Dark Viking

by Sandra Hill

  “The master has called for an Althing to be held here. Messengers have been sent to folks from all the jarldoms in Hordaland, inviting them to come for council.” Sigge almost shivered with excitement.

  “This is a big event, I take it. Is it a regular happening, or something special?”

  “Something special, to be sure. Have you not heard that the pirate Brodir is still holding the master’s sister, Disa, and he refuses to release her unless the master meets with him?” Sigge practically shivered as she spoke, as if it was all so exciting.

  “No, I didn’t know. I can see the dilemma he faces, though. It’s never wise to negotiate with a terrorist, and I expect pirates would qualify as terrorists. On the other hand, it’s his sister’s life at stake. Why involve other Vikings in his decision, though?”

  “Pirates have become an increasing problem for them all, and Brodir may be the needle that breaks the pustule.”

  Nice picture, she thought.

  Having finished her breakfast, she dusted the crumbs off her apron and turned to Sigge. “Is there a room where seamstresses work? I need to find a way to make myself some underpants.”

  Sigge nodded slowly, probably not understanding what she meant by underpants.

  “I find it really uncomfortable walking around in a gown with my bare butt uncovered. It was especially distasteful those few days I had my period and had to make do with a diaper kind of thing with rag strips. What do women do here?”

  “Moss. There would not be enough rags for all women to use, even if they were washed out each time.”

  “Moss? Good Lord! You must all have green bottoms.”

  Sigge giggled. “You said something about underpants. What of the old ones who say a woman’s inner parts need to breathe?”

  “Hah! It was probably a man who said that.”

  “No doubt!” Sigge giggled some more.

  “Seriously, women wear no undergarments?”

  “Usually not, though women who need to go outside in the cold of winter, like dairymaids, put wool braies on under their gunnas.”

  “Well, you and I are going to have panties by the end of the day,” Rita promised, looping her arm with Sigge’s.

  They arrived at one of the solars, a room off the great hall with slightly more light due to several glassless windows with the shutters open. It would be a useless room when the temperature dropped.

  Eight women sat about sewing, including Lady Thora. While the others mended garments, Thora was stabbing her needle at a ring of tapestry.

  The black looks she and Sigge got from all of them indicated how unwelcome they were. So what! she thought. Everyone had a job in this place. Today hers was to make panties.

  “I need some scraps of material,” she said. When no one spoke up, she helped herself to a dozen different pieces lying on the floor. Silk, soft wool, and linen. She also picked up a pair of shears, several needles, and some ribbons, even a strip of lace about a yard long.

  “Come with me,” she directed Sigge, whose face was red at the condemnation she saw in the other faces. They sat down at a bench at the far end in front of a low table. There was another ostracized woman there . . . the servant of Lady Disa, who had been doing all the sobbing and wailing yesterday. At least she had stopped hiccuping. She held a lady’s gown in her lap and was repairing some embroidery along the edges.

  Rita nodded at the woman and said, “Hi! I’m Rita, and this is my friend Sigge.”

  At first hesitant, then more forcefully, the woman said, “Me name is Sigvid.” She shot the other women a “So there!” glare. It was an indication of how inwardly hysterical Rita was becoming that she actually likened the three of them to a society of Sneeches that before long would become the “in” Sneech group. Dr. Seuss, eat your heart out.

  First Rita laid a square of blue linen on the table and cut a flat-topped vee out of either side so that it resembled a squat hourglass, which would be folded over and the crotch reinforced with several rectangular layers. Knowing she would have no elastic available, she figured she could punch holes in the four corners, which she would thread with ribbon and then tie high on the hips. The design wouldn’t win any awards, but it should suffice.

  “Sigge, you’re shorter than I am but about the same size. Try this on before we do any finishing of the edges.”

  Without any embarrassment, Sigge raised her gown up to her waist. She, and all the women, watched with fascination as Rita fitted it on her, then tied the light blue linen with white ribbon bows on each hip.

  Rita was pleased with her efforts, and she told Sigge to take it off so that they could hem the edges. “You can keep that one,” she told the young girl, whose eyes filled with such joy you would have thought she’d given her a pot of gold.

  Next, Rita cut out red, black, and green silk, undyed muslin, and several colors of linen. The wool she would save for colder times . . . if she was still here then, she thought with a shudder. She also set out contrasting colors of ribbon and lace.

  While she and Sigge worked, Rita talked softly to Sigvid, trying to find out exactly what had happened to Steven’s sister.

  “Truth to tell,” Sigvid whispered to Rita, “the pirates ne’er attacked our longship. That drukkinn Captain Ulster . . . Ulster the Useless if ye ask me . . . caused the boat to capsize in a storm, and the pirates saved us. Of course they refused to return us to Norstead; so they did kidnap us.”

  Over the next few hours, Rita put together an impressive six pairs of panties for herself, a second for Sigge, and even one for the plump Sigvid, who protested that she really didn’t want any but took it readily enough. The whole time, Rita plied Sigvid for information about her pirate adventure.

  Turned out that the pirates rescued them but had no interest in doing any favors for Steven or anyone else at Norstead. They were a “fearsome” lot, according to Sigvid, except for the leader Brodir, who was golden-haired and beautiful as the god he was named for, Baldr, who was apparently the Norse god equivalent of Jesus to Christians.

  Even more enlightening, Lady Disa and the pirate got great enjoyment over insulting each other. One verbal battle after another, Sigvid related.

  It sounded to Rita like elementary school where boys and girls hit the person they liked. In other words, maybe Disa wasn’t as unwilling a prisoner as her brother thought.

  Why exactly Brodir was demanding a meeting with Steven before releasing Disa was unclear.

  “Is there an attraction between Brodir and Disa? I mean, could it be that Brodir wants to marry Disa?” Rita had asked.

  “Pfff! If that was all ’twas about, he would take the lady and be done with it. Pirates do not ask for permission.”

  Like Sigvid had all that much experience with pirates!

  One clue Sigvid did give was a hint from Brodir that the reason for his being outlawed two years past was somehow connected with Thorfinn.

  Rita should discuss this with Steven but decided not to seek him out. He would show up soon enough.

  In the meantime, while Sigge went off to do her herb gardening, having nothing to do, and knowing Steven probably wouldn’t appreciate her showing up on the archery fields, she gathered up some of the young children who had been annoying the men erecting the tents. She led them to a grassy meadow beyond the castle yards to tell them some stories.

  First off, she tried interactive ones like “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” “Pat-a-Cake,” “London Bridge Is Falling Down” which was coincidentally based on some Viking takeover of London, “Ring Around the Roses,” and “Knick Knack Paddy Whack.” After that, she convinced them to sit down around her for some quiet time, and she searched her brain for children’s stories she might remember. Their favorites soon became “The Three Little Pigs,” “Jack and Jill,” “The Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe,” and “Humpty Dumpty,” the last of which caused them to roll over with laughter. Like children everywhere, if they enjoyed something, they wanted it repeated over and over.

  She was just finis
hing up another telling of “Red Riding Hood,” where she described the wolf as looking a lot like Steven, and Red Riding Hood a lot like herself, when she glanced up and saw Steven leaning against a tree, staring at her. She couldn’t tell by the expression on his face whether he was annoyed or amazed at her activity. Probably both.

  “Go to your mothers,” she directed the children, who groaned at their playtime being interrupted. “If you’re good, I’ll tell you some different stories tomorrow.”

  “Nay, the same ones,” several of the children yelled.

  Within moments, they had scattered like seeds on the wind.

  Looking up at Steven, she sighed. “Okay, what did I do wrong now?”

  Kiss me once, and kiss me twice, and kiss me once again . . .

  Steven had left the keep in a rage when he had discovered Rita was missing, his first thought being that she had somehow popped herself back to the future. Not that he believed all that time-travel nonsense. Still, he had panicked with alarm when he had thought her gone.

  First place he had searched was the area down by the fjord, figuring that if she came here from water, she would return the same way. No one working on the longboats had seen her.

  But then he had discovered her here in the meadow, surrounded by little ones . . . one on her lap, two leaning on her shoulders, the others at her feet . . . and he could only stare. What was it about her that she could charm children as well as full-grown men?

  “A wolf with black fur and silver gray eyes? Red Riding Hood of the short blonde hair?” he inquired as he sank down into the grass beside her.

  “A good storyteller has to picture her different characters.” Her face flushed prettily with embarrassment at being caught making mock of him.

  “And now you are a storyteller, as well as a sea siren, soldier, and stunt person?” He picked a piece of grass from her hair and flicked it away.

  “Don’t be so picky. I was just telling the children stories I recall from when I was little. Is that a crime?”

  “Nay, but telling all the women in my keep that they should wear chastity belts is creating turmoil amongst my men.”

  “Give me a break. I don’t even know how a chastity belt works, let alone how to make one.”

  “You did tell them that they must cover their arses.”

  “I never told anyone else that they should wear panties. I just used some old scraps of cloth to make some for myself. Where I come from, women . . . men, too . . . wear undergarments. It’s sanitary.”

  “Actually, I concur. Even the bed furs need airing out on occasion. A woman’s pelt more so.”

  “That was crude, even for you.” She shook her head at his hopelessness. “Are any of those children yours, by the way?”

  His head shot up with horror. “Nay! I have no children.”

  “Kind of hard to carry on your lordly line without heirs, isn’t it?”

  “Lordly line?” He chuckled. “When the time comes, I will do my duty . . . reluctantly. I have seen firsthand, through my brother Finn, what having a babe . . . and losing it . . . does to a man’s soul. I would as soon avoid that kind of attachment to another being.”

  “Well, that’s a great way to live. Not! Besides that, you already care deeply about someone . . . your brother.”

  He nodded. “And his death has cut deeply.”

  “Good luck with the no babies rule. I assume you have normal male urges, and as far as I can tell, birth control doesn’t exist at this time.”

  “Coitus interruptus.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I spill my speed outside the body to avoid planting my seed.”

  She began to laugh.

  That irritated him. “What is so funny?”

  “If you only knew how unreliable that method is!”

  “Dost have an answer for every bloody thing in the world?” he griped. “Besides, I am in a rare good mood today.” Leastways he was now that he had found her. “Do not spoil it for me with talk of babies.”

  He leaned back on his elbows and studied her. She was wearing Viking attire today . . . the red gunna covered by a blue, open-sided apron that was rumpled and grass-stained. Her face had a light golden color from the sun. And his heart was racing like a warhorse afore battle, just perusing her. “Show me,” he urged in a voice husky with sudden lust, waving a hand toward her nether region.

  “No way!”

  “I will see eventually.”

  “I am not going to lift my gown and show you my panties, so just forget about it.”

  “As you say,” he agreed . . . way too easily, if her suspicious eyes were any indication. “I will put aside my wish to see your pant-hes.” Believe that, and I have a fjord to sell you in the Arab lands. “Still, you owe me a boon,” he said, changing the subject. ’Twas always good to keep women on their toes, ne’er knowing what you would do next.

  “For what?”

  “Sleeping with you without tupping.” My ballocks are no doubt blue today from lack of release.

  “Jeesh! What am I? A barrel or a keg to be tupped?”

  “ ’ Tis just another word for—”

  “I know what the word means. Anyhow, your restraint is admirable, but I wonder how you took my clothes off without touching me. Hmmm?”

  “With great skill.” With great pleasure.

  “I am not showing you my panties in exchange for your not tupping me.”

  “Why so shy? You are not a virgin, are you?”

  She made a tsking sound. “I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve been married.”

  That got his attention . . . and his anger. Steven did not have many scruples when it came to bedsport, but one hard-and-fast rule was not to stray onto another man’s property. “You are married?”

  “No, I’m not married. I was married. I divorced the jerk three years ago.”

  Divorce was rare, though not unheard of in Viking society. “You divorced him? On what grounds?”

  “That he was a serial adulterer.”

  “Ah,” he said. Infidelity was a hard nut to swallow for men as well as women. He waved a hand dismissively. “Back to your pant-he display. Not to worry. I had another boon in mind anyway.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” She arched her brows at him.

  “A kiss.” When she shook her head as if he were a hopeless lackwit, he added, “A mere kiss, that is all.”

  She snorted her opinion.

  Did she not know that snorting was not an attractive female trait? Not that he was dumb enough to tell her.

  “Steven, there is nothing mere about your kisses, and you know it.”

  Of course I know it. Did it not take me years to perfect my techniques? “Oh, really?”

  “I’m still tingling from your last kiss, and—”

  “You should not tell me such things. I will use it against you.”

  “You could try. I’m still determined not to be attracted to you, so keep your—”

  Before she could finish her thought, he grabbed her by the waist, flipped her over onto her back, and was leaning over her with his lips nuzzling the curve of her neck. “You were saying?”

  Instead of shoving him away, she arched her neck for his better access and moaned, “I swear you are more tempting than a Krispy Kreme doughnut.”

  Steven had no idea what a dough-nut was, but the moan was what sealed her fate, as far as he was concerned. That, and the fact that she had arched her back up so that her breasts brushed against his chest. Even through their layers of clothing, the friction felt like wildfire igniting his senses.

  He gritted his teeth at the sheer ecstasy, and his blue ballocks nigh burst with anticipation. He had not even kissed her yet, and he was as aroused as an untried youthling.

  “Heed me well, wench,” he advised, nipping at her bottom lip. “She who puts her head . . . or other body parts . . . in the wolf’s teeth must proceed carefully.”

  Did she heed his warning? Nay, instead she used the tip of her
pink tongue to lave his lips from side to side, bottom and top. “Kiss me, you tempting wolf,” she ordered, her warm breath fanning his face.

  He was about to protest that he was the one in charge here, but then he decided it did not matter. In truth, he liked her taking charge . . . in this matter, leastways.

  At first, he just rubbed his lips against hers, shaping and adjusting to get the perfect fit. He could not help smiling as he did so because slowly, his long-dead senses were coming to life, which was a revelation to him. Oh, he had had his share of women during these dark years, before and after Thorfinn’s disappearance. And he had enjoyed the bedplay immensely, but he realized now that parts of him had been uninvolved, parts that made even the merest lover’s touch or merest kiss that much more pleasurable.

  Which was untenable. An attraction this strong could be perilous. Whoever or whatever she was, Rita was passing by on her way to the gods only knew where. And a kiss did not a lover make.

  “This should not be happening,” she groaned.

  Precisely! He raised his mouth to gaze down at her. As he saw the sensuous flame in her blue eyes, and as there was a sudden tightness in his chest, he thought, “Should not be happening” be damned! “You are trembling.”

  She nodded. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

  Steven decided understanding was overrated as he reclaimed her lips, this time with a searing hunger. Desire roared in his ears, and his blood thickened. And Rita . . . thank the heavens . . . was meeting his kisses with equal fervor.

  Somehow he found himself atop her and was grinding his hips against her womanhood whilst plunging his tongue in and out of her mouth . . . Or was that her plunging her tongue in and out of his mouth? . . . when he heard something other than her soft mewling sounds of desire.

  “Ahem!”

  He levered himself up on straightened arms and at first was not able to see through the haze of his erotic enthusiasm. When he was able to focus, he saw Oslac standing with hands on hips and a smirk on his face. Steven snarled, “There best be a good reason for your interruption.”