Viking in Love

by Sandra Hill

  “’Tis just the sun.”

  His gaze dropped to her chest, where her breasts were heaving in and out. When had she gone so breathless? And why? Even worse, at some point she must have leaned forward, still on tiptoe, and was almost breast to chest. How mortifying! As if she would want to touch him. She quickly dropped flat on her feet.

  With a shake of his head, as if to clear it, he stepped back to put distance betwixt them.

  And then he smirked.

  The self-sure lout!

  “Two days. Two days I give you and your princess brood. Then you are gone.”

  She stuck out her tongue at his back as he began to stomp away, something she had not done since she was a girling.

  He turned at the last moment, as if to add something else, another odious order, no doubt. His eyes widened with surprise at having caught her mid-tongue thrust. Then he chortled, “Have a caution, wench, you may find that tongue somewhere not to your liking, but definitely to mine. On the other hand, you would like it, too, methinks.” He winked. He dared to wink at her.

  Which caused her to tingle some more.

  Therefore, she got immense pleasure when he stepped into a pile of putrid pig waste she had raked for Drifa’s gardening, thus proving what she had said all along about the need for a pigsty fence. She thought about yelling, “I told you so,” but decided to save that for another day. There would be many opportunities that would warrant such words around such a lackbrain.

  She could not wait.

  As for the two-day limit of their stay, all she could say was, “Hah!”

  A woo-ing they did go, a woo-ing they did go, heigh-ho the…

  A widow hunt.

  There was no other word for the insane journey Caedmon found himself on a short time later. He, Geoff, and Wulf were riding for Heatherby, the estate now owned by Sybil Blakeley, Lady Moreton, recent widow of Edward Blakeley, earl of Moreton. Heatherby just happened to adjoin Larkspur on the southwest, a mere one-hour ride on a good horse. Whilst Larkspur encompassed six hundred hectares of land, Heatherby was half that size. Whilst Larkspur had many fertile hides of yet-to-be-tilled land, Heatherby had a waterway leading to a seaport, albeit at some considerable distance.

  Soon after he had talked with the Norse witch—and almost disgraced himself like an untried boyling by being aroused by her kissome lips—a traveling tinker arrived. Ezekial had informed them that the Earl of Moreton had passed away four days ago of a sudden heart seizure. His much younger wife, Sybil, was in deep mourning.

  Caedmon wanted to make sure no other land-hungry knight nabbed her afore he had a chance to get his teeth in, so to speak. Or better yet, Geoff or Wulf’s teeth, which were far more suitable. Once Edgar, like all grab-land kings, got wind of this rich land in the hands of an “unprotected” woman, he would be sure to send her a noble bridegroom, which meant some weakling under the royal thumb.

  He had no wish to wed again. In fact, he loathed the idea. But he would do most anything to protect what he already had. And a foe ruling Heatherby threatened any surrounding estates.

  He had been only half-attending and realized that Wulf was addressing him. “I am suspicious of your royal visitors.”

  “The princesses?” he asked.

  Wulf nodded. “Them, the Arab who claims to be a healer but has the body of a warrior, and the two Norse bears.”

  “I agree,” Caedmon said. “I should have kicked them out on their pretty arses the moment they crossed the moat.”

  “The guardsmen have pretty arses?” Geoff inquired with mock surprise.

  “You know exactly who I mean.”

  “I understand your dilemma,” Wulf said. “Hard to refuse hospitality to five women in need, especially the one who has clearly been beaten.”

  “’Tis exactly what I thought. I saw finger marks on her neck.” This from Geoff.

  “She was married to the earl of Havenshire. You know what an evil brute he was.” Caedmon drew his bottom lip in, thoughtfully. “Now he is dead…or missing.”

  “A coincidence?” Geoff asked.

  He shrugged.

  “Watch your back, my friend,” Wulf added.

  He nodded. “For now, I have more important issues to address. Like Heatherby. And the thieves who are stealing cattle from the nothern pasture. We will stop by there afore returning to Larkspur. Once we see what the situation is with the good widow.”

  “You should have worn your black wool surcoat with the red samite lining,” Geoff told Wulf.

  “Huh? Oh, nay! Do not even think it! I am just along for the ride,” Wulf protested.

  “Why? You are perfect for Sybil.”

  “I am no more perfect than you are, Geoff. Or you, Caedmon.”

  “It would solve your problem,” Caedmon pointed out.

  “How? By switching one shackle for another? If I wanted a bride, I would go home and yield to my father’s wishes.” Wulf was the second son of a powerful Wessex nobleman who had betrothed Wulf from birth to a Welsh princess, Gwyneth, who wanted naught to do with him. Not that he wanted her, either. None of them had ever seen Gwyneth, but considering the size of her impressive dowry, and his less-than-spectacular birthright, his maternal grandmother’s pitifully small estate in Norsemandy, they figured she must be horse faced and as round as a barrel.

  “Well, we agreed afore leaving Larkspur that one of us would make a bid for the lady’s hand, after a period of subtle but not-too-long courtship,” Caedmon reminded them.

  “Subtle?” Geoff snorted.

  “He means that you should not stick your tongue down Sybil’s throat on first meeting,” Wulf elaborated.

  “Even if she wants me to?”

  “How would you know?”

  “Women have signals.”

  Caedmon speared Wulf and Geoff both with a rebuking scowl. “I meant that we come to express our sympathies. That is all at this point.”

  “Oh, please! We must needs do more than that,” Geoff opined. “Once the king gets wind of this windfall, he will have one of his lackeys here posthaste. Or he will come himself to get a taste. Remember what he did with Ordulf’s wife.”

  “Well, I ne’er agreed to offer my hand. I am going back,” Wulf declared.

  “You are such a lackbrain, Wulf. Do not get your beard in a blaze. Caedmon and I will do all the wooing,” Geoff said. “We will see who comes out the winner.”

  Caedmon sighed. Somehow, it did not seem like winning to him. More like a bid for torture.

  For some odd reason, an image flashed in his head of a red-haired woman with lips he was determined to taste, afore sending her on her merry way. In fact, he could swear his lips tingled in anticipation. And a certain other body part tingled, too.

  Meanwhile, Geoff and Wulf blathered on about different ways to woo a woman, some so crude they could never be mentioned in mixed company. He was heartsick at the prospect of chaining himself once again in wedlock, while they seemed to look forward to this visit. Time enough to think of Sybil or Heatherby when they got there.

  “Dost think the king will call us to arms again this year?” he inquired, as a means of changing the subject.

  The idiots ignored him and continued their debate, now over whether pinching a woman’s buttocks was unsubtle or not. And how they should be cautious around Sybil not to even mention the word buttock.

  “We should resume training on a daily schedule so our men do not soften,” Caedmon interrupted.

  Still, they ignored him. Now discussing why highborn women took so long to peak during bedsport and whether Sybil fell into that category and how Geoff once fell asleep in the midst of tupping a countess who took too long to reach her peak.

  “Did a woman ever cause your cock to tingle? Just by looking at you?”

  Two heads turned slowly to stare at him.

  Now he had their attention!

  CHAPTER SIX

  And then the other shoe dropped…

  Breanne was huddled with her sisters in the Lark
spur courtyard the next morning discussing Tyra’s imminent departure for her home. Hawkshire was in the southern portion of Northumbria, closer to the market town of Jorvik.

  “I still think I should stay with you,” Tyra insisted. She was dressed today for travel, but also for protection against brigands—who abounded here in the northern wilds, not to mention Archbishop Dunstan’s men, who might already be searching for Oswald.

  Once a warrior who led their father’s troops, Tyra wore a soldier’s short-sleeved leather tunic over slim braies covering her exceedingly long legs, but there the military similarity ended. Yea, her forearms and thighs were roped with muscle from her warrior training, but etched silver armlets, a gold-buckled belt, and a sable-lined cloak denoted her rank as a Norse princess warrior.

  Although wife to Adam of Hawkshire and mother to a precious daughter, Tyra would never forget her role in life. Every person, man or woman, had gods-given skills, and Tyra’s were those of a fighter.

  “’Tis best you go home to create an atmosphere of normalcy,” Breanne advised. “Besides, I know you miss your husband and daughter sorely.”

  “I do,” Tyra admitted, “but we have always stuck together in time of trouble.”

  “You can help us best by going home and having Adam contact his uncle Eirik at Ravenshire. Eirik will know how to help us get back to Stoneheim. Once back in the Norselands, we will be safe.”

  “Even if only Vana goes back at first, I will feel better.” Ingrith swiped at the tears welling in her eyes.

  “The rest of us can claim ignorance,” Drifa said.

  “I agree. Getting Vana back under Father’s shield is our top priority.” Easier said than done. Breanne bit her thumbnail nervously.

  “Will you all come back to visit at Hawkshire once Vana is on her way home?” Tyra asked.

  “I do not know, Tyra. Mayhap some time in the future,” Drifa said. “All this excitement…well, a peaceful stay at home might be best. Leastways over the winter.”

  “Pray gods that we be home for winter,” Vana interjected in a small voice.

  They all linked hands, forming a circle, and entreated the Norse gods and the Christian One-God to grant their wishes.

  Ivan and Ivar led the saddled horses out of the stable, and the sisters hugged once again, tears rimming all their eyes. They had been through so much of late, especially Vana, who was slowly healing from her battering, though she would wear the scars inside forever, Breanne suspected.

  But enough was enough. Best that Vana, the two guards, and Rashid were on their way. Soon the Larkspur lout, and his loutish cohorts, would be home from their ludicrous bout of widow courting. There were no secrets in a keep this size. It was best the sister ranks were reduced before he ordered them to depart as a whole, as he had already done.

  Just then, Rashid rushed out of the keep. “The lung fever is spreading amongst the children. I must stay.”

  Breanne’s heart raced. “How bad is it?”

  “A kitchen maid caught the fever and passed it on to two of the children. They must be isolated before others succumb, as well. The little ones are most susceptible.”

  “Piers? The baby?” Breanne clutched her hands to her chest with worry.

  “May Allah weep, he is the worst.”

  Rashid was a skilled healer, having worked under Adam’s tutelage for years. There could be no better medical provider in time of illness. Already, he was telling one of the housecarls and Drifa which herbs they would need and where to gather them.

  Thus it was that a short time later, Tyra and the two guards had left for Hawkshire while Rashid and the four sisters were left to deal with yet another dire circumstance. The first had been a life blow, this a life threat.

  Could it be that this was why they had been sent to Larkspur, of all the places in Britain they could have gone into hiding? Perchance the celestial beings, whether Odin or God, had destined them to choose this remote estate because they were going to be needed.

  Breanne laughed as she entered the keep behind Rashid and her sisters. What would Caedmon think of her being his destiny?

  Where’s the Pony Express when you need it?…

  By afternoon of the next day, Breanne knew she had to do something about the still-missing Caedmon and his comrade friends. Three of the children, two of the sentries, one housemaid, and a stable boy were very ill and might not recover.

  The widow of Heatherby must be resisting their wooing efforts, if they had to stay an extra day. Smart woman. Or mayhap she was enjoying their favors too much.

  Taking a candle into the small, dark room under the staircase where Caedmon kept his castle records, she searched for parchment and encaustum. There were several used pieces of vellum on which a strong male hand had written various tallies regarding livestock and household provender. She turned one of them over, then dipped her pen into the treacly liquid. How should she address her missive? Dear Loathsome Lout. Dear Rude Oaf. She opted for graciousness and wrote:

  Greetings M’lord Caedmon:

  My regrets on interrupting your most important courting. Alas, you are needed at Larkspur.

  Return at once. You may resume your wooing at a later date.

  Sincerely,

  Breanne Fionadottir

  It was only after sending one of the grumbling guards with the missive that she realized that she had not told him why he was needed. Well, he would find out soon enough.

  His first reaction would no doubt be, “Why is she still there?”

  When clueless men go a-courting…

  Caedmon held the letter in his hands, and still, after five readings, could not believe the nerve of the Viking wench.

  How dare she order him to do anything!

  How dare she mock his efforts at courting! And there was no question in his mind that she was getting joy out of his predicament.

  How dare she still be at Larkspur when he had ordered her to leave!

  Geoff grabbed the missive out of his hands. After reading it, he passed it to Wulf. The two of them just smirked at him.

  “Are you sure that you must leave today?” Lady Moreton asked, coming up to them as they stood at the entrance to the Heatherby great hall. “You have been so helpful.”

  It was true. They had aided her in establishing authority with the restless knights who were unsure of what to do now that their leader was gone. They had also straightened out some misunderstanding with her castellan over the disposition of livestock that had been intended for market.

  As she spoke, Sybil’s eyes kept going to Geoff, which was a relief to Caedmon. “I wish you joy of her,” he whispered, to which Geoff just rolled his eyes.

  Having a friend at Heatherby was almost as good…in fact, better…than being here himself. Although he had to admit that Sybil was an attractive package. Young…no more than twenty-four…she had been married to the much older earl by her impoverished family in need of the significant bride price. In fact, this had been her second marriage and widowhood to an older man. Not an unusual happenstance. And she was comely, with raven-black hair and gray eyes. Her front teeth were a mite crooked, giving her a lisp, and her hips were a bit wide, but those were mere trifles in the scheme of things. He and Wulf had teased Geoff about the beautiful children they would have, whereas Geoff had teased them back about all the fun he would have in the making.

  Caedmon knew what it was like to be a landless knight, and he was happy for his friend if he was able to succeed with Sybil. They had been right in coming so soon. Already three other men had come sniffing after her, and more would arrive in the days ahead. Geoff surely had an advantage, being young and handsome.

  “I must needs return to Larkspur. Some emergency has arisen,” he told her.

  “Mayhap Geoff could stay behind,” she suggested, batting her long eyelashes. “Just for an extra day or two.”

  The three of them could scarce keep from whooping their joy.

  “Are you sure you could spare me?” Geoff inquired of
Caedmon, playing the innocent.

  “Well, it will be difficult.” He tapped his closed lips with a forefinger.

  Geoff kicked him in the shin when Sybil’s attention was diverted elsewhere.

  “Ow!”

  Sybil glanced up at him in question.

  “A kink in my knee,” he explained.

  “Would you be able to stay?” Sybil did her eyelash batting at Geoff again, as if he needed any convincing. The two of them…Geoff and Sybil…made a great pair in the mock innocence arena.

  Caedmon wagered she would be in Geoff’s bed furs by nightfall.

  “The housecarls have not exercised since afore Edward’s death, and reivers have been stealing cattle right and left, as they have at Larkspur in your absence.”

  A tricky business it would be if Geoff managed to wed the lady afore the king was able to put his finger in the marriage pot, although Edgar was more like to stick his whole damn hand in, and his cock as well. Hopefully, Geoff could wed and bed her quickly, then afterward approach the king about the earlship, or at least the land rights. Edgar was not going to be pleased.

  Thus, it was that only he and Wulf returned to Larkspur two days and more since they had left. He had planned to patrol the north boundary of his lands for clues to the reivers, but decided that it was more important he return home.

  “What do you suppose has happened that would prompt the princess’s letter?”

  “She must miss me,” Caedmon said. And for some odd reason, he liked that idea. Idiot! She would as soon kick me as kiss me.

  Wulf arched his thick black eyebrows at him.

  “I am still going to send her and her sisters on their merry way. But first I am going to make her pay for her brassy letter.” Kicks and kisses…hmmmm, that gives me an idea.

  “I would like to see that.”

  “Really, I have only so much time to get so many things done at Larkspur afore Edgar goes on the rampage again, and I have no need of distractions. If Geoff gains Heatherby, he and I will be able to resist together with two important holdings combined, small as they are, but that is just a delaying tactic.”