Page 16 of Viking in Love

Rashid laughed. “You know what they say about big-breasted women?”

“If it has anything to do with camels, I do not want to know,” Breanne snapped.

Rashid shrugged as if he had won some argument.

Amused by their exchange, Vana grinned, then winced as the scab on her bottom lip cracked open again. If Vana’s earl husband was not already dead, Breanne would have killed him with her own hands, she swore she would.

’Twas odd, the life paths the Norns of Fate ordained. From a young age, Vana had been betrothed to Rafn, the leader of their father’s troops. They had loved each other dearly and planned to wed after his return from a battle campaign in the Franklands. Alas, Rafn had never returned, and in her grief, Vana had succumbed to the overtures of the then charming earl of Havenshire. Big mistake!

“What can I do to help?” Breanne asked her sister.

“Ingrith and I can handle things inside, but mayhap you could do something about the chickens and pigs running loose outside. Drifa is having a hard time getting them out of the gardens. I even had to shoo several mean roosters out of the downstairs solar.”

Breanne nodded.

“The wise ones say: The enemy of my enemy is my friend. What you need to do, Breanne,” Rashid advised, “is make friends with Lord Larkspur, so that those out to avenge Lord Havenshire’s death will have Sir Caedmon’s shield to contend with.”

Breanne groaned. “Why not ask me to harness the moon?”

“The whisper of a pretty girl can be louder than the roar of a lion.”

If she heard no more Arab proverbs for the rest of her life, it would be too soon for Breanne.

Keeping a keep clean…

Caedmon had returned from the bathhouse a short time ago and donned the first clean garments he had worn in what seemed like a year. For a certainty, he had dumped the smelly, beyond-redemption tunic and braies into the cesspit. Despite his aching alehead, he was standing in front of a brass mirror in his bedchamber, removing two sennights of bristles from his face.

Ever since he had fostered a winter and two summers in the filthy keep of a Welsh warlord and experienced the hoards of lice that burrowed into the hairs on every part of a man’s body, even the nostrils, Caedmon preferred to be clean shaven. For that matter, he liked being clean all over as well, unlike many of his Saxon counterparts, and for that reason had put in the bathhouse on first arriving at Larkspur ten years past. His first wife, Elizabeth, had been grateful. His second wife, Agnes, not so grateful, somehow equating cleanliness with lustsomeness. Agnes hadn’t met a passion she didn’t loathe. That had included him.

He had come back from service to his king one time…a different king from Edgar…to find all the Larkspur beds infested with fleas. Agnes’s remedy had been to toss white sheets over the mattresses and when they were covered with black dots, shake the sheets outside. Hah! His remedy had been to burn all the mattresses, to her disgust. Aside from hating him, lust, and baths, Agnes had also hated waste. She would have preferred fleas.

In the two days since his return to Larkspur, Caedmon had done little other than drink and sleep. Now he was ready to put his home back in shape, a daunting job but one he was looking forward to. At least there were no infestations of fleas.

Who knew when the king would call on him again, and he would have to respond or lose his holdings, which he held precariously? At this stage, he was not powerful enough to offend his liege. Of course, a man could escape service by paying scutage, but not him since he had no extra funds, due to his neglect of Larkspur caused by the same king. A circle of futility he hoped to escape by a long run of work-filled residence. Larkspur would prosper, he was determined.

He had raised the sharp blade to his soap-lathered face, when a pounding noise caused him to jerk and cut his chin.

Bang, bang, bang!

Cursing, he dabbed at the blood and resumed shaving.

Bang, bang, bang!

Another cut.

Stomping over to one of the arrow-slit windows, he tried to see down into the lower bailey, but the now continual pounding was out of his range of vision.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang…!

He quickly finished shaving and was out of his bedchamber and down the stairs within a minute, barely registering the activity in his great hall. But then he stopped, turned around, and dropped his jaw in disbelief.

A woman in a blue gown and long, open-sided white apron in the Viking style and an incongrous Saxon wimple and head rail was supervising a massive cleaning of his great hall. Servants he did not even recognize…and, yea, he noticed a number of the female ones were buxom…were busier than he had ever seen in the past. All due to orders being pelted out by the lady.

One of the princesses?

“Who are you?” he inquired bluntly.

“Vana…Vana Elsadottir. Daughter of King Thorvald of Stoneheim. Widow of Oswald, the earl of Havenshire.” Her blue eyes dropped down to the region of his manpart, then rose quickly. With a smile twitching at her lips, she said, “I presume you are Lord of Larkspur.”