Page 96 of The Blue Viking

“Me?” Cailleach demurred, all innocence and batting eyelashes … or what few eyelashes she had left. Then she laughed… or rather cackled. “It’s a small roe deer I’m roasting. I needed the heart and liver fer one of my special remedies, not to mention the hooves, ears, and testicles.”

Maire’s jaw dropped open.

“Yer problem, dearie, is not witches,” Cailleach said, patting her hand lovingly. “It’s frustration, pure and simple.”

“Frus-frustration?” Maire was so flummoxed by Cailleach’s need for animal testicles that she could scarce speak about this new contention of hers.

“Aye, ’tis a well-known fact that men get frustrated when they canna get enough… you know, loveplay. Actually, in some of them, the frustration builds and builds till they are nigh blue in their manparts.” She scrutinized Maire, who was shocked into temporary silence, before adding, “Have you checked your female parts lately?”

“For… for what?” Almost immediately, Maire regretted her question. “Blueness.”

“Aaarrgh!” was Maire’s only response as she rushed away from the courtyard and toward the exercise fields, where it appeared as if her son… her little boy … was about to participate in the archery contest. Blessed Virgin! With his inexperience, he was more likely to miss the target and shoot his cat.

And Rurik, fire in his blue eyes, was staring at her as if he’d like to make her the target.

Of what? That was the question.

Revenge?

Lust?

Love?

Maire was so tense and upset over all the happenings of the past day that her entire body was rigid. She glanced down at her clenched fists… then winced.

She was squeezing so tight they were blue.

Bolthor was standing next to Rurik as they both watched Maire come sailing toward them.

“I know what your problem is, if you ask me,” Bolthor offered.

“Who asked you?”

“Frustration.”

“Huh?” He turned on his friend with disbelief. His life was falling apart. The woman he’d cared about and trusted had betrayed him. He had a son he’d never been aware of. There were witches everywhere. He couldn’t hit a target today, for the life of him. And Bolthor spoke of frustration.

“Yea.” Bolthor nodded his head vigorously. “What you need to do is bed the wench. That is the best method for solving problems betwixt men and women. Otherwise, all these frustrations build up inside a man and make him miserable.”

Rurik gaped at Bolthor, then shook his head as if he were a hopeless case … which he was, of course. “Go away.”

Instead of going away, Bolthor had the affrontery to suggest, “Methinks I have the perfect name for my next poem. ‘Rurik the Greater: Saga of the Blue-Balled Viking.’ I could describe how yer blue balls match yer blue face and how there must be some significance to that happenstance. What think you—”

Rurik did not think. In fact, without thinking, he reached out and punched his skald in the nose. Bolthor swerved at the last moment, and the punch glanced off his jaw, instead. Still, he was knocked to the ground, where he rolled about, laughing like an idiot. It was Rurik then who went away … right toward Maire … whom he had been avoiding all day.

Could life get any worse than this?

“You!” she said in the steeliest voice she could manage, pointing to Jamie and the bow and arrow in his tiny hands. She motioned with her forefinger that he was to put the weapons down instantly and move off the game area.

Jamie grumbled under his breath but did as he was told, dragging the bow, which was as tall as he was, in the dirt after him.

Then she turned on Rurik. “You!” she said, also in a steely voice, and motioned with her crooked finger for him to follow her. She didn’t look back to see if he obeyed her orders, as Jamie had done. She hoped, though. Fervently.

Maire had had more than enough of her wildly ricocheting emotions. Here, there, everywhere. He loves me, he loves me not. I love him, I love him not… well, that latter hadn’t entered her field of emotions yet, but it probably would. He’s angry with me; he’s hurt. He wants my body; he wants revenge. I want his body; I want deeper affections. I want him gone; I want him to stay. At any one moment, she had no idea how either of them was feeling.

Mayhap it was time for Rurik to leave Beinne Breagha, just as it was time for the witches to leave. As heartsick as Maire felt over that prospect, she was more distraught over the upheaval in her life, and that of her son. Now that the MacNab threat was over—and, aye, she was thankful to Rurik for that—the Campbell clan needed to set a new course, with her as acting laird till Jamie came of age.

But how would Rurik fit into that picture? That was what Maire needed to know from Rurik. That was why she had ordered him to follow her to a private place.