Page 113 of The Caged Viking

“I did kiss him back, but only to see if he had any effect on me, like you had.”

He rolled his eyes, and then there was a prolonged silence before he relented. “And…?”

“Nothing.”

She couldn’t tell if her answer pleased him or not, or if he even believed her.

There was another prolonged silence before she asked, “And you? Were you with any other woman? Did you kiss anyone?”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “As if there were any women here to kiss! Signe is the only passably attractive woman under the age of forty, and Thorkel would beat me bloody if I dared try her charms.”

“There was Revna and her daughters.”

He gave her another disbelieving look. “I would have had to act quickly for that to happen, if I had been interested, which I was not. In truth, I do not like adultery, nor am I inclined toward sex with children.”

Who said anything about sex? “So, it’s only for lack of opportunity that you’ve remained celibate?” And not because you were faithful to me?

“Do you deliberately bait me, Kirstin? Yea, I would have swived another woman. I would have swived fifty women if they’d been available and even moderately attractive, anything to wipe you from my mind. Are you happy now?”

Actually, yes. Well, not unhappy. Instead of answering, she stuck her tongue out at him. As immature as that was, she found herself immensely pleased that she’d rattled his chain.

Further talk was interrupted by the arrival of the housecarls carrying in the food, first to the high table and then to all the others. Some dishes were brought from the kitchen, under Frida’s supervision, and others were taken directly from the hearth fires in between the aisles, where they had been kept warm since their preparation.

This being the Jul feast, there was a wider variety of offerings than the usual daily fare. Thick slices of roast boar sat on huge wooden platters, in some cases complete with the actual pig’s head, feet, and tail. For those who did not like pork, alternatives were offered in the form of quail in a baked pastry, sliced venison tongues, a variety of smoked fishes, little herrings swimming in a tart brine, hrútspungar (ram’s testicles pickled in whey and pressed into cakes), and blodpolse (a Viking version of blood sausage). Flat circular breads, similar to modern pitas or naan, were used to scoop up meat scraps or drippings, in lieu of forks or spoons. Tiny, pathetically thin wild carrots swam in a white dill sauce. Dots of butter adorned bowls of mashed turnips. Green beans dressed with hazelnuts, chips of crisp pig skin, and a rudimentary vinaigrette. Boiled and salted sea gull eggs. Condiments, such as horseradish and mustard, were provided, too. Honey oat cakes, and skyrr, a soft cheese with the consistency of yogurt, mixed with dried fruits, completed the feast.

Kirstin could smell spices like cumin, ginger, and clove on some of the offerings, and assumed Egil had obtained them, as well as some of the vegetables she saw, from his trip to the market town of Hedeby. “Maybe we won’t need to import all this produce in the future. I brought a bunch of hearty vegetable seeds to be planted next spring,” she said before recalling that Hauk wasn’t interested in her plans, not in his present mood. So, she added, “If I’m here next spring.”

“See, there you go again. No sooner do you arrive than you are threatening to leave again. How can I ever trust you?”

Kirstin was stunned at the vehemence of his reaction. “That wasn’t a threat. I meant that I might not be here next spring because you don’t want me here.”

Instead of reacting to her words, he asked, “What is that red substance on your lips?”

“Cherry lip gloss.”

“What? Do you bedevil me apurpose?”

“It’s only lip gloss. Nothing devilish about that!”

“It is for a man with a passion for cherries.”

“You like cherries? I had no idea.” She batted her eyelashes with fake innocence, then licked her lips. Kirstin would have continued with her teasing, but Hauk turned away from her toward the food.

They put a little of each dish on their pewter salvers. Kirstin only picked at her food and sipped at her mead, while Hauk ate heartily and drank like a camel. Obviously, she was nervous. Obviously, he was not.

The pig!

No, no, no! She’d already used…rather misused that insult for him. The jerk, then. He was behaving like a jerk.

“Did you say something, dearling?” he asked with super sweetness, turning the table on her innocence act over the lip gloss.

“Nothing important…dearest.” She oozed false sweetness, too.

“It sounded like berserk.”

Yes, you’re driving me berserk, you jerk. “I said it’s not important,” she snapped.

“Whoa! I did not mean to stir your feathers.” He smirked, a clue that he was not displeased with the result, despite his lack of intent.