by Sandra Hill
They were creating a new fashion for men’s hair here at Hawk’s Lair, news of which was sure to spread far and wide. Just what he wanted. More attention directed on his home!
“Is it not nice that so many men care about protecting the boy?” Ingrith whispered to him from her seat beside him at the high table.
“Huh? No one knows about Henry, except you, me, Bolthor, Hamr, and Ordulf. The rest have been led to believe that a bald head equates with better sex.”
“Oh,” she said, as if she understood, which she could not have.
While on the subject of fashion, he thought, did Ingrith have to make herself look so good? Instead of her Norse gunna and apron, she wore a jade green gown in the Saxon style, its brightness contrasting with the blue of her eyes. The gown was high necked and long sleeved but formfitting enough that he was picturing what was underneath in vivid detail. Her hair, which was usually braided into a coronet atop her head, was loose tonight, long blonde waves hanging down to her waist in back but held off her face and behind her ears with a thin silver diadem.
If she only knew how much he wanted to taste the tiny lobe that was exposed, trace the whorls with the tip of his tongue, breathe into the channel.
But then he was staring with dismay at the other sight just being presented before him. A sea bass the size of a small whale sat on what had to be a specially built trencher. How she had obtained such a saltwater fish this far inland was beyond him. It was stuffed with God-only-knew-what, swimming in a sauce that resembled curdled milk, with a large apple in its mouth. The dish probably tasted delicious, but what in hell was happening in his life that he would have such a repast on a common everyday table?
“What do you think?” Ingrith asked.
“Amazing,” was the best he could come up with.
“Thank you.”
He had not meant it as a compliment. “Ingrith, my men will get fat if you keep feeding us like this.”
“They seem to like my food.” She bristled.
Did she know that when she stiffened like that it caused her breasts to thrust outward? But what was that she said? Something about his men liking her food. “Of course they do. What is not to like about such wonderful fare?” He tried but failed to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
“You are in an ill-temper again. You oaf! Your grumpiness is not about food, is it? You want me to be gone.”
“You know that is not true.” And that is the problem. I want you to stay too much. In fact, I want you, period.
“What I know is that you are hiding your emotions behind some wall.” She tossed her head so that a swath on her shoulder swung to her back. The torchlight caught in the golden shades and he caught the scent of something…mead?
Blather, blather, blather. Now she is going to analyze my feelings. How like a woman! I wonder what she would do if I leaned over and smelled her hair. “Do not accuse me of cowardice again, I warn you.”
“What I know is that you deprive yourself of what you want out of some misplaced nobility.”
“Nobility is the last thing I cherish.” Definitely mead.
“What I know is that I am sick of your seesawing gestures toward me.”
“You know nothing, Ingrith. Nothing at all,” he spat out, then gave in to his inclinations and put his face to her hair, sniffing deeply. “Why do I smell mead? Did you bathe in the brew?”
“I rinse my hair in beer…or ale…or mead. It makes it softer.”
He touched her hair. Definitely soft. “I swear, woman, you are going to deplete my stock of honey as well as mead.” And turn all my good intentions to mush.
“Do you begrudge me a cup of mead?”
“Only if it is wasted on hair. Unless…did you drink it afterward?”
“What an idiot!”
“Methinks I might need to investigate further. Perchance you need to remove your gown later, in my bedchamber, so I can see if you are mead-scented elsewhere,” he teased.
But she did not seem to appreciate his lack-witted attempt at humor. “Lecherous idiot!” She shrugged away from him, giving him a look of such disgust that he flinched. What an overreaction! I was not that lecherous…or idiotic. Was I? She would have stalked out of the hall if Bolthor had not stood just then and coughed for attention.
John put a hand on her knee to force her to continue sitting.
She slapped his hand away.
“This is an ode to clueless men,” Bolthor announced.
“That is just bloody wonderful,” John muttered.
“Clueless men? Amen to that!” Ingrith said, glancing over to Katherine, who was grinning like a cat that had swallowed all the cream in the keep. She and Bolthor had taken to their sleep bower this afternoon and did not come out until just afore dinner. They gave proof to the fact that sex did not wane even in those of middle age seeing as how Katherine was in her early forties, and Bolthor had certainly seen more than fifty winters.
Men are a clueless lot,
Whether Viking or Saxon or Scot.
We woo our ladies
Like randy bees.
Pretty words, a lusty embrace,
Priceless jewels, a shaven face.
We coax and cajole, we take to a keg.
We even are known to get down and beg.
But who knew in the woman’s mind
A mystery all men eventually find
That all it takes is a bald head
To get a woman into bed.
Everyone applauded, including John, thankful that he was not the brunt of Bolthor’s jestsome sagas this time. Also thankful that Ingrith’s attention was removed from himself.
“I want a favor from you,” Ingrith said.
Not so far removed, he decided, moaning inwardly. He could tell by the expression on her face that it was going to be a big favor. He shook his head vigorously.
“How can you say me nay afore you even hear what I want?”
“Whatever it is, I will not do it.”
“I want you to make love to me.”
His jaw dropped, and he almost fell off his seat. Her words tickled his ballocks and thus caused his cock to salute the high heavens. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Nay. Nor have I lost my maidenhead, but I want to.”
“Ingrith!” His favorite body part was nigh doing a jig. Down, cock, down!
“I have been told that women look different after they have been swived. Would that not be further evidence to Loncaster that we have an attachment?”
Concentrate, John. Do not think of bedplay, or how she looked naked, or how much you would enjoy granting her favor. You must be chivalrous. “I thought the head lice and bald heads theory was going to convince him.”
“That, too.”
“Your father and two hundred warriors would be here in a trice, all wanting my head.”
“He will never find out.”
Oh, I doubt that. Fathers have a way of detecting these things. “You said that women look different. Your father would know.”
“Do not try to confuse the issue.”
Confuse? I am not the one who is confused. Well, I am not the only one confused.
“You just do not want me.”
If I wanted you any more, we would be entertaining my troops on top of yon table.
“If I looked like Joanna, you would agree just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “She is older than I; so, it must be my lack of allure.”
This subject is beginning to annoy me. I need to go off and…do something. “Ingrith. You have allure aplenty. This has naught to do with Joanna or how you look.”
“I am almost thirty-one years old. There is little chance that I will wed. Methinks I deserve to experience lovemaking at least once.”
“You think that if we make love, I would be able to stop at once?”
“Well, twice.”
“How about twenty…or fifty?” And about a hundred different positions and places.
“You jest.”
He
just stared at her.
But the wily witch had more in store for him. Placing a hand over her navel, she told him, “You make my belly bud sweat.”
He counted to ten silently.
“What does Joanna have that I do not? Are you in love with her?”
He reached up to tug at his own hair before he realized that he had none. At least her annoying persistence had lessened his cockstand. Halfway. “Joanna is a convenience to me, and I to her. She has something that I need. Plus, the older children of her first husband have harassed her about the Coppergate stall, and I helped her establish free-hold rights. I am a companion to her…a sexual companion on occasion, when it is convenient for both of us. That is all.”
Her brow furrowed with concentration. “Something is missing here.”
A whole lot is missing here, but I am not about to reveal all my secrets to you, you curious cat. He inhaled and exhaled several times. “I will not marry you, and I will not make love with you. Is that clear?”
“As water.” But then she tapped her fingertips on the table, thinking away. God only knew what was going through her head now.
“So, you accept what I have said?” he finally inquired.
“Of course not. I am thinking of ways to change your mind.”
That’s what he was afraid of. And chivalry be damned!
CHAPTER NINE
You could say she was going a-Viking…
Ingrith was pretty sure she was under a spell.
In all her almost thirty-one years, she had never felt aroused just by looking at a man. In fact, she wasn’t sure she had ever been aroused at all.
He looked at her, and she melted.
He licked his lips, and she melted.
He brushed against her in passing, and she melted.
He blinked his sinfully long lashes, and she melted.
He stared at her when he thought she was not aware, and she melted.
She was even aroused by his stupid bald head.
“How do you undo a love spell?” she asked Katherine, who sat next to her in the kitchen where they were pitting sour cherries for a sweet tart. Ardith, the new cook-in-training, was at the other end of the long table preparing a dozen stuffed capons to be roasted for the evening meal, under Ingrith’s subtly watchful supervision.
Katherine cast Ingrith a speaking glance. “The Hawk has you under his spell?”
“Well, not his spell precisely. If he had his way, I would be long gone. I, on the other hand, have developed this odd attraction to the lout.”
“Odd in what way?”
“When he looks at me, I feel the embers of a fire spark to life within me.”
Katherine nodded her head. “Does the heat start in your oven?”
“My oven?” Ingrith squeaked, then giggled. “You could say that.”
“I married and buried three husbands afore I met Bolthor, all of them swine. I swore I would not wed again, despite the efforts of King Edgar, my cousin many times removed, and certainly not a Viking. I grew up in Saxon lands, fearing and hating the Norse invaders. But when I first met Bolthor, I was lost. And, yea, betimes all it takes is a smoldering gaze.”
“I am almost thirty-one years old. I grew up in a royal household surrounded by fighting men, many of them too virile for their own good. More than a score of men have offered for me, several score, truth to tell, and not all of them were unacceptable. Not once was I tempted as I am by Lord Hawk.”
Katherine shrugged. “Wise men through the ages have attempted to understand this concept of male/female attraction. Methinks God, or the gods, designed us to be a puddle of desire for our men so that we would agree to procreate. Otherwise, we might just send the clueless dolts on their way.”
“But see, that is the problem. John keeps telling me that he will not marry, ever. And he does not want children, ever.”
“Hmmmm. Now that is strange. Still, if you really want him, there is no way he could resist.”
“Hah! That is just what he is doing. Resisting me. I must confess, I asked him to make love with me…without the benefit of marriage…and he refused.”
Katherine’s eyes went wide with surprise. She set down her small knife and shoved the bowl of cherries aside. “You need a plan.”
“A plan?”
“A temptation plan.”
“Oh, my gods!”
“Are you interested?”
“Oh, my gods!” She braced herself. “Absolutely.”
“You must think of yourself as a spider, and Lord John as the hapless fly. What you must do is lure the man into your web.”
She moaned at the prospect. A web of deceit, she feared.
“Here is what you should do,” Katherine advised, “Number One…” She began to detail a series of ploys that Ingrith could try to lure John to her bed furs.
By the time Katherine got to Number Twelve, Ingrith’s jaw was nigh touching her chest.
“Dost think you have the nerve?” Katherine inquired. “Do you dare?”
Ingrith had her answer then. “My father always said, ‘Never dare a Viking.’ And I am Viking to the core.”
“Lord Hawk does not stand a chance,” Katherine declared with a hoot of laughter.
Ingrith could only hope.
Oh, honey!
It was late the next afternoon before Ingrith was able to put her plan into action.
There had been several crises to handle before that. Henry was becoming increasingly distraught as he realized he was in some danger. He was too small, at five, to understand kings and power plays, but someone must have told him that bad men wanted to kill him. As a result, he was behaving in a clinging manner that would only call attention to himself when Loncaster finally arrived.
And Hamr had already sent word that the Saxon commander would be there within days. Loncaster was currently harassing the folks at Larkspur in the far north, where Ingrith’s sister Breanne resided with her husband, Caedmon.
After much soothing and patient explanation, Henry settled down. He and the other children were made to understand how important it was that they keep their secrets, and that included the two girls from the brothel, who had been calling attention to themselves with some of the men.
Then there was Ubbi. Really, the little man was becoming more than protective of not just the children but also of Ingrith herself.
“I see ye eyein’ Lord Hawk like a sweetmeat. Doan be thinkin’ the troll is fer you,” Ubbi advised, hitching his child-size pants with self-importance.
“What is it that you have against Lord Hawk?” she’d asked, which had been a mistake. It only gave Ubbi the reason to launch into a tirade.
“The troll is full of himself. All this nonsense about bees and such is jist a cover fer his licentious nature.”
Not so licentious if he will not accept my offer. “Really, Ubbi! How would you know that?”
“Us men have ways,” he assured her. “In any case, didst know he has some of his people engaging in perverted sex acts, all fer the sake of preventin’ babies from bein’ born?”
“What? I have never heard of anything so outrageous.”
“’Tis true.” Ubbi was nodding his head with conviction. “He has these couples tuppin’ like rabbits, with honey coatin’ the men’s cocks.”
“Ubbi!”
“Fergive the coarse words, m’lady, but ’tis a fact. Lord Hawk calls ’em ex-parry-mens to prevent a man’s seed from takin’ root in his bed partner, but I say it is jist bloody damn wicked.”
Ubbi expected her to be outraged, but Ingrith wondered if there must be a connection between these experiments and his assertion that he cannot, or would not, have any children. In fact, she saw Ubbi’s charges as just another piece of the puzzle that was John of Hawk’s Lair. The only question was why.
Finally, she was free to pursue the rogue. She knew from observation that John usually worked on the exercise fields with his men in the morning…sword practice, archery, lance throwing. In the afternoons
, he worked in his honey shed, researching the properties of honey and treating some of his cotters with honey treatments for various ailments.
As the first part of her temptation plan, Ingrith altered a gown she’d owned for years. It was crimson, in a wool so soft it appeared to have a nap, like a kitten. It was modest in style, with a rounded neck, long sleeves and hem, but because of the material, it clung to her body’s curves. No apron today, that was for sure.
When she got to the honey shed, she stepped inside, but then stood near the open door against the wall. At the far side, there were several people lined up for their master’s help.
The first was a young girl who had her gunna raised to her knees. She seemed to have an angry rash on her lower legs that had become irritated. The skin was red and raw in places.
“This is a mixture of honey and vinegar and several other ingredients that forms a paste,” John was explaining as he applied the ointment to her legs. “It should relieve the pain and begin the healing process, but you must not scratch. If you do, it makes the rash worse and it will spread, as well.”
The girl sighed with relief when John finished, patting her on the head as he handed her an oiled parchment cone filled with the cream.
“Me mother said ta tell you she’ll send some turnips from our garden in payment.”
“Good. I can never have enough turnips,” John replied, barely hiding a grimace. Ingrith suspected that he had no taste for the neeps, in any form. That and cabbage and spinach.
Next up was a woman holding a coughing infant. “Ah, little one, what is the matter?” John took the baby into the cradle of one elbow, while using his free hand to peel back the blanket and swaddling clothes.
