Page 53 of A Tale of Two Vikings

“Good Lord! You are the best-looking nun I have ever seen,” Alinor said.

Sister Tostina winked at her, then whipped off his veil and wimple. It was Toste, of course.

“I hope you have no Saxon nobles about, other than yourself,” Toste said to Eirik. “Otherwise, this two-day disguise of ours may be for naught.”

Eirik shook his head. “None but us here…for now.”

Tykir reached up to help Toste get down, but he waved his hand away. “First, I would like you to meet Sister Esme.”

“Huh?” they all said. It was becoming a common refrain this day.

Toste lifted the bottom half of his robe with a flourish and out crawled a woman…a nun, actually, who had been kneeling between his thighs. A beautiful nun with head rail askew and face flushed with humiliation stood and moved to the right so she was not directly in front of Toste, who stood, as well.

“Oh, now you have gone too far, Toste,” Alinor said. “You have done some outrageous things in the past, but tupping a nun…in public?”

“This is as bad as the time he tried to seduce the caliph’s daughter atop a camel,” Tykir said, but it was obvious from the gleam in his eye he was not offended…either by the camel seduction or the nun tupping.

“What do you suppose she was doing under his robes?” Eirik asked Eadyth, and she smacked him on the arm.

“There is tupping, and then there is tupping,” Tykir answered for her.

It was Tykir’s turn to get smacked…by his own wife.

Sister Esme looked up at Toste. She looked at all of them standing in the courtyard with Bolthor. Then she looked at Toste again and said, “If you even blink at me in the future, let alone speak, I am going to cut off your manpart with a dull knife.”

The men in the courtyard winced.

But the ladies gave little cheers of encouragement. The women of the family ever did encourage independence of spirit in their females.

“Welcome to Ravenshire,” Eadyth said, stepping forth.

“Thank you,” Sister Esme said, jumping down off the cart after brushing off Toste’s offer of help. “I am Lady Esme of Evergreen. Please get me away from this oaf afore I kill him.”

“Hey, I am your champion. I am the one who saved you from your father. I am the brave knight who wore this ignominious disguise for you,” Toste yelled to her back.

Lady Esme said a very vulgar thing then—not at all the kind of thing a nun should be saying. But of course the ladies clapped and the men grinned, including Toste.

Eirik decided then and there that this was going to be a very interesting yule season at Ravenshire.

Everything’s turning up roses. Thank God!…

Esme half reclined in a large brass tub afore a roaring fire in her small guest bedchamber at Ravenshire. The air was sweet-scented, as would be her body, from the dried rose petals which covered the surface of the hot water. The perfect cure for her aching bones and cramped muscles.

Why then was Esme bawling her eyes out, with loud, hiccoughing sobs? For twenty and four years—almost twenty-five—she had learned to control her emotions. Even when beaten by her father…even when threatened with death…even when faced with the prospect of a dotty old husband…Esme had held her tears in check. Now she could not stem the flood.

It was relief, pure and simple. For the first time in many, many years, she felt safe. Oh, the danger still existed. Her father could petition the king, who would undoubtedly hand her over, if he could find her. But for now, for this short period, she basked in the luxury of tranquillity.

A short rap on the closed door interrupted her tears.

“Come in,” she called out to Eadyth, who was no doubt returning with the maid and more pails of hot water. What a gracious hostess Eadyth had been so far, treating her as a welcome guest and not the intruder she was.

The door closed softly.

Still half reclining with her neck resting on the curled edge of the tub, she said, “Just put the pails next to the tub. I’ll ladle the water in myself as needed. And thank you once again, Eadyth.”

She heard a stool being pulled close to the tub and a male voice say, “I may wear a gown on occasion, but I’m not Eadyth.”

It was Toste, of course. The arrogant, crude, presumptuous Viking rogue.