Page 67 of The Blue Viking

“It will not happen,” he repeated with deadly calm. “Even if I die in the effort, there will be others after me to fulfill my promise of protection.”

She tilted her head in question.

“The brothers, Eirik and Tykir, would come forthwith if they heard of my passage to Valhalla. Or their father’s old friend and mine, Selik, who resides in Jorvik. Or my good friend, Adam, who is in the Arab lands just now, studying medicine.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You would save me with a healer?” she teased, no doubt trying to lighten their mood. “Is he a monk? Would your monk-healer pray over our situation as he prepares his medicinal cures? Oh, that would be such a picture! A witch and a doctor trying to save a clan with spells and herbs!”

“Adam is as strong a soldier as he is a healer,” he declared defensively, chucking her under the chin. “And, nay, Adam is hardly a religious sort.” He grinned at that last thought. “Hardly. ”

“So,” Maire said, whisking her hands together resolutely, “your plan involves Toste and Vagn infiltrating the MacNab keep. To what purpose? And what makes you think they would be able to do so?”

“Maire, Maire, Maire. Have you learned naught of those twins in the time they’ve been here? Those two rogues have been slipping in and out of the beds and keeps of women of many lands since they were mere youthlings. Believe me, they can scale a wall, tread soft as a kitten, and make themselves nigh invisible when it is warranted.”

She let out a breathy exhale, but did not contradict his assertions. “Once there, presuming they are successful, what in the name of Mary could they do that would save my clan? The two of them could not fight the entire MacNab clan, could they? Would they be opening the gates for us Campbells to enter? Explain to me how that could occur, undetected. Besides, the MacNabs would have an advantage, fighting inside their own grounds, wouldn’t they?”

Rurik smiled at Maire’s brisk interrogation. She had become accustomed to taking charge and apparently did not know when to relinquish some of that leadership. Taking her hands in both of his, he kissed the fingertips … and her pouting lips … ignoring her tsk-ing reprimand. Before he continued in that enticing vein, he laced the fingers of one hand with one of hers and drew her forward to continue their walk about the parapet. While they strolled, Rurik explained, “Actually, you will play a part in the plan, indirectly.”

“Me?” she squealed, and tried to halt in her tracks.

God, I love how I can make her squeal. “Yea, you, dearling. You and your witchly arts,” he replied, forcing her to keep pace with him, despite her digging in her heels. “I will go to the MacNab stronghold this evening, unarmed, under a truce flag. Whilst there, I will outline your grievances, including the senseless slaughter of sheep and cattle, the placing of a high-ranked lady in a cage—that would be you—and a long list of other complaints that Old John gave to me, going back to the time of Kenneth’s death. As recompense, I will demand that they immediately desist in their harassment of the Campbells, pay a danegeld of gold coins, and sign a peace pact with your clan.”

When Maire dug in her heels this time, he was unable to make her budge; so, he stopped with her. He still held her fingers laced with his, though, and he could feel her rapid pulse.

“Have you gone daft, Rurik?”

Perchance. Daft over you. “Trust me, Maire. I know what I am doing.” Leastways, I think I do.

“What makes you think Duncan would agree to any such thing? He will laugh in your face.”

“Yea, he will,” Rurik replied with calm indifference. He let his words hang in the air for several long moments, while she tapped one foot impatiently. He wasn’t sure why he tormented her so, except that she looked so tempting with her flushed cheeks and jutting chin and heaving breasts … especially her heaving breasts.

“Stop leering at my breasts, you … you libertine.”

Caught in the act… of being a libertine. “I was not,” he lied. “I was just thinking and my eyes may have drifted.”

She made a harrumphing sound of disgust. “Get to the point, Viking. What threat can you levy that would force compliance?”

“A spell,” he announced brightly. “A magic spell.”

“Witchcraft,” she said in a dull, disappointed voice. “You would use me thus, even knowing that sometimes I fail?”

Sometimes? The way I hear it told, most times you are less than successful. But he rolled his shoulders as if her complaint were of little consequence.

“Word of my ineptness has spread as far as the MacNab lands, I am sure. Threats of my inflicting a spell on them will have no effect at all, unless they laugh themselves to death.”

“Sad, but true.”

“Not that I am in accord with your plans … but I should go with you.”

“Nay!”

“Why?”

“Too dangerous. Duncan might take you captive. Then he’d have you exactly where he wanted from the start.”

“How about you? Is it not dangerous for you, too? Could he not take you captive?”

“He could, but he would not enjoy wedding and bedding me nearly as much… nor gain the same land wealth.”