Page 62 of The Blue Viking

Maire put fingertips to her lips to stifle a giggle.

“Ahoooommm! Ahoooommm! Waaaraaaa!”

He jumped out of bed and began to don his braies. “I will put a stop to this nonsense, that I swear.” Even though he was in a rush, after he was fully dressed he took the time to comb his hair and put a narrow braid on either side of his face, interlaced with colored beads. And he shaved, as well. Old habits died hard.

Maire was still watching him with a bemused expression on her face when he was done.

“Well? Are you going to stay abed all day? I ne’er took you for a slug-a-bed.” He walked over to the bedstead and couldn’t help smiling at the alluring picture she made. The bed linen still covered her bare form, but it revealed as much as it concealed. With her slumber-mussed hair and sex-flushed cheeks and kiss-pouty mouth, the witch looked like naught more than a wench who had been well tupped, but to Rurik she resembled a goddess. He would be a fool to attempt to discount as mere lust all that had passed between him and Maire this past day and night.

“A slug-a-bed?” Maire exclaimed with mock affront. “Does that mean I am to be released from my bed prison … finally?”

He shrugged. “For now.”

Disappointment passed over her face, which she immediately replaced with a look of intense relief. Quicker than he could say, “The Saxons are coming!” she was up and about, her bed linen draped about her modestly, like a Roman senator in his toga, already searching for daytime apparel.

“Ahoooommm! Ahoooommm! Waaaraaaa!”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly remembering something he’d intended yestereve. He went over to his leather saddlebag, which sat in one corner. He finally found what he was searching for … an object wrapped in soft black velvet. Handing it to her, he said gruffly, “This is for you.”

She’d already pulled on a clean, well-worn chemise while his back was turned. For some reason, the condition of her chemise tugged at his conscience. He had noticed on more than one occasion that his garments were of much finer quality than hers, even though her station in society was higher.

Her eyes went wide with surprise that he would offer her a gift, and Rurik found immense pleasure then, not only in the gifting—a practice all Norsemen enjoyed—but in the anticipation of her delight. “You have a gift for me? No one has ever given me a gift that I can recall.”

No one has ever given her a gift? How can that be? Rurik’s blood boiled with rage at all the men in her life who had so neglected this woman … her father, her brothers, her husband.

“Ahoooommm! Ahoooommm! Waaaraaaa!”

I swear, I am going to kill Bolthor. This latest endeavor pushes the bounds of friendship. Hell, it would push a foe to the brink, as well.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Maire began to unravel the cloth, uncovering the oval gemstone pendant suspended from a delicate gold chain. Although the jewel resembled a hazy emerald, it was actually a rare green amber he’d discovered last year when amber hunting with Tykir in the Baltics. One of Tykir’s jewelry makers in the trading towp of Birka had set the stone for him.

But, wait, Maire did not appear pleased. In fact, a small sob escaped her lips, and she began to weep, but not before attempting to hand the jewelry back to him.

“What? You do not like it? Look, Maire, it matches your eyes exactly. Truly, this pendant was meant for you. Let me help you put it on.”

She shook her head. “Oh, Rurik, how could you?”

“What? How could I what?”

“Pay me … for services rendered … that’s what. Just because I behaved as a … a harlot does not mean I deserve to be treated as one.”

At first, her words didn’t penetrate his puzzled brain, overwhelmed as it was by the cacophony of sound coming from Bolthor’s unmusical mouth. When they did, he felt a sense of outrage that she would think such of him.

But her pain outweighed any insult he suffered. Dropping to one knee beside her, he pressed the pendant back into her hand. “Maire, I give you this gift in payment, but not for bedplay. When Old John told me how you suffered for having lost your maidenhead, I knew it was my fault. I treated you shamefully, and for that I am sorry. It was after my conversation with Old John that I decided to make reparation to you in some small way, and then I recalled this pendant that I’d actually discovered myself in the sandy shores off the Baltic seas. Most amber is the shade of tree sap or yellowish gold. Almost never is it green. The same day, Tykir found a hunk of golden amber the size of a man’s head. So, it was a lucky day for both of us.” Rurik realized that he was rambling with nervousness. Never had he expected her to decline his gift.

“Old John told you about… Kenneth?” Her body tensed, almost as if in fear.

“Just that he mistreated you after the wedding, and that some speculated the reason might have been that his bride was no longer a virgin. I assume that is why you asked to go with me, for protection.”

“ ’Twould seem my faithful retainer has a loose tongue.” She shook her head sadly.

“No doubt,” Rurik agreed, “but he has your best interests at heart. He was not gossip-mongering.”

She accepted his explanation. Unfolding her clenched fist, she gazed, longingly, at the necklet that had been grasped in her palm.

“Here, let me put it on you,” Rurik suggested.

She stood and allowed him to do so. The ornament looked beautiful on her, even in the dowdy undergarment. The jewel itself hung low, just above the swell of her breasts.