Viking in Love

by Sandra Hill

  But she was worried about the fate of herself and her sisters, knowing that Caedmon was anxious to be rid of them. Which was impossible in light of…well, she would think about that after gaining her sisters’ counsel.

  In truth, after chasing after Caedmon’s many children all morning, she wished she had been able to escape with Tyra. Even living under her father’s constraining roof held more appeal than this wild household.

  Three of the children appeared to be legitimate, including the especially needsome nine-year-old Beth, whose mother had died when she was only a few months old; Beth desperately wanted a mother and had decided that one of the four of them would do, it mattered not which. In fact, she had taken to braiding her hair and wearing an open-sided ankle length apron in the Viking style. She was above stairs now, “supervising” the housemaids in putting clean linens on the beds. It was pitiful how hard the girling tried to please.

  Then there were the rascally six-year-old twins, Alfred and Aidan, who thought their goal in life was to pester and taunt every living child and animal within their range. At the moment, they were having quiet time at two different sides of the chapel for tying apples onto the dogs’ tails, then releasing them into the pasture, where the horses could chase them for the tasty treats.

  Breanne felt especially sorry for twelve-year-old Hugh, Caedmon’s oldest child, who had been sent home in disgrace from his foster family in Mercia. Whilst performing the lowliest chores about Larkspur as punishment, he had confided in Breanne about the perverted proclivities of one of the soldiers he had fostered under. He was too ashamed to tell his father about the man’s intentions, but Breanne would. You could be sure of that. If anyone should be ashamed, it was Caedmon for not trusting his son enough to have good judgment.

  Eight-year-old Mina was another of Caedmon’s illegitimate children. The tiny, fragile-boned beauty had black-hair and dark cat eyes. Her mother, an Arab houri, had not wanted this ill-conceived child.

  Her favorite was one-year-old Piers, the tow-headed boyling who had recovered very well from his bout with lung fever. She did not even mind that he followed her around like a shadow. Some said that he was not of Caedmon’s blood, but who could say for sure?

  Mina passed Breanne in the great hall. She was holding Piers’ little hand in her little hand, teaching him to walk.

  Breanne smiled at them both. “My sister is making honey fig custards for tonight’s dinner.”

  They smiled back at her, though Piers would have no clue what she had said. In fact, he said, “Mama,” which was alarming. These children were all so bereft of love and discipline.

  Just before she entered the corridor leading to the kitchen, she stopped to watch five-year-old Angus, whose bouts of temper matched his fiery hair. She would wager the boy had Scots blood in his veins. Not a bit of Caedmon could be seen in his features. At the moment, Angus was scrubbing egg yolks and whites off the castle walls after tossing them at one of his brothers for teasing him about his freckles, of which he had many. No one was sure who had done the taunting, everyone except Angus having magically disappeared from the scene.

  “How are you doing, Angus?” she asked. “Do you need fresh water?”

  He said something so foul to her that she jerked backward.

  The only thing that stopped her from smacking the wretch on his little bottom was the tear tracks on his face and the realization that he probably thought she had been making mock of him.

  In a far corner, she saw Oslac, Kendrick, and Joanna with their heads together, looking Angus’s way repeatedly. She veered off her path to the kitchen and went up to the three seven-year-olds, all born on almost the same day. Although Caedmon had accepted them as his own, word about Larkspur was that they looked just like three Welsh brothers who had been visiting at one time, nine months afore the births. These three were a gang unto themselves. Always engaged in mischief. Always sticking together.

  Well, not for long.

  “I know what you have done, and I am not amused.”

  “Whaaat?” they said as one.

  “You are all to go over and help scrub the wall. And not one word will you say to Angus, lest it be an apology. He did not tell on you, by the by.”

  Grumbling, they went off to do her bidding. She stayed, tapping her foot impatiently, as she watched them closely. She was not fool enough to imagine they would stay once she had left the hall.

  When the wall was clean enough, she ordered them to empty the bucket and rinse the dirty cloths in the stream outside the keep walls.

  Walking into the kitchen, she saw a scene of serenity that could be taking place in their own Stoneheim kitchen, as well as here in a Saxon fortress. Drifa was tying together the stems of various flowers, which she would dry and later make into scented sachet pillows. Vana was polishing silver goblets and platters. Ingrith and two kitchen maids—with big breasts, of course—were arranging dozens of honeycombs that they had gathered that morning from conical hives located beyond the castle gardens.

  The entire keep, even the outdoors, smelled of her sweet concoctions. Flies would be arriving from far and wide, drawn by the odor.

  Amicia, the Larkspur cook, worked amiably beside Ingrith. Apparently, she had walked off sennights ago, aggrieved over the chaotic household and its numerous children always underfoot. She was back now that the sisters had established order.

  Some of the whole honeycombs had been placed in a pottery jug with a tight cork stopper. But most were to be drained of their honey and the combs made into candles. Ingrith vowed that one day she would try to make the far-famed time-keeping candles that Adam’s aunt, Eadyth of Ravenshire, had perfected. They had been invented by King Alfred.

  Caedmon might not be too happy when he found out that no mead would be made from this batch of honey. Plenty would come from the second and third harvests.

  Ingrith handed Breanne a fire-heated knife and indicated that she should cut off the end caps and let the honey drain through a coarse-meshed cloth hung over a kettle. Once these combs were drained, Breanne handed them to one of the maids who mashed them to a pulp in a huge bowl. Then, once again, Breanne put the combs into a straining cloth over yet another kettle. This second strain of honey would be of a poorer quality, but still good for cooking and such. The end caps and mashed combs would be thoroughly rinsed and put aside for autumn candle making. Even that rinse water was put to good use.

  All this was a ritual Breanne and her sisters were accustomed to, a joint effort required in any large keep if they wanted a sweetener for their meals or fine beeswax candles for light. Ingrith was an expert in this, as in all kitchen matters.

  When Amicia and the maids left the kitchen for a few moments, going out to the well to get more buckets of water, Breanne quickly pulled Tyra’s parchment message from her apron flap. “Ivan and Ivar just returned from Hawkshire with a missive from Tyra.”

  Her sisters stilled and turned, giving her full attention. The look of fright on Vana’s face was pitiful. She squeezed Vana’s hand and read:

  My sisters:

  We arrived safely. Adam is off to Ravenshire to enlist aid of his uncle, Lord Eirik, a member of the king’s Witan. Search parties are out looking, not just for the earl of Havenshire, but for Vana, as well. Adam fielded their questions well, but they may return.

  Dunstan is on a rampage. For all our sakes, stay where you are until safe passage is arranged for home.

  Godspeed and love,

  Tyra

  “We must stay here, then,” Ingrith said.

  “But how can we? Lord Caedmon insists we must leave,” Breanne pointed out.

  “Mayhap, with the six guardsmen he promised, we could make it to Father’s ship at Jorvik,” Vana offered hopefully.

  “Or to Ravenshire. Surely Lord Eirik is powerful enough to withstand even Archbishop Dunstan’s threats.” This from Drifa.

  “The problem is getting from here to there,” Breanne said. “It is a considerable distance, fraught with peril.”


  “Well, the answer is clear,” Ingrith said, wiping her hands on a clean cloth and sitting down at the table with them. “We must convince Lord Caedmon that he should allow us to stay.”

  “How would we do that?” Breanne asked.

  “A plan,” Ingrith said. “What we need is a plan. Recall the plan we came up with for Tyra that one time?”

  “That was a plan for Tyra to seduce Adam,” Breanne said indignantly. “Surely you are not suggesting that one of us should seduce this lout.”

  Ingrith shrugged.

  “I think it is a good idea.” Drifa was licking the honey off her fingers as she spoke.

  “Oh, really? And who would be the one of us doing the seducing?” Breanne was not amused.

  Everyone stared at her.

  “Nay. Oh, nay, nay, nay! I would not know how, even if I were so inclined, and I am definitely disinclined.”

  “We could pick straws,” Vana offered. “Nay, I should do it. After all, ’tis my fault we are in this mess.”

  The idea that Vana would be willing to place herself in any man’s close proximity so soon after her despised husband’s vile conduct tugged at Breanne’s heart. How could she in good conscience allow Vana to make that sacrifice?

  “Oh, bloody hell! I will do it.”

  “Breanne! You should not curse,” Drifa chastised her.

  “Cursing is allowed when there is good cause,” Breanne contended.

  “According to whom?” Ingrith wanted to know.

  “According to me. Oh, I cannot believe I am going to do this. The oaf will laugh at me, I know he will. With my womanly skills, I am incapable of enticing a goat, let alone a man.”

  “I could not help but overhear,” Amicia said, coming back into the kitchen. “I kin give ya advice on lurin’ a man ta yer bed furs, sure as Satan made sin.”

  Breanne and her sisters stared at Amicia, jaws agape. The cook had thirty years under her belt, and it was a wide, wide belt. Whereas most women’s gowns could be cut from seven ells of cloth, Amicia’s would surely require ten. She was as tall as a man—even taller than Breanne—her hefty shoulders and muscled upper arms a good framework for massive breasts jutting out in a way that caused men’s eyes to bulge. And strong! Breanne had seen her wield a cleaver over a skinned red deer with the efficiency of a warrior. Her brown hair was a nest of uncombed tresses. And her front teeth protruded out over her lower lip, not unlike a horse.

  A giggling Piers toddled in then with Mina in hot pursuit. He crawled up onto her lap before Mina could catch him. Breanne was wearing a tunic and braies today, figuring she might get some work done in the lout’s absence.

  “I tried to keep him in the hall,” Mina told her, tears rimming her eyes. Really, since when did an eight-year-old girl have child-care duties? Where was Mary? Oh, she recalled now. Mary had gone out to help her mother with the milking.

  Breanne handed each of them a hunk of honeycomb to suck on. Piers would no doubt get it all over her tunic. Oh, well. The tunic was old and designed for rough work. Mina scurried off, figuring she had a reprieve now that Piers was in Breanne’s care.

  “You were saying?” She looked to Amicia.

  Amicia was helping Ingrith clean up. She even handed Breanne a wet cloth to wipe the face and hands of Piers, whose eyelids were drooping as he rested his cheek again her breast. “I heard ye say somethin’ about seducin’ a man.” She flashed a lusty, knowing wink at all of them. “I know everythin’ there is about that, believe you me.”

  What?

  Amicia certainly had their attention…all of them, including the two maids of uncertain age, who looked as if they might know a thing or two themselves. And not because they were big-bosomed like almost all the females at Larkspur.

  “I do not intend to, uh, fornicate with him. Just get his, um, interest for a while so my sisters and I can stay for a few sennights.” Breanne felt her face flame as she mentally chastised herself for her stumbling words.

  Amicia nodded. “The best way is ta be naked in front of ’im. That is all it takes fer the sap ta rise in most men. All that skin is like one of those afro-daisy-yaks they sell in the Eastern lands.”

  Breanne stared at her in horror. “I will not stand nude in front of that man.” She shivered with distaste. Besides, she suspected he had viewed all she had to offer already and had not been tempted to jump on her with unbridled enthusiasm. She recalled his snide remark about a freckle on her buttock. Which was not there, as far as she could tell from her view over the shoulder into a brass mirror. She would have asked one of her sisters to check, but then she would have had to explain why.

  Amicia shrugged. “Well, the next best thing is a goodly set of bosoms.” She gave Breanne’s small ones a look of disdain. “You could try a bit of padding up there. Mayhap two molded aspics, which would give ’em a bit of jiggle. Or if you push them together and upwards with bindings, they might appear bigger.”

  Jiggle? What next?

  “You are not wasting perfectly good aspics for such a dunderhead purpose,” Ingrith asserted, hands on hips.

  Thank you, Ingrith.

  “Suddenly appearing with big breasts would make him suspicious,” Vana said.

  Thank you, Vana!

  “Besides, big nipples are just as tempting, I understand. And Breanne has big nipples.” This from Drifa, the traitor.

  She glared at Drifa, who grinned back at her.

  “And you have a large mouth. Men melt over women with biggish lips,” Amicia told her.

  “Why, for Frigg’s sake?”

  Almost immediately Breanne wished she hadn’t asked, because Amicia told her, in explicit detail.

  “I think I am going to lose the contents of my stomach,” Breanne declared.

  The other women at the table were dumbstruck. “Surely women do not do that willingly.”

  “Well, they do when it is a man they love and want to please,” Vana, obviously not one of the dumbstruck, told her, not even blushing. “Like Rafn.”

  I do not believe I am hearing this. Well, she should not be so surprised. Long before the hated Earl Oswald, Vana and Rafn had been in love, but she had been so young. Apparently not so young for some things!

  Amicia slid down onto the bench across from Breanne. “Listen, I am going to tell you ladies somethin’ few ladies know. There is one sure thing that drives men wild.”

  Oh, my gods and goddesses! Do I want to drive Caedmon wild?

  “A woman’s pleasure in the bedplay,” she said with a sharp nod of her head, as if she had just imparted some great wisdom.

  “Huh?” Breanne spoke for all of them.

  “When a woman gains pleasure in the bedding, ’tis a man’s greatest pleasure. And when he knows that she enjoys his touch…when she will allow him to do any wicked thing he wants…when she initiates certain practices…well, that woman can get anything from a man. Jewels, marriage, or…several sennights of extended hospitality.”

  Amicia was obviously more aware of their dilemma than they had realized.

  Although Breanne was a virgin, she was not unaware that some women enjoyed sex. With the right man. Like Tyra with Adam. Like Vana with Rafn.

  She wanted to ask what practices Amicia alluded to, but could not find the words without appearing ignorant.

  Not so their outspoken Ingrith. “What practices?”

  And Drifa. “What things might a man want to do, other than the usual?”

  “Wicked things?” one of the maids inquired with decided interest, then giggled.

  Another of the maids asked, “Does a woman have ta be made a certain way ta enjoy all that gruntin’ an’ pokin’?”

  A thought came to Breanne of a sudden. “Does the master lie with all of you here at Larkspur?”

  Amicia shook her head. “Nay. None that I know of. Methinks he has a mistress in Higby, or he did at one time. A widow, who is barren. The master has no wish for more bairns about the place.”

  “A little late for that!�
�� Breanne snapped.

  “All these children came from somewhere,” Drifa added.

  “Kin ya believe what the men did with apples when they came back from the wars with the master last sennight?” one of the maids said, an impish grin on her face.

  “Dumb as dung some men are,” Amicia proclaimed, then proceeded to tell a most outlandish tale about apples and female nether parts and preventing conception.

  Breanne was shocked.

  “I do not understand.” Ingrith frowned with concentration. “How did they get those apple halves out afterward? What if they got stuck?”

  “Oh, ’twas easy,” one of the maids said. “A piece of yarn was threaded through the apple and hung outside the body.”

  “Like a tail?” Vana was clearly horrified, then amused.

  They all burst out laughing at the image of all those apples…and tails.

  “Actually,” Drifa said, “in the Eastern lands the harem women…those who do not want to ruin their figures…have a method.” She went on to speak of certain matters Breanne had never heard voiced aloud.

  “Where did you hear such nonsense?” Ingrith wanted to know.

  “From Rashid.”

  “Rashid told me as well,” Vana admitted. “That is why I did not get pregnant with Oswald. I could not bear the thought of his child growing in me.”

  Well! Breanne thought. Just, Well!

  “Mayhap you could get us some of those powders,” Amicia said.

  “I will ask Rashid,” Drifa promised. “If there are such plants here, we could grow them in the kitchen garden. Make our own powders.”

  “Women would come from far and wide to purchase such wares,” Amicia said.

  “Why not just set up a stall in Jorvik’s trading center?” Breanne suggested.

  “Yea, that is a good idea,” Drifa said with excitement, having missed her sarcasm.

  Breanne covered her eyes with one hand and groaned. She was certainly not going to gain the favor of Caedmon by setting up a baby-stopping operation in his keep. Why do things always get out of control with my sisters? “Be careful. Men do not like women tampering with their virility.”