Page 70 of The Reluctant Viking

Tykir and Tyra thought it a great joke that Ruby had whiskers on her legs just like their fathers had on their faces. They asked her to lift her pant leg so they could touch them.

“’Tis like the bristles on a hog’s skin afore the butchering,” Tykir declared in amazement. Tyra fell over in exaggerated glee at his words.

When she finished bathing and shaving her legs with soap lather and Vigi’s razor-sharp knife, nicking herself only a few times, the children asked to touch her legs again. Their mouths formed little “o’s” of surprise at the smoothness.

After she’d helped Aud and Gyda prepare the blueberry pastries, Ruby went to her room where Ella was laying out a lovely dress.

“’Tis a gift from the master and mistress for yer storytelling yestereve,” Ella explained.

Heavy gold braiding edged the hem, wrists and neckline of the simple burgundy silk dress, whose soft fabric molded her breasts and outlined her narrow waist, held in tightly by a gold braided belt. When she walked, the dress followed the lines of her narrow hips and long legs. Other than her lingerie, Ruby wore only a thin chemise, loving the feel of the sensuous cloth against her skin.

But Ruby went unnoticed, or so she thought, in the noise and bustle of the banquet room. Still exiled to the end of the room, Ruby was pleased to see that Linette had been bumped from the dais for the many visiting high-born Vikings. Many would go on to Jorvik and Sigtrygg’s castle the next day, while others would wait until next week to travel with Dar and his family to the Althing. Everywhere the crowd buzzed with news of Sigtrygg’s upcoming wedding.

Ruby’s heart lurched, though, when she saw the young woman sitting next to Thork at the head table. Her long chestnut hair hung past her shoulders, held in place by a gold circlet around her forehead. No more than fifteen years old, she seemed to answer Thork’s questions shyly, averting her eyes from his direct stare, then darting interested glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

It had to be the Saxon-Viking maid Elise that Dar wanted for Thork. Elise’s father, whose lands adjoined Dar’s, sat on one side of Dar, his wife on the other.

In disgust, Ruby took a hefty swig of the hearty Viking ale and choked. It was odious.

“Tastes like horse piss, does it not?” a young pimply-faced hesir whined next to her. “The best wine and mead go to the upper tables.”

Ruby put her elbow on the table, holding up her chin, and wondered what else could go wrong. First Linette, now this beautiful young girl. Ruby watched painfully as Thork cut a prime piece of meat off the platter he shared with the girl and handed it to her considerately. She smiled sweetly at him in thanks.

Ruby thought she would puke.

Ella walked by with a tray of bannock, and Ruby stopped her. “Do you think you could bring me some wine?”

“Needin’ ta drown yer sorrows, are ya?” she said, cocking her head toward the dais, but she returned shortly with a small jug which she’d hidden in her skirts.

“Do not let anyone see this,” Ella said, sliding it under the bench at Ruby’s feet. “’Tis from Dar’s private Frisian stock.”

Surreptitiously Ruby reached under the table, dumped her ale in the rushes and filled her cup with the red wine. Her hesir companion looked at her oddly, wondering aloud what she did down in the rushes, but she glared him into silence.

The first cup went straight to Ruby’s head, out to her fingertips and down to her toes. She sipped her second cup more slowly, only gulping larger mouthfuls when she saw Thork doing something particularly distasteful, like touching the girl’s sleeve gently when he asked a question or whispering in her ear when the noise level in the room got too loud. He ignored Ruby totally.

It was a futile battle, trying to get Thork to marry her, Ruby told herself in self-pity as she finished her second cup, touching her lips in wonder. How did her lips get numb? And her eyelashes felt as if they weighed ten pounds each. But, Lord, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this good.

As the tables were dismantled and people milled about in groups, waiting for the entertainment, she poured her third drink, feeling a drunken rush of self-confidence. Maybe it wasn’t hopeless, after all. Maybe she should go right up there and demand that Thork marry her. Better yet, maybe she should get a sword and kidnap Thork. Lock him in her room with her for a week, and, guar-an-teed, she’d get a proposal from him or he’d be dead from sexual depletion. She giggled at the thought, getting the attention of her young hesir, who also stood alone.

“Why, you had wine the whole time!” he complained, noticing the jug at her feet. “What a pig to keep it all to yourself!”

“Not a pig. A hog. I have legs like a hog’s skin, don’t you know? Before the butchering.” She giggled again, then hiccuped. After handing the young man the almost empty container, she weaved her way through the crowd toward the head of the hall, her half-empty cup of wine held shakily in front of her.

Dar and all his noble visitors had moved off the dais and were sitting or standing, listening to two young women with harp and lute who sang a soft melody. Ruby got her first close-up look at Thork and choked back her laughter. He wore a burgundy velvet tunic with gold braiding, almost identical to her dress—Dar’s idea of a practical joke, she presumed. Wide gold bracelets gleamed on his tanned upper arms, and a gold pendant on a heavy chain lay against his chest. The hair on one side of his head had been braided and hung off the side of his head and down his back, highlighting the one thunderbolt earring.

He looks like a bloody Norse god, Ruby thought, and gulped.

Thork blinked with surprise at their matching clothing, then curled his lips with disgust. He shot an accusing glance at his grandfather who feigned innocence with a shrug. Then Thork stared pointedly at the wine Ruby still sipped as she leaned tipsily against the back of someone’s chair. Anger flashed in his eyes as she raised defiant eyes to his. Thork stood and started to walk purposefully toward her, but Ruby slipped into the crowd and moved to the other side of the room.

When a visiting jarl rose from his chair to go to the garderobe, Ruby sank wearily into it, holding her chin in her hand. Dar gave her a disapproving look, but Ruby ignored the unspoken message that she was not high enough in their stupid class system to be sitting where she was.

Thork stood directly across the circle from her, glaring. Having had enough of his anger and rebuffs and orders, Ruby stuck her tongue out at him and thought his eyes would bug out. It felt so good she did it again and tried to look cross-eyed at him, but for some reason her coordination was bogged down, and her eyes just kind of rolled. But she’d succeeded in turning Thork’s face almost purple by now. He would have vaulted the circle of guests if the skald hadn’t started a long lyric poem.

Under normal circumstances, Ruby might have been interested, but she felt as if she were floating now—a glorious feeling! She let her empty wine cup slip from her fingers to the rushes.

The skaldic poem ended with a story about some Viking and his precious knife called Fealty and how it had saved him in some battle. “Good Lord! Only a Viking would name a knife, like a pet,” Ruby muttered, and the Viking seated next to her shot her an annoyed frown.

Everyone congratulated the skald after he finished, asking him questions. In the short lull that followed, one woman guest talked cattily to Aud in a voice loud enough for many around her to hear.