Page 16 of The Bewitched Viking

“About as much as I favor the company of slime-bellied snakes.” She tried to squirm free, pounding his back with her bound fists, missing half the time because she was blinded by her hair hanging down to the backs of his thighs. He chuckled at her antics and clamped a large paw over her posterior.

That stilled her…for a moment. “You brute…you animal…you…you…Viking”

“Tykir, tell us true,” she heard Rurik call out with an ominous snicker, “does she have a tail?”

He rubbed her entire bottom, side to side, even the crease, before announcing, “Nay, there is no tail, but methinks I will have to examine the situation more thoroughly…in private…without these cumbersome garments.”

More male laughter followed, with ribald remarks on exactly how he might proceed in that regard.

If the blood were not rushing to Alinor’s head, she would have told him what she thought of his outrageous suggestion and his comrade’s crudity. Instead, she took a good bite out of his shoulder and would not let go.

His howl of pain rang through the courtyard just before his knees buckled at the surprising attack. He tripped forward, causing Alinor to go with him. She landed on her back, her bound hands raised overhead, her legs spread wide, with the hem of her gunna hiked knee-high and the Viking troll on top of her, with his face planted in her midsection…laughing.

“How…dare…you?” she sputtered, not sure if she was more outraged by his position atop her or by his laughter. She lowered her bound hands and grasped a hunk of hair, forcing his head off her stomach so she could address the lout directly.

His nose was still bleeding. A bruise above his right eye was beginning to swell and turn the socket black and blue. Whiskers shadowed his face, though she knew he’d shaved just that morn before they broke camp outside Jorvik. His blond hair stood up on end where she still grasped it.

Despite all that, the insufferable man was godly handsome.

She released his hair as if it had suddenly caught fire. Hearing a chuckle, she peered up and noticed all the faces staring down at them…some in wonder, like the Lady Eadyth and her husband Eirik; some in amusement, like Rurik and the Viking soldiers; some in contemplation, like Bolthor, who was mumbling something about sagas and poems and witchly tales…or was it tails?

Alinor groaned, then groaned again as Tykir raised himself on his elbows, still laughing, and adjusted his body over hers.

His laughter stopped immediately.

Alinor’s eyes went huge with amazement at the hard object prodding betwixt her legs. It was unlike any of the limp threads she’d experienced in her three mates. More like the whole bloody spindle.

Tykir groaned, too, but his was a decidedly masculine sound.

“My lord, are you in pain?” Bolthor asked.

Tykir shook his head. He appeared unable to speak.

“Dost thou have a wound?” Lord Eirik inquired solicitously. “Shall we send for the healer from the hospitium? Or our sister Rain?”

Tykir continued to shake his head, harder now.

“Is it the witch?”

Tykir nodded.

“A witch? A witch?” Lady Eadyth squealed with horror.

“Yea, the witch with the Virgin’s Veil,” Bolthor told Lady Eadyth. “Lady Alinor is a witch.”

Eirik let out a snort of disbelief. “There is no such thing.”

“Hah! You would not say such if you were King Anlaf,” Rurik interjected.

“King Anlaf? Our cousin Anlaf?” Lord Eirik seemed genuinely puzzled. “What has he to do with witchcraft?”

“This witch,” Rurik said, pointing to Alinor, “has put a spell on King Anlaf.”

“A spell?” Lord Eirik asked dumbly.

“Yea, a spell that made his manroot take a right turn,” Rurik explained.

Lord Eirik and Lady Eadyth exchanged a look, then burst out laughing, as did all the Viking soldiers and lookers-on who’d gathered at the outlandish scene. The only ones not participating in the mirth were Rurik and Bolthor, who were chagrined at the lack of belief in their tale.