The Reluctant Viking Page 11

  Then the whole room burst into excited sounds of approval, and Ruby and Thork were rudely jolted from their seductive trances. King Sigtrygg stood and clapped Ruby on the back so enthusiastically she almost dropped the lute.

  "Well met! Well met!" he declared. "Tomorrow you will teach that saga to my skald." The storyteller didn't look too happy at that prospect. "Now tell us the other song-story about your sister. What is her name?"

  "Lucille."

  The Vikings loved this song, as well, about an adulterous wife whose husband confronts her in a barroom over her leaving him and their four hungry children. By the time she ended the song, the Vikings sang the refrain along with her in deep, deep voices, chastising the flighty Lucille for picking a fine time to leave her husband.

  Ruby was a hit. The feet-stomping, beer-drinking Vikings were country music lovers. They demanded she sing both songs again, then asked if she knew any others.

  Only Thork didn't seem to appreciate her songs. His mood had changed from the warm exchange of only a few minutes ago. He grumbled coldly, " 'Tis fair odd to me that you sing such songs. I see naught to amuse in a tale which eulogizes the ever-constant lack of loyalty in women."

  The king and a number of men howled gleefully at Thork's words. They knew of Thork's bitter attitude encompassing all women. In fact, they probably shared that view.

  "No, you miss the point, Thork," Ruby corrected. "The songs speak scornfully of those few women who don't appreciate a good man of honor."

  What was the use of trying to defend herself with Thork? Ruby began to think she could use a beer herself but knew her fate might depend on keeping to the king's good side. She racked her brain for another song and came up with nothing.

  But then she remembered two catchy songs she'd heard playing over and over on her car radio. The Vikings might like them because of the funny words and the deep, deep notes required in parts. When she was done singing Garth Brooks's "I've Got Friends in Low Places" and Hank Williams, Jr.'s "All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming Over Tonight," the roof practically lifted off the high ceiling with the raucous laughter and shouts for more. She concluded with the old Mac Davis song "Lord, It's Hard to Be Humble" and watched the burly Viking men roar with laughter, even knowing she aimed the song at them.

  Thork riveted her with a strange, questioning expression. She intrigued him, as she did the other Vikings, no question of that, but there was something more on his devastatingly handsome face that Ruby couldn't quite identify. His piercing blue eyes held hers, and Ruby tried to understand what it was he was trying to tell her, to no avail. Somewhere deep inside she knew the answer, but it eluded her now. Ruby put a hand to her forehead in weary confusion.

  "The wench is fair dropping with fatique," Thork told the king, having understood her gesture immediately. "Let her go for now." Thork called the lutist and his sister back to entertain again, not waiting for Sigtrygg's answer.

  Taking Ruby's arm, Thork pulled her to the side, away from the crowd, where he handed her his glass of wine. She put her lips on the rim where his had been, and drank deeply, watching him all the while, wondering at the searching look in his fathomless blue eyes.

  She felt dizzy with the wave of sudden wanting that washed over her, realizing what the strange look had been on Thork's face earlier, as it was now. Jack wore that same look when he was aroused and wanted to make love. What had she said or done to touch that nerve in Thork?

  "Who are you?" he whispered thickly. His eyes raked her hungrily.

  "Your wife."

  He shook his head negatively but asked in a hoarse, desire-ridden voice, "Would you bed with me?"

  Ruby smiled at his blunt words. Always to the point!

  "Would you wed with me?"

  He smiled at her quick rejoinder and shook his head, probably thinking she wasn't serious. "I want you." He put emphasis on each of the three words, trying to make himself clear. As if his ragged breathing and glazed eyes didn't bring the point home—loud and clear!

  "I know," she whispered, laying an understanding hand on his arm. She jumped back at the jolt of sexual heat that hit her square in her womanly center with just that light touch.

  A sensual smile spread on Thork's parted lips. He sensed what had happened to her, had probably felt it himself.

  "You have been teasing me for days, since you first landed at the harbor, sweetling," Thork rasped out huskily. " 'Tis strange this attraction I have for you. I could almost believe we have known each other afore, as you claim. Truly, you seem to know which spots to prick my desire."

  A vast, inordinate pleasure swept over Ruby at his words.

  "Are you a sorceress, Ruby? Have you put a spell on me?" Thork asked softly as he took her cup from her and laid it on a nearby window well. With his thumb he wiped a drop of wine from her chin. When he started to withdraw his hand to wipe it on his tunic, Ruby took hold of his thumb. The tip of her tongue peeked out, deliberately enticing him, then licked the wine off the sensitive pad, then licked again.

  Thork's eyes turned dark blue as he shuddered before grabbing her by the waist, turning her back to the wall with toes barely touching the floor. He pinioned her there with his clearly aroused lower body. Expertly he moved his hips from side to side until their bodies fit together—breast to chest, womanhood to manhood.

  "O-o-o-h!" Ruby sighed softly, and a low, appreciative growl rose involuntarily from deep in Thork's throat.

  Ruby shut her eyes briefly to savor the exquisite sensation. All the fine hairs on her body stood to attention, attuned to this man whose body was as familiar to her as her own.

  When Thork moved back slightly, then ground himself against her—in just the right spot—Ruby gasped.

  "I have shown you what I want," Thork groaned, panting through parted lips. "What do you want?"

  "I think..." Ruby tried to speak but her voice broke with emotion. "... I think I'd love one of those kisses I told you about the other day."

  Thork grinned wolfishly, understanding her words immediately. He lowered his lips until they almost touched hers. "How did it go? Long, slow,..."

  When his lips finally touched hers, he moved his mouth back and forth until he shaped the kiss to his satisfaction. The kiss was as electrifying as Jack's had ever been, and more so. They kissed endlessly, never coming up for air. Ruby savored the feel of lips that matched perfectly, knowing instinctively through twenty years of practice what this man liked and needed. Her lips clung to Thork's eagerly. Ravenous, she could not seem to get enough of their sweet torture.

  Finally Thork pulled back slightly and whispered, biting the edge of her bottom lip playfully, "What were the other things that man Kevin liked in his kisses? Was it... yes... deep, I think you said."

  When Thork's tongue plunged through Ruby's parted lips and began a slow, rhythmic, in-and-out cadence, Ruby put her arms around Thork's neck and parted her legs slightly so she could feel him better. His manhood touched the bud of her femininity, and a shock of pleasure hit Ruby, so intense that she went limp in his arms. Thork's body spasmed in reaction. He pulled his mouth away roughly, holding her face firmly between his two hands.

  So hoarsely that Ruby could barely hear him, Thork asked, his self-control obviously near the exploding point, "And the last thing this man liked in his kisses?"

  "I can't think," Ruby admitted, watching smile lines crinkle Thork's eyes. But then she murmured, "I remember now. I think it was 'long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.' "

  Thork grinned and Ruby's heart lurched, as it always did when Jack looked at her like that. There she went again, thinking of the two of them—Jack and Thork—as one.

  "I don't know about the three days, but I think we can manage the next to the last one," Ruby promised shakily. "Don't you?" Playing the aggressor, she pulled his head down to hers, then wet his lips with the tip of her tongue before plunging into his mouth as he'd done to hers moments before.

  Thork's low, throaty moan gave proof positive that
he liked what she was doing, not to mention the increasing, delicious pressure Ruby felt below the waist.

  Thork pulled away from her, passion glazing his eyes.

  "Truly, are you a sorceress?"

  "No, just a woman."

  "Will you be my woman this night?"

  Ruby whimpered as he seduced her with a slight movement of his hips. "Oh, Thork, a part of me wants to, but—"

  "Which part?" he asked with a lopsided grin, arching an eyebrow as he moved against her again.

  "That's not fair," she gasped with a short laugh. "Thork, I want you, too, but I'm too old for one-night stands. I've lived with you, I mean Jack, for too many years to be satisfied with so little."

  "One-night stand?"

  "It means that I won't be just another notch on your bedpost, to be forgotten the next day. Unless, of course, you mean your invitation for more than one night." She looked up at him hopefully.

  Thork bared his white teeth in a devastating smile. "Oh, sweetling, 'twould be more than one night, I wager, afore our appetites were sated."

  No doubt about that, Ruby thought. Every inch of her skin pulsed with want of him.

  Impatient, Thork asked once again, "Will you share my bed tonight?"

  "Will you admit to being my husband?"

  Thork tilted his head questioningly. Then his eyes stormed over as realization hit him that she wanted more from him than he was willing to give.

  "Never!" Thork said vehemently, pulling back from her. Suddenly his passion turned cold. He slammed a fist into his palm angrily. "I should have known. Ever do women want something from a man. Never do they give their love unconditionally."

  "That's not fair."

  " 'Tis the fool I am for thinking you showed honest emotion when, in fact, you sought payment for favors given. Marriage vows in exchange for your body! Hah!" His blazing eyes raked her body scornfully. "It appears you were well named after the harlot in your bloody name-song, after all."

  "Thork, that's not true," Ruby cried, but he'd already turned and left. She touched her fingertips to kiss-swollen lips to stop her sobs.

  Would this man ever stop hurting her?

  Chapter Seven

  For the next few days, thoughts of Thork tormented Ruby. No matter what she was doing—helping Gyda to put away summer produce, marketing with Astrid under Ulf's ever-present surveillance, playing with the children, singing and telling stories at Sigtrygg's court each night where she'd gained an unwanted popularity—Ruby couldn't stop thinking about this Viking prototype of her husband.

  She should have felt guilty, having such adulterous feelings for another man. She didn't.

  The rational side of Ruby's brain told her Thork was not her husband. The other side of her brain, however, the one with a pipeline directly to her heart, saw no difference between Jack and Thork.

  Ruby needed to talk to Thork, but he avoided her like the plague—rarely coming to Olaf's house and leaving whenever she saw him in Sigtrygg's hall, usually with the blonde she likened to Dolly Parton.

  Somehow she had to convince him she came from the future and that, for some reason known only to God, she'd been sent to him. Then, too, Thork's sons demanded her attention. She must convince Thork that his neglectful behavior hurt the boys. They needed him almost as desperately as she did.

  And what about Jack and her own two boys? Was Jack sorry now that he'd left her? Did he think she'd died? She couldn't bear to picture Eddie and David at her funeral, having to live without a mother. But then, Jack planned to look for another woman. He'd already told her so. As painful as the thought of Jack with another woman was, Ruby hoped his second wife would be a good mother for her sons—if she didn't return.

  Ruby swiped at her eyes and glanced at Gyda who'd been chattering away while Ruby's mind wandered. A guard, Ulf, followed close behind as they walked toward the Norse castle.

  " 'Tis a puzzle to me yet why Sigtrygg's latest mistress, Byrnhil, would summon us. And midday, at that! 'Tis the busiest time of the day. Leastways 'tis for honest folk."

  "I don't know any more than you do. Believe me, I would as soon stay far away from your king and his volatile moods. I'm afraid he may behead me yet."

  When they got to the palace, the empty great hall echoed with silence. A servant escorted them to an upper chamber where a dozen well-dressed women of Sigtrygg's court eagerly awaited their arrival.

  After the preliminary greetings, Byrnhil, a big-boned, Amazon-like woman, whose size probably suited Sigtrygg well, got directly to the point.

  "I sat in the hall the first night you arrived and saw those scanty underthings you wear. Could you show them to us again, here in private?"

  Ruby and Gyda exchanged looks of surprise.

  "Why?" Ruby asked.

  "I like nice things," the obviously vain mistress said, pointing around the room where luxurious garments lay haphazardly across chairs and chests. Fine tapestries adorned the stone walls and a Persian carpet hid a portion of the rush-covered floor. "Also, I saw the look in some of our men's eyes when you disrobed. Mayhap such garb would suit me, as well."

  "I guess it would be all right," Ruby said hesitantly. "I own a business that makes fine lingerie, you know."

  Byrnhil and her ladies clapped their hands in delight.

  "Wonderful," Brynhil declared. "You can make some for me. We will raid Sigtrygg's treasure room for fabrics."

  When Ruby modeled her black silk and lace panties and bra for the ladies, they oohed and aahed, touching the fine lace, asking what other fabrics could be used and whether different styles would suit.

  "Why are your legs so prickly?" one lady asked with distaste.

  "I haven't shaved in two weeks." Ruby grimaced.

  "You shave your legs? Why? What is your meaning?"

  "In my country, most women shave their legs up to the top of their thighs. Some even shave a bikini line," Ruby explained, demonstrating with a slash of her hands.

  "Oh!" several of them gasped. "Does it not hurt?"

  "Not at all—when you use soap lather and a sharp blade. And the legs feel as smooth as silk."

  The skeptical women questioned the wisdom of such a habit, especially when Ruby told them it had to be repeated every other day.

  The treasure room overflowed with bolts of fabrics, laces, braiding and threads from all over the world, in every color imaginable. She'd known the Vikings' reputation as traders but never had she imagined such fine taste.

  Realizing that paper was at a premium, Ruby pulled aside a bolt of stiff white fabric to use for patterns. She restrained the women from being too greedy and selected only a half-dozen silk fabrics—black, bright red, green, white and two shades of blue—along with matching trims. She had an especially hard time convincing Byrnhil that wool would not be a good choice for underwear, even for winter.

  "I can only work on one set today," Ruby asserted. "Perhaps if the others watch carefully, they'll be able to make their own patterns."

  Without hesitation or modesty, Byrnhil stripped to the buff and stepped forward to the middle of the room. The woman's magnificent body rivaled the finest female athletes Ruby had ever seen, and she told her so. "What do you do for exercise? Do you ever jog?" Ruby had to explain jogging then and was pleased at Byrnhil's unfeigned interest.

  "In Dublin, I practiced for battle with my brothers. Twice have I gone a-Viking with them." She beamed proudly. " 'Tis harder here. Sigtrygg forbids my joining his men on the practice field. Afeard he is that I will best his men with the short sword, I wager."

  She added slyly, "Little does he know I take my servant Hedin to the outskirts of the city where I make him train with me." Then she advised Ruby, "A woman must protect her own interests."

  Tell me about it!

  "Mayhap I will join you in this jogging one day."

  "Not if Olaf has anything to say about it! He's forbidden my jogging."

  Ruby wasn't about to risk more punishment, even to satisfy the whim of Sigtrygg's mistre
ss. She told Byrnhil about the jogging episode.

  "Many times have I been locked in my chamber," Byrnhil boasted. "Sigtrygg even takes a hand to me occasionally. 'Tis naught, imprisonment or a beating, unless a bone be broken or the face marred. That I will never abide."

  Ruby used ribbons to take the place of hooks and eyes on the bra and of elastic at the gathered waistband and legs of the panties. After three hours of measuring, cutting and sewing, Byrnhil stood resplendent in flame-red bikini pants trimmed with black lace. The bra, also of red silk, teased the eye with peek-a-boo black lace in strategic places.

  Byrnhil pirouetted in front of a large sheet of framed polished metal, proclaiming Ruby's creation a huge success. "You will make me a dozen more of these garments tomorrow," Byrnhil directed two seamstresses at the edge of the room.

  Byrnhil walked over to a lacquered Oriental chest in the comer and dug deep, tossing aside one object after another before she found what she wanted. Returning to Ruby, she handed her an emerald the size of an almond, hanging from a fine gold chain. "With my thanks."

  "Oh, my goodness! I couldn't accept this. It... it was my pleasure to make the lingerie for you." But Gyda nodded her approval, and Ruby accepted the priceless gem. On the way home, Gyda and Ruby giggled like young girls over their strange afternoon.

  "I must thank you for this, Ruby—never have I been invited to the palace by any of the royal misses or mistresses."

  "It seems a dubious honor to me."

  Gyda smiled, their earlier difficulties forgotten for the moment. Then she sheepishly asked, "Do you think you could show me how to make such garments for myself?"

  Ruby broke into a fit of laughter, and Gyda reddened.

  " 'Twould be foolish I would look in such garb, is that not so?" Gyda peeked up at her shyly.

  "Of course not, Gyda. I know just the design that would be perfect for you. I laughed because of my ludicrous situation. Here I am in a strange country, worried about keeping my head on my shoulders, and still I'm drumming up business for myself. My husband Jack would say my priorities are out of kilter, as usual."