Dark Viking

by Sandra Hill

  “There is, m’lord,” Oslac said, the m’lord an indication that he was enjoying his discomfort. “Didst settle the chastity belt issue?”

  “Not yet. I give you to the count of three to give me one good reason for this interruption.”

  “Someone ought to put a chastity belt on you Viking men,” Rita remarked to Oslac. “That, I would be willing to work on.”

  “It would have to be a really big belt.” Oslac winked at Rita, then turned back to Steven. “Brodir has sent another messenger. He wants to attend the Althing.”

  Steven shot to his feet, a remarkable feat, considering the state of his remaining half erection. “He dares to suggest such! I swear the man is looking to die.”

  “Uh, I think I might have something to add to this conversation,” Rita said, rising to stand in front of them and giving them both a little wave to garner attention.

  “What?” both he and Oslac exclaimed with exasperation, not appreciating the interruption.

  “You don’t have to yell.” She was dusting specks of grass off her rump, which disconcerted him, but only for a moment. “This is man business, Ree-tah. Go back to the keep.”

  She bristled at his order. “Sure thing, your lordliness.”

  Then she began to stomp away. Over her shoulder she added, “I might have some information regarding Brodir, but, hey, I’m only a simpleminded woman. Why should you listen to little ol’ me? What do I know?”

  He and Oslac looked at each other.

  “It appears as if big ol’ me is going to listen to little ol’ her.”

  Chapter 9

  If women ruled the world . . .

  As she walked back to the castle between Steven and Oslac, Rita, still reeling under the impact of her almost-lovemaking with Steven, explained everything that Sigvid had told her, ending with her own personal opinion, “I think you could settle the whole problem by letting Brodir marry your sister.”

  Oslac gasped, and Steven’s face turned red.

  At first Steven appeared too stunned to speak. When he did, it was in an even, extra-calm voice. “Go. Away.”

  “Huh?” Is this steely faced man the same one who was making sweet love to me a short time ago? Talk about morphing from Jekyll to Hyde!

  “That is the most lackbrained idea I have e’er heard. You best go back to the keep and do woman things, because clearly you know naught of the workings of fighting men.”

  Yep. Definitely split personality, Mr. Hyde.

  “I told you that you should just drop her off a cliff,” Oslac inserted.

  Now it was her turn to go red in the face. “It’s true, I’ve only been in military training for a year, but every good soldier knows that in the most successful battle no lives are lost.”

  “Is that female illogic or time traveler illogic?” Steven ridiculed.

  Oslac was grinning as if Steven had told a great joke.

  She’d like to bop them both over the head with a brick to knock some sense into their thick skulls. “Listen, isn’t it better to prevent a war, instead of waging one without proper planning?”

  “And who says there has been no proper planning?” Oslac demanded to know.

  “Brodir has been a plague on my house for years now. I think I know better than you what needs to be done,” Steven explained with obvious reluctance.

  “Not if you don’t have all the facts.”

  Steven gritted his teeth before speaking. “I am a fair-minded man. Speak your piece, then leave us to men’s work.”

  She swore under her breath but tried her best. “Sigvid says that your brother Thorfinn and Brodir were good friends at one time.”

  “That is so.”

  “Whatever grievance he has against your family started about the time your brother disappeared, right?”

  Steven nodded, unsure where she was going with this line of questioning.

  “Why was he outlawed? What made him turn pirate? Why do you hate him so?”

  “I do not hate him. He is a nithing, a worthless man.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because of all the despicable things he has done,” Oslac answered for Steven.

  “For one thing, he attacked a nunnery, where he and his men raped and pillaged at will,” Steven added.

  “You know that for certain?”

  “What? Why would you ask that?” Steven was not happy with her query.

  “Because so many times wars or battles or feuds are carried out based on misinformation. Sometimes the two sides just need to sit down and air their grievances. If women ran the world, believe me, there would be more peace.”

  “If women ran the world, men would all move to Valhalla,” Oslac quipped.

  “So, you think I should meet with this miscreant?” Steven asked.

  “Yes, I do. And maybe you should think about going into such a meeting with an open mind.”

  “Do not give offense when you know not all the facts.”

  “I apologize, but maybe you don’t have all the facts, either.”

  He gritted his teeth. “And what has all this to do with marriage betwixt Brodir and my sister Disa, anyway?”

  “Sigvid thinks they’re attracted to each other.” Well, she hadn’t actually said that. In fact, she’d said that they insulted each other constantly. It was Rita who was putting a romantic cast on their squabbling.

  “And attraction is enough to warrant wedlock?” Oslac hooted with laughter.

  “Oslac is right. Marriages are arranged for many reasons, none of which is attraction.” This was Steven’s ridiculous assertion.

  “What about love?” She couldn’t believe she’d asked that corny question.

  “Love! Love is just a honey-coated word women use to cover lust.” Steven actually looked as if he believed his words. Yeah, her question had been hokey, but his response was almost insulting . . . to women anyhow.

  “My marriage was a good example,” Oslac added. “A finer, more biddable woman there ever was in Girda, but once the vows were scarce spoken, she turned into the Loki’s favorite shrew. Thank the gods she is no longer with us. Otherwise, I might have killed her myself.”

  “That observation added nothing to this conversation,” Rita said. “And, frankly, it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead.”

  “In Oslac’s defense,” Steven said, “I must say that Girda was more than nagsome. She nigh begged to have her tongue slit to stop her incessant criticisms, just as Boris the Braggart did with his wife.”

  Rita tried to steer the conversation back to the subject at hand. “The proposed meeting with Brodir?”

  “There will be no meeting . . . lest the Althing elders deem otherwise,” Steven decided.

  “We are warriors. We know best how to handle pirates,” Oslac proclaimed.

  “And unruly, overopinionated ladies,” Steven added, smiling and waggling his eyebrows at her, as if a smile was going to turn her all warm and cuddly again.

  “You two boneheads would be good candidates for the Moron Hall of Fame.”

  You could say it was a golden thong . . .

  She was wearing a chastity belt. A chastity belt, for the love of Frey!

  After removing his clothing and flipping the blanket off of Rita, who was attempting to ignore his arrival in the bedchamber by staring at the far wall, Steven stared down at the wench with disbelief. Over the yellow silk pant-hes . . . which he, incidentally, liked very much . . . she had wrapped one of Thorfinn’s long chain-link belts around her waist and down through her female channel, twice over, with a small link at the end welded together.

  “You best be the only woman in this keep wearing one of those things,” he warned her.

  “I am.”

  I have an erection that could spear a stone, but not a metal chain. This is ridiculous. “My blacksmith needs a good talking to.”

  “Don’t blame him. I kind of tricked him into doing it.”

  He did not want to know how. It would no doubt make him angrier than he al
ready was. “I am not going to sleep next to a woman wearing a chain up her arse.”

  “It’s not up my ass. Just along my bottom, like a thong.”

  Same thing. “It looks uncomfortable.”

  “It is, but if it keeps the wolf away . . .” She shrugged.

  “If I wanted to swive you, no chain would stop me,” he declared as he studied the situation. “How am I supposed to sleep next to someone wearing cold chains? I could get a chill.”

  “Well, you could always sleep in your own bed.” She rolled over to look at him. “Oh, good Lord! You’re naked.”

  “Of course I am naked. ’Tis time for bed.”

  “Well, don’t think you’re prodding me with that thing in this bed.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight so she would not have to look at him.

  He was fairly certain she was tempted by his manly enthusiasm. Shifting some more from hip to hip, waiting for her to give in, he said, “Dost think you can hide anything from me in that little shert?”

  “This is one of Luta’s night rails, according to Sigge. I cut it into a sleep shirt. Any objections?”

  “Yea, I object. Take it off. And the chastity belt, too.”

  “No.”

  “You were willing enough to be with me this afternoon.”

  “That was before you turned into a jerk and told me to go away.”

  “I can see your nipples.”

  Her eyes shot open, and she glanced down her body. Immediately, her face heated with color.

  “Must be some part of you likes my enthusiasm.”

  She looked at him again. “Oh, my God! You’re even bigger. Go take a cold bath or something.”

  He blew out the candle on the bedside table, slid into the bed beside her, and pulled the cover up over them both. “Do not worry, m’lady, I will take care of the matter myself.” Then he proceeded to make some lackwit whispering sounds.

  There was silence for a moment before she burst out, “Don’t you dare!”

  “What?” he inquired sweetly. “I was just talking some sense into my cock. What did you think I was doing?”

  “I swear, I don’t know what I did to deserve this. Either God decided time travel back to you was to be my punishment for some past sin, or else he has a great sense of humor.”

  “Methinks both God and Odin enjoy a good joke. Yea, they are no doubt up in heaven, or Asgard, sharing a horn of ale, and laughing at us.”

  “I wasn’t serious.”

  “Are you looking cross-eyed?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Every time you lose an argument with me, you cross your eyes with frustration. ’Tis rather adorable.”

  She made a growling sound.

  “Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the wolf. I must tell you, I do not look good in red. Nor do I have a hooded mantle. Plus, I have big teeth. Do you want to see?”

  “I can’t hear you,” she said, putting her hands to her ears.

  Steven smiled to himself and shifted his body to get more comfortable. With his hands folded behind his head, he prepared to fall asleep. “Good night.”

  “Yeah. Sweet dreams to you, too.”

  Just before he fell asleep, he said, “Oh, by the by, I have decided to meet with Brodir afore the Althing.”

  Rita jerked to a sitting position. “What did you say?”

  He pretended to be asleep. In fact, he let out a little snore. Betimes a man had to get the last word in any way he could.

  Witching is in the eye of the beholder . . .

  In her long list of “What was I thinking?” Rita added “visiting a witches’ lair,” right below “marrying a serial adulterer,” “agreeing to wrestle an alligator,” and “joining the female SEALs.”

  Lordy! She’d thought she was in good shape, but several days later, trekking uphill through a thick forest in badly fitting boots, always on the lookout for wild boars or other medieval creatures, for the past two hours had been insanity. And all this punishment was so that she could meet two old biddies who claimed to be witches . . . witches with a special message for her, according to Sigge.

  Surprisingly, Sigge, who wouldn’t know an inclined sit-up from a mile run, wasn’t out of breath at all. In fact, she kept skipping ahead, then coming back for Rita to catch up.

  It must be the altitude, Rita decided. It couldn’t be the ten-year difference in their ages.

  “I thought you said it was only a short distance from the castle,” she huffed out.

  “ ’ Tis up ahead. Smell the air.”

  She sniffed. Yep. Woodsmoke. Of course, her next thought was, What are they cooking? Eye of newt? What is a newt, anyway? Pigeon tongues? Human hair? Animal blood? Body parts?

  Letting her imagination run away with her wasn’t helping anything. Besides, they’d reached the edge of a clearing, where she found not the hovel she’d expected, but . . . oh, my God! There stood a Hansel and Gretel cottage. It didn’t have gingerbread or a candy roof or sides, but it was neat as a pin with a red stain to the log sides, green shutters, and a yellow thatched roof through which a stream of smoke reached up to the sky through a crude stack. In the clearing, there was a small vegetable and herb garden, a chicken coop, one cow grazing on whatever grass it could find among the trees, some animal skins stretched onto a wood frame, and, of course, a black cat.

  On closer inspection, she saw all the woo-woo signs. Runic symbols carved around the front door, windows, and eaves. Colored stones on long strings hung from limbs of trees, along with miniature leather bags bulging with things she chose not to discover. The world’s largest spiderweb was in a place of prominence between the stripped lower trunks of two tall evergreen trees . . . at least fifteen feet in diameter. Charlotte would be so proud! On a bench in front of the cottage sat a wooden box heaped with what were either dead bats or mice or birds. Maybe all three. Yeech!

  The biggest surprise came when the twin witch aunts emerged from the cottage to welcome them. Their gray hair was pulled back off their wrinkled faces and braided into coronets covered by white caps, sort of like the Amish wore with loose laces on either side. Maybe they saved their pointed witch hats for special occasions, like when they flew about on their brooms. And, yes, that was a broom propped against the side of the cottage. Their matching gowns—one blue, one green—were covered by pristine white Viking aprons. After they’d exchanged greetings, Sigge explained that Grima always wore blue and Kraka green to distinguish themselves . . . when they wanted to be distinguished, that was.

  Rita shook her head with continuing amazement. “You don’t look at all like witches now.”

  “They need to play a role when they go down to the castle,” Sigge explained. “Dost think anyone would take their witchly arts seriously looking like old grannies?”

  Rita wasn’t so sure they took them seriously, even with the screeching and cackling and scary appearance.

  “Come inside, dearling,” Grima said to her. “We will have a warm drink afore showing you around.”

  I should probably take only a sip until I find out what it is. Could be poison. Could be I’ll wake in an oven. Could be . . . oh, good Lord, get a grip, Rita.

  Kraka shivered with apparent excitement. “We are so happy you finally came. We have been doing the rituals for you ever so long.”

  For me? Come on!

  “Now, Kraka, ’tis only been six months since we started,” Grima corrected her sister. “Astral projections take time.”

  Astral projections? They think the stars shot me here? She considered the idea for a moment. Hey, that’s as good an explanation as any I’ve come up with so far.

  “That they do. That they do,” Kraka agreed, then confided to Rita in a loud whisper, “I feared you would be channeled to us in some other life-form.”

  “Like a cat?” Rita laughed.

  Sigge giggled. “I swear Aunt Kraka has been checking all the chickens and birds whilst Aunt Grima has taken to eyeing trees and bushes in a certain way.”

  “
Tsk-tsk!” both aunts chided Sigge.

  “She is jesting,” Kraka said with a loving smile at her niece. “We knew you would come in human form.”

  “But I had not expected you to be so beautiful,” Grima remarked.

  “Now, Grima, you know she has to be beautiful to lure Jarl Steven and fulfill the prophecy,” Kraka said.

  Lure? What lure?

  “The hair might be a problem,” Grima said to Kraka, who nodded, both of them looking at her short hair curiously.

  “Wouldst like to have long hair?” Kraka asked her.

  “Someday, I suppose.”

  “Nay, we mean now,” Kraka elaborated.

  “Instant long hair.” She laughed, but no one laughed with her. She could only imagine Steven’s reaction if she arrived back at Norstead with hair down to her butt. He would really think she was an alien creature, not that he didn’t already think that. “No, I think I’ll go with short hair for now.” She feathered her sweat-dampened hair nervously, wary that they might grow it long without her permission. And God only knew what form it would take. Curly, straight, corkscrews, a different color?

  “I expect she can lure the master without long hair,” Sigge offered. “He is already half-smitten.”

  If smitten means horny, you’ve got it in one. And I’ve gotta admit, I’m a bit smitten myself.

  Both Kraka and Grima stared at her expectantly. Then Kraka took her hand and led her into the cottage. Behind her, Rita heard Grima ask Sigge, “Have you been practicing your seer trancing?”

  “I have, and I even heard the speaking trees one time, but I still cannot levitate.”

  “Now, now, child. It takes time,” Grima told her niece.

  Inside the cottage, there was a cozy atmosphere. Sort of.

  A cauldron bubbled over the fire in a large hearth. Rita wondered if it might be some odd witchly brew, but it smelled more like chicken soup. The fireplace surround had more runic symbols, and there were rune stones heaped in several baskets around the room. Wide benches, like low, shallow platforms, lined two walls, which Rita presumed were used for sitting during the day and for sleeping at night, as they were in the castle great hall. In front of one of the benches were a table and two chairs, all very rustic and unpainted. Bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling rafters to dry, resulting in pungent but not unpleasant scents.