Page 63 of The Bewitched Viking

“I am not smitten,” Tykir said with consternation, as if that would be the most horrible thing in the world. Well, it would be, of course. She did not want him smitten. Still, he was a brute for saying so with such vehemence.

“As I recall, ’twas the raspberry belly button that got his attention when first he saw her naked. And he cannot get that image from his mind now,” Bolthor interjected, tapping his chin with a forefinger thoughtfully. “Nay, ’twas a raspberry birthmark on her belly.”

“Raspberry nipples,” Tykir corrected.

Oh, the humiliation of such talk! Alinor pulled her hand out of its clasp with the lout and buried her face in her hands.

“This is the story of ‘Tykir the Great and the Raspberry Feast,’” Bolthor began.

“Tykir the Great?” Adam questioned.

“Shut up,” Tykir retorted.

And Bolthor shared his latest creation:

“Viking men have many a yearning

Some cravings liken to a burning.

A-viking, a-plundering, a-swiving

Are but a few that be tormenting.

But Lord spare the maid when

The Norseman gets a yen

For raspberries in his bed.”

A long silence ensued. Finally curiosity gave way, and Alinor peered up between her fingertips.

All four men were grinning.

And staring at her chest.

Chapter Ten

Tykir felt as if his feet were planted in quicksand and his upper body were being assailed by buffeting winds. He was being pulled in a dozen directions at once, but somewhere along the way he’d lost his inner life-compass.

How could he have thought this mission for Anlaf would be a simple matter? He must be as lackwitted as Alinor always said.

He wanted to be rid of her.

And he did not.

He wanted to trust her fate to the fairness of a Norse Thing.

He feared what that fate might be.

He swore the whole misadventure was her fault for hurling a curse in the first place.

Yet guilt nagged at him like an aching tooth.

The most alarming revelation had come to him moments ago when Adam had offered to take responsibility for the witch. Oh, he knew the scamp had been half-jesting, but he was the one who’d reacted like a green youthling. For the first time in his life, he’d tasted the bile of jealousy, and that scared him mightily.

At what point had he stopped noticing the ungodly color of her hair or the overabundance of skin splotches? In truth, the witch was starting to look good to him. Yea, to his horror, he was developing a taste for coppery hair and freckles. Other women, even some comely ones at Anlaf’s court, appeared pale in comparison.

Tykir was going mad. His life was unraveling, thread by thread. In the midst of this royal assembly, he fought the compulsion to pull at his hair and roar like a wild bull. That is it, he concluded, I have gone berserk.