Page 99 of The Bewitched Viking

Chapter Fifteen

Two days later, in the middle of the afternoon, Alinor was still in Tykir’s bed.

Oh, he had taken her to the bathhouse late at night when everyone else was asleep, and to the privy when nature called. But mostly, he kept her under lock and key, with Girta putting fresh food and bed linens, along with clean chamber pots, outside the locked door several times a day. Alinor would never be able to face the Viking woman again. Or anyone else in the keep.

Worst of all, Tykir’s men had returned this morn from the hunt, but he refused to leave his bedchamber, not even when Adam came knocking on the door. “Come down, Tykir. You must see the game we bagged on the hunt afore it is all dressed down.”

“Later,” Tykir had mumbled. Her face flamed even now to think what he’d been doing to her at the time. It involved floral-scented skin oils and a belly button stone.

Nor did Tykir budge when Rurik had come inquiring, “Are you alive, Tykir? Or blue? Has the witch snared you so securely that you cannot escape? Shall I break down the door?”

Tykir’s only response to Rurik had been a foul expletive and the comment, “Go away!” At that time, he’d been in the midst of persuading her (he was an expert at persuading) to try a new position…something involving better access to a secret Viking erotic spot on her body. It was a very interesting spot, indeed.

Even Bolthor, now reciting a new saga outside in the corridor, did not move the infuriating Viking to release her.

“Came a witch with a talent for braiding.

Came a Viking with a vain disposition.

She bested him with a chair-braiding.

But some say he got his due

By braiding her maiden hair.

This is the tale of the braiding.”

“Good Lord! He is awful,” Alinor observed.

“Yea,” Tykir agreed, quickly followed by “Hmmm.” Apparently he’d gotten an inspiration—the man had way too many inspirations!—from Bolthor’s saga and was busy trying to braid her maiden hair. Which was an impossible task. And it took him a long time. In the end, he never succeeded, his fingers being too large and clumsy and…well, it being an impossible task…but they both had a good time with the trying, accompanied by a great deal of laughter. And moaning.

“Do I hear moaning in there?” Adam asked, back again and now obviously pressing his ear against the door. How long had he been standing there? Maybe he’d never left. “Best you come down soon, Tykir,” he advised, laughing uproariously, “Bolthor just skipped belowstairs—well, mayhap he did not skip—more like lumbered. And I misremember his exact words, but methinks he is spinning a saga about how to make a Viking groan. Its title is ‘When Norsemen Groan and Witches Moan.’ Dost know what he means?”

They both moaned and groaned together.

“Be careful the witch doesn’t grind your cock down to a nub,” Rurik chimed in. Merciful heavens! The two men must be standing with ears pressed to the door. “I knew a witch once who could do that. ’Twas not the witch who struck me blue. ’Twas another witch.”

“You know a hell of a lot of witches,” Tykir remarked dryly.

Then Rurik addressed Adam. “I still say we should get a log and ram the door.”

“Nay,” Adam said. “Let them do a bit more grinding. Tykir hasn’t had enough grinding in his life lately.”

“I’ll show that pup grinding,” Tykir grumbled, getting out of bed and storming over to unlock the door. With no modesty whatsoever, he stood in the half-open doorway, bare-naked, and shouted down to Girta’s husband, “Red Gunn, bring a bathing tub and hot water up here. My lady has worked up a mighty stink. Just jesting,” he called back to Alinor, whose nakedness was fortunately hidden from view by his large frame. Then he added to her humiliation by shouting to Red Gunn again, “Make sure it’s the big tub…the one large enough for two people.”

The laughter rising up from the great hall must have come from dozens of men, by the sound of its volume.

“Ty-kir! Are those scratches and bite marks all over your body?” Adam questioned. “Oh, for shame! Look at that, Rurik. Do my eyes prove me false, or are those fingermarks on Tykir’s manpart?” To Tykir, he added, “Does it hurt?”

“I told you she was a witch, but would anyone believe me? Nay!” Rurik snorted with disgust. “No doubt those fingermarks will turn blue. Blue, I tell you, Tykir. Blue!”

“Why don’t you go heal someone, healer,” Tykir suggested with a loud yawn. “And Rurik, best you go check your own manpart, for I am now convinced the witch has impressive…uh, powers.”

A gurgling sound was Rurik’s only response. He was checking the inside of his breechclout, she would wager.

“’Tis true I am a master healer,” Adam boasted. “Is it possible Alinor is covered with as many bruises as you? Mayhap you should let me come in to check. ’Tis not good to let these things fester.”

Tykir laughed and slammed the door in both their faces.