The Caged Viking

by Sandra Hill

  A man can never be too clean…

  One day home at Haukshire had impacted Hauk in ways he hadn’t expected. He felt like he’d come to a turning point in his life and he wasn’t sure what the future held for him.

  He’d already been carrying a persistent burning in his gut of guilt over Bjorn. When he’d seen the state of neglect at Haukshire for the first time this morn, the fire flamed higher. But the sight of some of his cotters wearing ragged tunics and gunnas, living in hovels, some of the children looking undernourished, well, he feared for the state of his innards with all this heat.

  Shame was a close cousin to guilt, and that was untenable. He was a Viking. Vikings did not go all weepy over their mistakes. In fact, they rarely admitted their mistakes. Even so, Hauk had come to the conclusion that he must drop anchor and stay put at Haukshire until he made things right, mayhap even permanently. A landed Viking he would become. No more sailing the seas for battle, or trading, or adventure…not until he got things under control here at Haukshire. Unfortunately, when he thought of his future, an image of his new wife came into his fool head, especially after seeing all the good she’d accomplished in his home after only one day.

  “This is heavenly,” said wife murmured, jarring him from the reverie. Hauk had almost dozed off on the bench in the bathing hut, which was basically a small longhouse, where he sat watching his wife. And no wonder, it had been a long day and the humid heat here was relaxing him a bit too much. Even though he’d teased Kirstin about bathing together, he was frankly too tired to take off his clothes, bathe, and put them on again, even if there was some sex play in between. He would never admit that to his male comrades, of course. A Viking too tired for sex? Never! Actually, he was looking forward to making love to his wife again in the comfort of a bed with the time and energy to enjoy it to the fullest.

  Kirstin was submerged up to her neck in the small stone pool, leaning her neck against the surrounding ledge.

  “Heavenly, is it?” he said. “Mayhap I should join you after all, and we can be naughty angels in heaven.”

  Instead of reacting to his teasing words, she commented, “This bathing place really is a unique marvel for this time period. I know from having lived in the Norselands until I was fourteen and from my research, that some estates in the Scandinavian countries made use of natural hot springs on their properties, but I’ve never heard of any making use of a well.”

  Oh, good gods! She is going to give me another of her lectures. Even so, he told her, “My grandsire designed this many years ago to please his new bride. I think he saw something similar in Frankland.”

  Only about three arm-lengths wide, the bathing pool held three or four adults in a tight fit, or a half dozen children. A plug on the one side drained all of the dirty water out, or regulated how much hot water could be added without overflowing. There was another smaller pool in the bathing house, built over a fire pit. Water came into that pool from a deep well outside, where it could be warmed up, then added to the larger pool via a covered clay trench.

  “I agree,” he said, “Very ingenious. It’s lauded by everyone who ever uses it. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is one of the reasons Ingolf envies my property.”

  Soaping up her arms and neck, she sniffed and made an expression of distaste. “Your soap is so harsh. It’s the lye in it, which is fine when washing clothes and pots and pans, I suppose, but really not very good for the skin. I wonder if I could experiment with adding oil, or even lard, and then some scents. Floral would be one possibility, but maybe pine from all those evergreen trees out there would appeal more to men. Fruit, too, would good, but out of season now. Ooh, ooh, maybe some of those wilted apples down in the storeroom would work. And honey, definitely honey.”

  His wife did talk a lot, he noticed, not for the first, or fiftieth time. Even so, he had to smile, “You would have us virile Viking men smelling like apples?”

  “Better that then BO,” she replied vehemently. “That’s body odor. Pee- you!”

  “Actually, I do know a man…Brandr Igorsson, who married a strange woman who made scented soaps. Mayhap I can introduce you next spring.”

  “Why do you say she is strange?”

  “She can rappel up and down the outside of a castle, and she taught the ladies at Bear’s Lair how to dance in a line to some song about achy breaky hearts. Come to think on it, you sang a song for us by that name, didn’t you?”

  “What? Oh, my God! Maybe she’s a time traveler, too.”

  “Nay, I don’t think so. Ne’er have I heard mention of her moving up in the air through a twirling funnel.”

  “That’s not the only way…oh, never mind. Back to soap…I have to admit, Vikings do have an appreciation for cleanliness, far more than men of other countries.” She grinned and added, “No wonder women from other countries welcome them to their bed furs.”

  He put a hand over his heart, as if wounded. “I can think of some other reasons why women welcome us to their bed furs.” Then he ogled her body with fake lasciviousness.

  “I know. From personal experience,” she said, disconcerting him with her directness. Then further disconcerting him when she added, “We’ve only made love two times, but I have to admit you have a few moves.”

  “A few?” he exclaimed with a laugh. “’Twould seem I have work to do.”

  Standing, he began to remove his clothing. Suddenly, he was not as tired as he’d thought.

  Oops, she did it again!...

  Despite all her best intentions not to have sex with Hauk again after his kidnapping her, Kirstin had succumbed to the man. Again!

  Face it: he was temptation on the hoof where she was concerned. And, oh, what he’d just done to her in the bathing hut! It had been beyond amazing. Turned out he had more than the few moves she’d implied. A shiver of pleasure passed over her at the memory. In fact, her toes still curled when she thought about it, which she feared was going to be too often.

  “Are you cold?” Hauk asked, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her into his side as they walked back to the main longhouse of the estate.

  “No,” she said.

  “You shivered.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I shivered at the prospect of having to spend months in this lousy place before I can go home.”

  He stopped to look at her, releasing her from his hold. “Lousy? Is this true? You hate Haukshire that much?” What he didn’t ask was whether she hated him that much, but the question was there in the wounded expression on his clean-shaven face.

  And her fool heart hurt at having hurt him. She wasn’t sure what she felt for this man, but, whatever the reason, she did not want to hurt him.

  With an honesty that came naturally to her, she admitted, “No.”

  She could tell that he wanted her to explain: no, she didn’t hate Haukshire, or no, she didn’t hate him, or no to both. When she didn’t elaborate, his jaw went rigid, and he took her hand in his, continuing their walk to the back door of the main longhouse. Under his breath, he muttered, “Guess I’ll have to work harder to make her like me.”

  And she thought, Holy moley! Can I take any more of his efforts to seduce me? I’ll be a puddle of melting hormones. She shivered again.

  Hauk’s jaw relaxed, and he grinned.

  They entered the brighter light of the kitchen, which was illumined by the hearth fire and several wall torches. Frida was sitting at the table, a cup of mead or ale in front of her. The evening meal had apparently already been made and served, if all the empty pots and serving utensils were any indication, the cleanup not yet begun. Kirstin had been hoping to grab a bite here and not have to sit down in the hall where Zoya was probably holding court.

  Frida looked up at them, then looked again, before bursting out in a chortle. Kirstin didn’t know what Frida was reacting to until she glanced at Hauk. Then she did a double take, too. The skin of his clean-shaven face down to the rounded neck of his tunic had a definite ruddy glow to it.

&nb
sp; Glancing downward, all she could see on herself was her upper chest, exposed by the neckline of her gown, and, yep, the skin showed little spots which together gave her a pinkish tone.

  A sex flush!

  Yep, she and Hauk were displaying the quintessential sex flush. How telling! Everyone who saw them would know what they’d been up to.

  No way was she going to let everyone see her…them…like this! Vikings loved nothing more than to laugh at each other, and themselves. She knew exactly how her brothers would react if she and Hauk walked into a room like this. The knowing…the teasing…of the men in the great hall would be no different than her brothers…loud and crude. So, she dug in her heels as Hauk continued to lead her by the hand through the kitchen toward the hall.

  “What now?” he asked. “Are you still upset that I showed you more of my….uh, moves?” Then he grinned with self-satisfaction.

  “Oh, you!” She smacked him on the arm for the grin. “I was never upset by…um, never mind. I think I’ll just grab something to eat in the kitchen and go to bed early.” She yawned to accent her tiredness.

  “Nay.”

  “What do you mean ‘nay’?”

  “Nay means nay. We will dine in the hall with my people. It is expected.”

  “By whom?”

  “Everyone. It’s my first evening home. It is your first introduction to my people as my wife and mistress of Haukshire. It would be impolite if you, or I, declined to eat with them.’

  “It seems to me that they’ve already eaten, or begun eating,” she pointed out.

  He waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Give me one good reason why you would not sit down with them? To eat or just to share fellowship?”

  “I’m embarrassed,” she said, weakly

  He stopped to stare at her. “About what?”

  “You know. Everyone will know what we were doing.”

  “And that is a bad thing?” He tried but was unable to hold back a smile.

  She hated when he smiled like that. Actually she hated/loved his smiles. “Yes, that is a bad thing. Embarrassing.”

  He sighed, obviously unable to understand, or maybe he just didn’t agree. With exaggerated patience, he asked, “How will they know, dearling?”

  She hated/loved when he used such endearments with her. With a tsking sound of disgust, she waved a hand in front of her neck and chest. “The sex flush. It happens when a person has engaged in intercourse and climaxed. Blood rushes to the surface, and…oh, what difference does it make how it happens. Just know, it’s a telltale sign.”

  He was frowning with confusion. “So, it doesn’t just happen when two people engage in sexplay? Just good sexplay? The kind that leads to a peaking?”

  “Well, yes.”

  He grinned some more.

  She slapped his arm for the grin. “Stop smirking.”

  He pressed his lips together to stop his grin. Then he studied her face and chest area. “I thought you were blushing,” he said and began to grin again.

  She smacked him on the arm, again. “Don’t gloat. You’re flushing, too.”

  “I am?” he glanced downward but was unable to see himself. “I have a sex flush?”

  “Yep. So, let’s just eat something in the kitchen.”

  Instead of being embarrassed like she was, he began to smile, slow and sexy. “You are a font of information, my wife. This time I enjoyed your lecture. Immensely. A sex flush! Imagine that!” He beamed at her, grabbed her hand, and yanked her forward to enter the hall where loud cheers greeted their entrance.

  There were about fifty people sitting in loose groups on benches on both sides of the four long lines of trestle tables, half as many people as would be there normally, many having left during the lean years with no jarl in residence. Hauk had told her earlier that most of them would return in the spring, once word got out that Haukshire was again a thriving estate. Kirstin had to admire his confidence.

  There were few women in the hall, aside from the serving maids, which didn’t surprise Kirstin, but she was surprised to see that many of the diners were servants. In many estates, even in the Norselands, a class system existed, and only the jarl and his family, his hersirs, and fighting men with their wives would be seated in the great hall. Once again, she had to admire Hauk, this time for his democratic attitude toward his people.

  Just then, a bundle of brown fabric flew by them. It was the little boy, Gorm, whose homespun tunic was blowing back as he ran past them, his skinny legs pumping like mad. Immediately following were two boys, considerably larger, one of them with a goose egg prominent on his forehead, and the other sporting a bloody lip.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Hauk said, grabbing the older boys by the back of their tunics, lifting them a foot off the floor. “What are you bratlings doing? Each of you has at least two stone on that little mite.”

  “Little mite? Little mite? That dirty bugger. I’m gonna kill Gorm and feed his guts to the pigs.”

  “I’m gonna stomp on him like a maggot. A little mite maggot. Squish!”

  Hauk set the boys in front of him and kept them in place with a heavy hand on each of their shoulders. “What did Gorm do to you that prompted this chase?”

  “He hit me with a rock in a sling,” the boy with the goose egg told him with disgust.

  “He put me boots in the manure pile,” the other boy said, swiping with the back of his hand at his bloody mouth.

  Kirstin saw Hauk’s lips twitch with a barely suppressed smile.

  “And what did you do to him first?”

  The boys ducked their heads sheepishly, not even trying to deny Hauk’s good guess at culpability.

  “’Tweren’t nothin’,” they claimed at the same time.

  “We jist put a little bit of water in his bed furs.”

  “What kind of water?” Hauk asked, narrowing his eyes with suspicion.

  The little idiots looked downward toward their groins.

  She looked at Hauk. “Did they pee on his bed furs?”

  Once again, Hauk’s lips twitched. “It appears so.”

  “Yeech!”

  Hauk hunkered down to the boys’ level, still keeping a hand on each of their shoulders. “Listen, you two bratlings. I want you to stop beating on Gorm. ’Tis cowardly of you, being so much bigger than he is. I’ll be talking to him, and he’ll stop provoking you, or have a blistered arse. But I want your promise to stop bedeviling him, as well.”

  The two boys shuffled their feet and then nodded.

  “Maybe you can all be friends,” Kirstin interjected.

  The boys looked horrified, as if she’d suggested they eat worms, or something equally objectionable.

  “Well, if not that, then I think a perfect punishment for all of you is to finish scraping the grease off these tables tomorrow.” Kirstin pointed to the last two greasy tables to her right.

  “Good idea!” Hauk said. “Dost agree?”

  The boys nodded, reluctantly, then bloody lip asked, “What about Gorm? What’s his punishment?”

  Kirstin thought for a moment and said, “He’s going to help me make soap.”

  Once the boys scampered off, Hauk turned to her. “Do you know how to make soap?”

  “No, but I’m going to learn.”

  Hauk took her hand once again. She’d thought he would head toward the dais at the other end of the hall, but instead he led her down a short corridor toward the garderobe. There was a door just before that, behind which was a small room…a closet, really…that held piles of bedding and odd fabrics.

  Hiding under one of the piles was the little gremlin who’d caused all the trouble. Before he could run away, Hauk grabbed him by an upper arm and lifted him out to stand on his bare feet.

  The boy’s grimy face had tear tracks on it, and like before, Kirstin noticed a number of bruises on his body. At first, he cowered with an arm over his face, as if to fend off a blow.

  What had he been subjected to here to make him fear an adult, as well as t
hose bully youthlings?

  Quick as a wink, Hauk leaned down and pulled the boy up off his feet to dangle, with his arms pinioned to his sides.

  Despite the fear evident in the boy’s wide eyes, he squirmed in Hauk’s hold and called him every foul name he could think of. “Dirty bugger! Big sod! Slimey snake! Pig arse! Wormy cock!”

  Hauk just laughed, holding tight to the squirming boy. “Gorm. Gorm. Settle down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Once Gorm finally calmed downed, Hawk told him, “Those boys are not going to bother you anymore. They have promised. But what I need from you is a similar promise.”

  Gorm’s face immediately took on a stubborn expression. “They started it.”

  Hauk shook his head. “Doesn’t matter who started it. It ends now.” He gave the boy a few quick shakes, but before he let him go, called out to a male house servant walking by, “Gunnar, take this boyling to the bath hut and scrub him until he shines. Then toss his garments into a fire and put clean clothes on him. He smells like a cesspit.”

  “Wha-what?” Gorm exclaimed as he slowly began to realize what Hauk was ordering. “Nay, nay, nay!”

  Gunnar, who was an older man but of considerable size…well over six feet tall and built like a body builder…stepped closer and picked up Gorm by the waist, tossing him over his shoulder. Gorm’s screams of outrage could be heard as Gunnar strolled down the corridor toward the kitchen and out to the back courtyard. A loud smack could be heard, presumably on Gorm’s rump.

  Now that the screeching could no longer be heard, Hauk took her hand again, and stepped outside the room, closing the door behind them. Hauk’s treatment of the two bullies and of Gorm caused Kirstin to give Hauk still more credit.

  “How did you know to look there for Gorm?” she asked.

  “’Tis the same place I used to hide from my father when I was about his age.”

  Hauk made that revelation casually, as if of no import, but Kirstin sensed the pain in his voice.

  “Be careful, Hauk, I’m starting to like you,” Kirstin said before she could bite her fool tongue.