Page 56 of The Last Viking

Sometimes, he decided, ’twas wise to poleax a woman. In one form or another.

Hours later, Geirolf sat drinking mead at the scullery table while Jillian endlessly examined his belt clasp under a magnifying glass. She’d done the same with his arm rings before that. For some reason, he didn’t mention the hidden relic, which was revealed only when a secret bead on the gold work was pressed just so. From the very beginning, he’d told all to Merry-Death, without hesitation, and yet he’d held back with her sister. How curious!

But he didn’t want to dwell on such ruminations now. He was bored. And in a rare lustful mood.

Oh, the lust itself was not rare, but the fierceness of his need for Merry-Death was becoming nigh overwhelming.

Merry-Death had gone upstairs a short time ago with a glass of wine to soak in something she called a bubble bath. He would like to see that. Yea, he would.

Instead, for the past hour, he’d listened to Jillian ooh and aah over his belt clasp, when he’d much rather have Merry-Death ooh and aah over another of his possessions—a mite lower down his belly—and clamoring for attention.

“Why are you glaring at me?” Jillian asked.

He refused to answer and grabbed his belt out of her hands. “’Tis time for sleep. I must be up at first light.” The last thing on his mind was sleep.

“I’m not very tired,” she said, slitting her eyes at him. “Why not leave the belt with me to do a few more sketches? I can return it to you in the morning.”

Hah! No doubt she planned to scramble off with the talisman in the dead of night and place it under guard in some dusty museum. Or sell it to the highest bidder. “Nay,” he asserted emphatically, “you have examined and scribbled enough.”

The flash of vexation in her eyes, which she quickly masked, told him that slyness was second nature to her. She cared for herself and her own greedy ambitions first and foremost. That was evident in her neglect of her daughter. Not to mention her current flirtatious fluttering of eyelashes and not-so-accidental brushing against his body parts.

He was buckling on his belt and walking toward the outside door when she called after him. “My sister isn’t woman enough for you, you know. I would be the far better choice.”

His step faltered and he turned slowly. “What a faithless wretch you are. Does family mean naught to you?”

She shrugged. “I love my sister…Oh, don’t look down your nose at me, Viking…I am fond of Mer—in my own way.” She stretched her arms over her head, presumably to remove the kinks from her long sitting, but more to tempt him with her form.

It was a very nice form, but he felt no inclination to see more of it. Or to try her charms.

Still she persisted. “I’ve never made it with a Viking before. Have you ever done it with a jewelry maker? We have really good…hands.” She gave him a slumberous meaningful glance and flexed her fingers.

He shook his head with disgust. “’Twould seem some things ne’er change. In every land and every time, a snake in the grass is still a snake in the grass. You are cut of the same cloth as that biblical Jezebel.”

“Don’t be such a judgmental prude. We’re talking about a little hanky-panky, not a freaking marriage. Besides, it’s plain to see that you and Mer haven’t done the deed yet, and probably never will, if I know my sister.”

Angered by her perfidy, he stomped back to the table and jabbed an admonishing finger into her chest. “Whether we have or not, she is the woman of my choice, and she is your blood kin. Have you no shame?”

Jillian’s face flushed red at his rejection. Then she threw her hands up in surrender. “Hey, it’s your loss, buddy. You’ll see. Mer is sweet and all that. Too sweet, actually. Some men get turned on by that niceness, but they soon lose the itch when they realize how unimpressive she is. A wimp.”

“A wimp?”

“Weak.”

“Are you demented? Merry-Death is the strongest woman I have e’er met. Well, aside from my mother. Whate’er obstacle the fates throw in her path, she meets the challenge with the mettle of a seasoned warrior. Ne’er does she run from her honor-bound duties.” He addressed the last remark to her pointedly, referring to her lack of maternal responsibility.

“You don’t know Mer as well as I do,” she said, glossing over his criticism. “She’s always trying to please. Always failing. I learned a long time ago not to dance to the music of other people’s dreams, but Mer is still running in place, trying to memorize the right dance steps.”

He cocked his head in puzzlement.

“From the time we were kids, my parents set such high standards for us. Impossible standards. Jared, our older brother, came closest to meeting the grade. He had the best marks in school. The most serious personality. Never got into trouble. If Mer is boring as a rock, Jared is a concrete tomb.”

He bristled at her disparaging words, but Jillian jabbered on. “Jared was super-intelligent. He moved out when he went to college and never came back. But the damage was already done. He’s become a clone of Mother and Father…an academic workaholic with no social life.”

“And Merry-Death?” he asked. Despite his misgivings about listening to this loathsome woman’s prattle, he wanted to know more about Merry-Death’s past…why she was so skittish with him.

“Meredith was pathetic, even as a little girl. Somehow she got the idea that our parents would love her if she met their standards.”

He made a grunting noise of disbelief. “Parents do not set conditions on their love.”