Page 20 of The Bewitched Viking

Eadyth cringed and Gyda gathered up her weaving items, preparing to leave the room.

“Oh, the brute! He knows I hate it when he yells for me like a cow in the field.”

“EA-DYTH!” her husband shouted once again, his voice coming closer. “Where are you? I have something to show you.”

Eadyth’s face bloomed bright red. “I have seen it more than enough times, believe me,” she informed Alinor with a wink. “Here,” she said, handing her a towel. “Best you dry yourself afore my husband comes blundering in here.”

Both Eadyth and Gyda left the room, giggling.

Through the closed door, she could swear she heard Eirik say, “Ea-dyth! I dropped honey on the front of my braies back at the castle. Can you think of any way I can remove it?”

Eadyth said something that Alinor could not overhear, but Eirik let loose with a low, masculine growl of pleasure at whatever it was.

And Alinor decided that Eadyth needed no lessons at all from a witch.

Tykir leaned against the doorjamb of Gyda’s house and watched with amusement as his brother greeted his wife with a familiar pat on the behind and a deep, noisy kiss.

Seven years they had been wed, and still they acted as lovestruck youthlings. Three children they’d had together—Thorkel, Ragnor and Freydis—and three others they’d brought into the marriage betwixt them…Eadyth’s John, and Eirik’s Larise and Emma. Ravenshire rang with the joyous sounds of children of all ages, and yet these two behaved as children themselves.

There was a Norse legend about a golden apple and how adventurers searched for this treasure a lifetime and more, across many lands, risking life and family. The moral of the tale was that often the precious fruit was growing in one’s own orchard.

Eirik had found that golden apple.

Tykir was pleased for his brother, truly he was. There weren’t many men fortunate enough to find a lifemate who was steadfast and loving. He never had.

“Have you left any mead for me back at the castle?” Bolthor asked as he passed by him through the doorway.

“Yea, I did. Not as good as Eadyth’s home-brewed ale, but sufficient. There is Frisian wine, as well. And Rurik discovered a group of thralls bought by the king’s steward from a Nubian slave trader. He said for the price of a gold coin, one of them has a surprise for you.” Tykir jiggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

Bolthor laughed. “Good thing I have a gold coin.” He hesitated, then added with a chuckle, “I will see you aboard ship at dawn when we set sail.”

Eirik and Eadyth came next.

“We have decided to dine with the king, then come back here to sleep tonight,” Eirik informed him. “Eadyth has no inclination to sleep under our uncle’s roof. Nor do I.”

Tykir nodded.

“Will you come with us?”

“You go on ahead. I wouldst get the witch first.”

“Why not leave her here tonight?” Eadyth suggested.

He shook his head. “Nay, the witch does not leave my sight till we are asea. Even then, I cannot be sure she will not put a curse on my ship if I do not watch her closely.”

Eadyth began to protest, but Eirik laid a warning hand on her arm. “Leave be, Eadyth. ’Tis Tykir’s concern, not ours.”

They left then, and Tykir waved aside Gyda’s tsk-ing reprimand when he took the steps two at a time, attempting to locate Alinor. The night was wasting, and he had much mead to imbibe afore dawn.

“Alinor, where are you, witch?” he called out, at the same time he opened a bedchamber door. “’Tis time to…”

His words trailed off at the vision that greeted him.

A woman was standing knee-deep in a hip bath. Her arms were raised overhead, pushing long strands of wet, rust-colored hair off her face. The sleek tresses hung in a silky swath down her back practically to her buttocks, which were round and smooth and most enticing. With a start, the woman turned quickly, arms still upraised, and regarded his shock with her own.

It mattered not that her creamy skin was covered with freckles from forehead to knees, and probably to toes under the murky water. Her body was spectacular. Small breasts, yea, but they were high and firm, with raspberry tips. A trim waist and narrow hips. Long, slim legs joined by a thatch of reddish-blond curls dewed with droplets of water. In all, a perfectly proportioned body that would put the finest goddess to shame.

My very own witch goddess.