The embroidery took much longer. Ruby decided to alternate the thunderbolts worked in silver thread with Thor’s gold hammer called Mjollnir, or lightning. The cloak would be stunning. Ruby expected to complete it by tomorrow night.

At dinner that evening, Thork made no pretense of his interest in Ruby and disinterest in the shy maid beside him. Ruby squirmed uncomfortably under his constant gaze from the head table but refused to kowtow to the warning messages he sent. She knew the baseball and jump rope had become an instant hit among young and old alike.

Thork probably interpreted her gifts as further goads aimed at him. That wasn’t true. She had other things in mind to rattle the arrogant Viking.

Thork surprised her by approaching her end of the hall after the meal. “No more tricks tonight from your bag of sorcery? No peaches or toys? No special meals to tempt the mouth?”

“I decided to give you a rest for tonight,” Ruby replied enigmatically.

“Were you not warned to stop pushing me?”

“I’m not afraid of you. The Althing and Sigtrygg and some of these other vicious Vikings—yes, I fear them—but not you.”

Thork gritted his teeth, and his face turned stormy.

“Do you question my manhood?”

“Are you kidding? That’s the last thing I would question, but I think you care for me, more than you realize. You wouldn’t harm me.”

“Wench, you are above yourself. If I thought for one moment you spied for Ivar or were a threat to my family, I would kill you in a trice.”

“That’s just it. I’m none of those things.”

“But a liar you definitely are. That was proven when I discovered your virginity.”

“Oh, Thork!” she sighed woefully. “Why won’t you just give in and marry me?”

Thork laughed at her persistence. “Nay.”

“Will you stand up for me at the Althing?”

“Why should I?”

“To save me from being killed.”

“Save your breath, wench. I will not betray my fellow Vikings to save your skin. And think again if you consider yourself aught but an enticing piece of flesh to me. Never will you win this battle.”

“Never say never, sweetheart,” Ruby challenged cryptically and walked away from him haughtily, swaying her hips in exaggeration. She heard several hesirs laugh behind her, but realized too late what Thork planned. He reached out and tweaked her behind, ensuring he got the last laugh from the hooting hesirs.

Ruby turned back indignantly. “You are a vulgar, vulgar man.”

“Nay, wench, you asked for that, swishing your arse like a dockside tart,” Thork defended himself with a laugh.

“I did not,” Ruby declared lamely and left the hall, her prideful chin still held high.

Ruby finished the cloak the next day, then went to the village to pick up her leather, high-heeled sandals. They weren’t quite what she’d planned. The woodworker had somehow made one of the heels slightly shorter than the other, causing her to hobble when she walked. There was no time to fix them since they left for Jorvik the next day.

“Do you try to get Thork’s pity by making him think you are a cripple?” Ella inquired.

“No, men in my country like to see women in high heels. They think it makes a woman’s legs look sexy.”

Ella eyed her skeptically. “Even when they walk like a crone?”

“No.” Ruby laughed. “Women can walk fine in them. In fact, it causes them to sway when they walk in sort of a sexy way.”

Ella rolled her eyes.

“Perhaps I’ll just pose in them. Now that I think about it, moving around in these primitive high heels probably isn’t a great idea.”