Page 27 of The Blue Viking

But then Maire made a soft sound—half plea, half sob. “Jamie,” was all she said.

The boy heard, though. Turning, he pulled his hand from the monk’s grasp and rushed back into her open arms. Hugging fiercely, the two were giving each other small kisses and speaking of how much they missed each other.

Rurik had never had a mother, and his heart about broke to see these two together. With such a strong bond between them, their willingness to be parted for even a day puzzled him mightily.

In a moment, the boy and the monk were gone.

Suddenly, Rurik and Maire were alone once again, and everything was quiet in the clearing.

He looked at Maire.

Maire looked at him.

He put his hands on his hips.

She did the same.

You’d never know they had been moaning in each other’s mouths a short time ago by the expression of contempt on Maire’s face… a face that was, incidentally, rose-colored from the abrasion of his late-day whiskers. Her lips were still kiss-swollen, and there was a blood mark on the side of her neck from his sucking on her skin like a sex-starved youthling. But her eyes—for the love of Freyja!—her eyes were throwing green sparks of fire at him.

If Rurik were a betting man, he would wager now that Maire was not in the mood for resuming their love games.

He understood perfectly. He was having a few reservations himself about what had almost happened betwixt them. Oh, he was not averse to making love with the witch, but he intended to do so on his own terms, not whilst careening dizzily from lack of control. Best he set the record straight, though, afore she launched into him with her usual shrew words.

“I do not much appreciate your ensorcelling me, witch,” he informed her haughtily. “Do not do it again.”

“Me? Me?” she sputtered. “ ’Twas you who put a spell on me. Just like that other time. Do not do it again.”

“I know naught of spells. That is your line of work. I am just a simple soldier.”

“Hah! There is naught simple about you, Viking.”

He chose to take that as a compliment. But before he could reply, Maire was stomping off, back toward her castle.

“Hey! Where are you off to in such a rush?” he asked, hurrying to catch up. “Did I not tell you that you are to go nowhere without me, or one of my guards?”

She said something under her breath that sounded as foul as the offal that spewed from her son’s mouth, and kept walking. But then she told him, “I’m going to the kitchens.”

“Since when do you work as a scullery maid, or cook’s helper? Would you stand still? I can’t keep up with you on these sharp rocks. I hope they’re not stones from burial cairns. I would hate to think I’m stepping on so many dead people.”

Maire ignored his complaints and answered his question. “I work everywhere in my keep. With the shortage of menfolk, I even mucked the stables last month.” She held up her work-roughened hand as illustration. “In any case, it’s a special meal we are preparing for this evening.” Her eyes danced with mischief.

“Why?” he asked suspiciously, then swore as he stubbed his big toe.

“To celebrate the liberation of the snakes, I suppose. Or our liberation from the MacNabs. Or the beauty of a summer day.”

“Or mayhap to show hospitality to your Viking saviors?” he offered, just to tweak her. He had discovered early on that she was easily tweaked. And Viking men were ever so good at tweaking their women. “Or to thank one particular Viking for teaching you so much about love play?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Her only answer was a grunt. Really, the wench had no sense of humor at all.

He knew their situation was dire. The MacNabs could attack at any moment. Maire had done naught to remove his blue mark. If the situation did not alter soon, he might very well have to allow Stigand to lop off her head. And, meanwhile, the wench was turning his head and other body parts, with the mere twitch of her hips, or lips.

Still, there was no harm in trying to be a pleasant fellow. So, when he finally matched his pace to hers, he inquired, “And what might this special meal be?”

He should have known better. He really should have.

“Haggis.”

Hours later, Rurik walked into the great hall of Maire’s keep and surveyed the bustling activity that continued to transform the castle.