Page 34 of The Reluctant Viking

“’Tis of no importance,” Sigtrygg said. “Sing.”

Embarrassment flushed Ruby’s face. At home she could accompany herself with chords on her son’s guitar to cover her mistakes. She picked up the lute sitting on a table near the king, wondering if it would work. She strummed it a few times. Definitely not the same, but better than nothing.

“I’ll try,” Ruby told the king, “but don’t expect much.”

He said nothing but looked as if he did, in fact, expect much. What could he do? Chop off her head? Ruby quipped morbidly to herself.

“Before I start, I have to explain a few things about words you might not understand in this song. There was a famous war in my country that’s referred to in this song as the Asian War. It’s about a man, a brave warrior, who was injured in that war so severely that his legs are paralyzed and he’s lost his”—Ruby sought for the right word—“manhood.”

She saw several men in the audience nod knowingly and went on, “His injuries are so severe that he expects to die soon, but still he’s hurt by a young wife who wants more out of life than marriage to a handicapped man.”

The room was deathly quiet. She had the Vikings’ full attention.

Ruby strummed on the lute, singing hesitantly and softly at first of this poor man seeing his wife leaving him to be with another man. Whenever she sang the refrain, in a lower husky octave, where the ex-soldier begs his wife Ruby not to take her love to town, she saw smiles of appeciation dimple some of the fierce Vikings’ faces and tears mist the eyes of others. Inadvertently, Ruby had chosen a song that struck a chord in the hearts of these sensitive warlords. They understood too well the price of battle, knowing it could happen to any one of them and already had to some of their comrades.

The room was totally silent when Ruby finished.

Uh oh! Did this mean head chopping time?

Ruby looked at Thork who had set his drink down and watched her intently, clearly mesmerized by her musical story. Ruby smiled at him, and a spot deep inside her moved when he smiled back. His steady, riveting gaze carried a warmth through that thin thread of magnetism that connected them, setting her blood asimmer and her heart racing. With each tension-coiled second their eyes held fast, the bond between them expanded and grew stronger.

Then the whole room burst into excited sounds of approval, and Ruby and Thork were rudely jolted from their seductive trances. King Sigtrygg stood and clapped Ruby on the back so enthusiastically she almost dropped the lute.

“Well met! Well met!” he declared. “Tomorrow you will teach that saga to my skald.” The storyteller didn’t look too happy at that prospect. “Now tell us the other song-story about your sister. What is her name?”

“Lucille.”

The Vikings loved this song, as well, about an adulterous wife whose husband confronts her in a barroom over her leaving him and their four hungry children. By the time she ended the song, the Vikings sang the refrain along with her in deep, deep voices, chastising the flighty Lucille for picking a fine time to leave her husband.

Ruby was a hit. The feet-stomping, beer-drinking Vikings were country music lovers. They demanded she sing both songs again, then asked if she knew any others.

Only Thork didn’t seem to appreciate her songs. His mood had changed from the warm exchange of only a few minutes ago. He grumbled coldly, “’Tis fair odd to me that you sing such songs. I see naught to amuse in a tale which eulogizes the ever-constant lack of loyalty in women.”

The king and a number of men howled gleefully at Thork’s words. They knew of Thork’s bitter attitude encompassing all women. In fact, they probably shared that view.

“No, you miss the point, Thork,” Ruby corrected. “The songs speak scornfully of those few women who don’t appreciate a good man of honor.”

What was the use of trying to defend herself with Thork? Ruby began to think she could use a beer herself but knew her fate might depend on keeping to the king’s good side. She racked her brain for another song and came up with nothing.

But then she remembered two catchy songs she’d heard playing over and over on her car radio. The Vikings might like them because of the funny words and the deep, deep notes required in parts. When she was done singing Garth Brooks’s “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places” and Hank Williams, Jr.’s “All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming Over Tonight,” the roof practically lifted off the high ceiling with the raucous laughter and shouts for more. She concluded with the old Mac Davis song “Lord, It’s Hard to Be Humble” and watched the burly Viking men roar with laughter, even knowing she aimed the song at them.

Thork riveted her with a strange, questioning expression. She intrigued him, as she did the other Vikings, no question of that, but there was something more on his devastatingly handsome face that Ruby couldn’t quite identify. His piercing blue eyes held hers, and Ruby tried to understand what it was he was trying to tell her, to no avail. Somewhere deep inside she knew the answer, but it eluded her now. Ruby put a hand to her forehead in weary confusion.

“The wench is fair dropping with fatique,” Thork told the king, having understood her gesture immediately. “Let her go for now.” Thork called the lutist and his sister back to entertain again, not waiting for Sigtrygg’s answer.

Taking Ruby’s arm, Thork pulled her to the side, away from the crowd, where he handed her his glass of wine. She put her lips on the rim where his had been, and drank deeply, watching him all the while, wondering at the searching look in his fathomless blue eyes.

She felt dizzy with the wave of sudden wanting that washed over her, realizing what the strange look had been on Thork’s face earlier, as it was now. Jack wore that same look when he was aroused and wanted to make love. What had she said or done to touch that nerve in Thork?

“Who are you?” he whispered thickly. His eyes raked her hungrily.

“Your wife.”

He shook his head negatively but asked in a hoarse, desire-ridden voice, “Would you bed with me?”

Ruby smiled at his blunt words. Always to the point!

“Would you wed with me?”