Page 92 of The Bewitched Viking

Did he want her to be humiliated by her continued nudity?

Yea, he did. The troll!

But what remained a mystery to her, as he no doubt intended, were the feathers. Obviously he intended to torture her with them. But how? Did he intend to stick the quills into her body, like a bird? Or make her eat them?

Adam had inferred, when she’d shown him the gifts, that the feathers had some perverted sexual purpose, but for the life of her, Alinor couldn’t figure what that might be.

“Oh, for the love of Freyja!” Girta had started to open the door with a load of freshly laundered linens in her arms. Her mouth went slack-jawed with disbelief. But then she scurried off, giggling, no doubt to tell the world about Alinor’s ignominious position. And that was probably Tykir’s intent.

“Have you missed me, witchling?”

Tykir pushed the door open wider with his hip and carried in a pottery jug and a huge wooden platter loaded with food—manchet bread, cold meats, cheese, apples and pears, along with a honeycomb dripping its sweet nectar. He set the jug and food on a low chest and locked the door behind him.

“Nay, I haven’t missed you,” she said sourly. Then she made the mistake of adding, “Have you missed me?”

He grinned, though she could still see fierce anger in the glittering gold of his eyes and the hard lines bracketing his mouth. “Yea,” he replied. “With a passion.”

More innuendos! Alinor was tired, tired, tired of all the sly words. And she was hungry. And embarrassed beyond belief at the way the brute was staring at her with…well, hunger. “Are we going to eat?”

“Not yet.”

He walked slowly toward the bed, toed off his ankle boots, then lifted his tunic up and over his head. His hair was clubbed back at the nape with a leather thong. He kicked the boots to the side. Then, with a careless flourish, he tossed the tunic over his shoulder. It landed in the rushes.

Blessed Lord! The man had the body of a god. All muscled contours and sun-toughened skin, he exuded masculinity in a wide-shouldered, lean-hipped frame—a frame that drew the reluctant eye.

“Have you had time to contemplate your fate, my lady?” He crawled up onto the bed and knelt between her legs, wearing only a pair of low-slung braies.

Oh, the mortification of her nakedness! And he was enjoying it all! “Get on with it, Viking. Lest I fall asleep.”

“In time, in time,” he drawled. “Do not be so anxious.” He leaned forward and tapped her playfully on the mouth with a forefinger, cautioning, “You are a foolish, foolish maid to challenge me with that remark.”

She pretended to yawn. A foolish taunt that bolstered her flagging pride and naught else.

He grinned infuriatingly. “Are you familiar with peacocks, Alinor?” he asked, pulling the case closer.

“I am,” she said hesitantly.

“I would wager you do not know the things that I do.”

What? He is going to give me a lecture now? I really will fall asleep. And, oh, she wished he would cover himself. I am not going to notice the flatness of his stomach or the deep ridges of his ropey abdomen. I am not going to notice the hotness of his honey eyes under thick fringes of golden lashes. I am not going to notice…

“The male peacock, of course, is the more resplendent of the species. As most men are.”

“And they both squawk in the most ungodly fashion during the mating season,” she pointed out, then gave an imitation of the “Honnk, honnk, honnk!” noise the birds made for nights on end. A neighbor of hers had tried breeding peacocks at one time and soon gave it up.

He nodded his head in agreement. “Yea, and ’tis all to attract the female. The squawking and the plumage. See what you females force us males to do, all to gain your sexual favors.”

So, that’s where this conversation is leading?

“The most interesting thing about peacocks is their feathers, of course. So many different textures, everything from the spectacular eye feathers to the soft underdown, all on one bird. ’Tis why they are so popular in the eastern harems.”

A long silence followed in which she presumed that he wanted her to contemplate how they would be used in the harems. She pretended to comprehend what she did not by prodding, “So?”

“So, I think we should experiment with them.”

“Experiment?” This time her voice betrayed her calm facade by coming out as a squeak.

He smiled. “Yea. Look at this one.” The quill itself was not that long, but from it came an extended trail of tendrils—azure blue silk threads intermingled with pure white.