Dark Viking (22 page)

Another black mark in her book of Steven crimes against her.

When the younger children crept slowly toward her, hoping for more stories, Arnstein, the steward, yelled for them to come back to the keep and help their mothers. Probably on orders from Steven the Meany.

At first, the kids pretended not to hear Arnstein.

“I can‟t tell you any stories right now, but I can teach you a trick.”

That got their interest.

“Can you all stand on your heads?”

The older ones said yes, but the little ones just stared at her dumbly.

So, being careful of her chain and already barefooted, she stood on her hands, and not just that, she proceeded to walk around the pole. It was something she‟d learned to do as a child, probably one of the early indicators that she had an athletic bent.

The children were giggling and laughing, rolling in the dirt, as they tried unsuccessfully to do the same.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Because she was surprised by the sharp voice behind her, she lost her balance and fell, almost choking herself in the process.

Steven stood, hands braced on hips, glaring at her as if she‟d committed some great crime.

Meanwhile, the kids had scattered like scared chickens.

“Are you trying to kill me?” she complained, rubbing her neck where the chain had yanked at her collar.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“No, but I‟m bored just sitting here pretending to admire your studliness. What‟s so wrong with playing with the children?”

“Studliness?” he sputtered. “You are being punished. You are not supposed to be enjoying yourself. And stop looking at me like you are a cat and I am the bowl of milk you cannot wait to lap. Much more, and you will find I am luckier than you think I can be.” She shook her head like a wet dog, realizing that she had been gaping at his bare chest. “You stink,” she blurted out.

“Of course I stink. I have been sweating like a boar in heat.”

“Did I tell you I am going to discover deodorant?”

“Huh?”

“In my time, men and women wear deodorant under their arms so that they don‟t smell. My witch friends gave me a bunch of ingredients to experiment with.”

He put his face in both hands and appeared to be counting. When he glanced up again, he said, “Please, I beg you, do not be going around telling people that they stink.”

“You mean, like your King Olaf when he arrives?” she asked sweetly.

His eyes widened with alarm. “Do not dare! Or you will find that collar and chain a permanent fixture.”

Talking to him was like talking to a brick wall. So she turned her back on him and lay down on the ground, curling herself carefully around the pole.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Taking a nap.”

There was silence behind her for a moment before he said, “Mayhap we should both go indoors and take a nap. I am feeling lucky.”

She thought of so many rejoinders, cute ones, insulting ones, but she decided to settle on just giving him the cold shoulder. Expecting him to stomp off, she waited.

Instead, he said, “I like your arse.”

“What?” She jerked, hitting her forehead on the pole.

“In those braies, your form is clearly delineated, especially your plump arse. Very nice!”

If he thought that he was going to gain himself points by saying she had a fat behind, he had another think coming. Coming back to a sitting position with her back against the pole, she said, “You‟ve got a pretty nice butt yourself. Too bad you‟re such an ass.”

Chuckling, he went off to play more of his war games.

She soon had another visitor. Sigvid, who was well into another bout of hiccuping. “Can you—
hiccup
—help me—
hiccup
?”

“Me? I don‟t know anything about hiccups. Maybe when Sigge comes back tomorrow, she can get a remedy from her aunts.”

“Her aunts—
hiccup
—the witches—
hiccup
?”

Rita nodded.

“I would rather—
hiccup
—take my chances with you—
hiccup
.”

“Thanks a bunch.”

“Please. Lady Thora banished me—
hiccup
—from the keep. Says I am annoying . . .

hiccup
.”

She was about to say that Lady Thora had no authority to banish anyone but decided it would be wiser not to enrage Lady Thora while she had a chain attached to her neck. “Okay, here‟s one thing that I‟ve heard works.” She handed her cup of water to Sigvid. “Bend over from the waist and drink this water, but wait, you need to drink from the opposite side of the cup, so that your chin is inside. And take one long sip after another. Maybe six total.”

Sigvid was unable to drink and keep her balance at the same time. She fell forward, the cup flying, and her gown flipping up to expose a pair of red wool panties covering a pair of very ample buttocks, accented by purple bows on each hip. She was still hiccuping, but instead of being angry or engaging in her usual sobbing, her back was lifting rhythmically. She was laughing.

“What in the gods‟ name are you up to now?” Steven asked.

His eyes about bugged out at the sight of Sigvid‟s red-clad bottom, which she had raised in the air as she attempted to get up. She was laughing so hard that the hiccups miraculously stopped.

“Helping Sigvid get rid of her hiccups,” she said, laughing along with the woman sitting beside her now, tugging her gown down over her knees.

“You are being punished. What part of punishment do you not understand? Laughing and conversing with every single person passing by is not punishment.”

She looked up at Steven‟s stern face. “What? Afraid your men might think you‟re not harsh enough with me?”

“Do not push me, woman.”

“Ruff, ruff!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I‟m learning to be a dog.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“I don‟t know. You oughtta see me wag my tail.”

She almost got a smile out of him. Almost, but not quite. “Sigvid, go back into the keep and find something to occupy yourself other than bothering my . . . my thrall.”

“But—”

“You heard me.”

“What she‟s trying to tell you is that Lady Thora banished her from the keep.”

Steven put both hands to his hair and tugged on the cute war braids intertwined with clear colored beads. “Aaarrgh!” Then he told Sigvid to give Lady Thora a message from him. It was a very crude message.

“I could ne‟er say
that
!” Sigvid exclaimed.

He ignored Sigvid and wagged a finger at Rita. “Do not make me come back here again, or you will be sorry.”

“It‟s not my fault.”

“Do not talk back to me. I mean it, Ree-tah. Any more trouble, and you will not like the consequences.”

So she sat, leaning against her pole, with nothing to do but think, and think, and think.

There were two scenarios that occupied her most. One: what to do if she were stuck here in the past? Today‟s happenings didn‟t bode well for her place in this society. Or two: what to do if she was able to go home? Because, frankly, she was beginning to think that WEALS wasn‟t her fate, either. Oh, it was all well and good as a way to pay off her debts, and she certainly had the physical capability to survive its strict regimen, and she was as patriotic as the next guy. Still, this time-travel experience marked a turning point in her life. If she only knew what it was!

No time to think any more on that, though. Here came Oslac, baited for bear . . . or rather, baited for she-who-wore-a-slave-collar.

He stood before her, arms folded over his chest, legs spread in a typical male stance of aggression. Like Steven, he wore no shirt, and sweat gleamed on his very fine body. With his blond hair, height, and Nordic features, he was pure Viking. Too bad he was such a prick.
Oops, I’m not supposed to use foul language anymore. Well, maybe it’s okay when I just think
bad words.

“You better scoot away, Oslac. Steven doesn‟t want me causing any more trouble, and you look like trouble to me.”

He snorted his opinion of her warning.

“Well, spit it out,” she said when he just continued to glower at her.

“I have something to say to you, wench.”

No kidding.
“Did Steven send you?”

“Nay, he did not.”

“Your face is going to freeze like that if you‟re not careful,” she remarked when he still just continued to glower at her. “You have enough furrows in your forehead to grow wheat.”

“You make jest of me and my people at your peril, but know this: I will not allow you to destroy him.”

“Him who?”

“You know very well who. Steven.”

“Destroy? Aren‟t you being a little dramatic?”

“This family has known too much pain, Steven most of all. One by one members of his family have disappeared or died. He carried Norstead and Amberstead during the times when his brother was too grieved to care. He nigh died himself of the heartache when Thorfinn went to the Other World.”

Other World is one way of thinking of twenty-first-century America.

“And now you come here promising to lift his heavy burden.”

“I never promised to lift anything. And if you bring up that light business, I just might puke.

I never asked to be sent here.”

“Betimes the Norns of Fate have other ideas, and who are we humans to resist what the gods ordain?”

“I‟m Christian. I don‟t believe in gods or norns, whatever they are.”

Oslac waved a hand dismissively. “One-God. Many gods. It matters not. What does matter is you, wench. Someone or something guided you here to light Steven‟s way.”

“Me? A guiding light? Like a soap opera? I don‟t think so!”

“I must needs leave here soon. My father is ill and needs me back in Norsemandy. But I cannot leave lest I know your intentions.”

“Here‟s the deal, Oslac. I respect your friendship with Steven and your concern for his well-being when you‟re gone, but I honestly don‟t know what role I‟m supposed to play in his future or that of Norstead.”

“The time-travel nonsense?”

She nodded. “One thing is for sure, being tied up like a slave today isn‟t the best way to ensure my cooperation.”

He shrugged as if that was of little concern. “Just know this . . . if you abandon him, I will search you out and kill you. No matter where you are. And it will be a slow death, I promise you.”

“Abandon? Abandon?”

He had already turned and was stomping away.

“How could I abandon someone who never asked me to stay?”

But what if he did? She had no chance to ponder that question further, because she was about to have another visitor. Really, she felt like the target of the Viking Welcome Wagon. Or was that the Unwelcome Wagon?

A young man carrying a big bow and several arrows was heading toward the keep when he noticed her. Looking back to the field where Steven was busy in a huddle with several men, examining a broken lance, he hesitated, then veered to the right and came to stand before her.

“I am Armod, chief archer at Norstead.” The young man was not as young as she‟d thought.

Probably late teens, but he was only of mid height with a lean and wiry build. Not unattractive, if you disregarded the yellowed teeth and body odor.

She nodded. “Nice to meet you, Armod. Forgive me if I don‟t stand.”

He sank down to his haunches before her, giving her yet another whiff of BO. She was definitely working on a deodorant first chance she got.

“I saw you teaching the boylings. You were good.”

“I used to compete in archery competitions. In fact, I won several blue ribbons at the World University Games.” Glancing at the broken arrow in his hand, she asked, “What‟s the problem?”

“No problem. I just need to have the carpenter prepare us more wood shafts and the arrow maker to attach the heads.”

“I‟m not an expert in aerodynamics or anything, but it seems to me that you could get more speed by working on the shafts, adding a few feathers, perhaps honing the arrowheads more narrowly.”

She could tell she‟d gotten his interest before he urged, “Explain, if you will.”

She did, but once again added a disclaimer that she wasn‟t an expert or even informed on arrows or bow making. “All I would suggest is that you experiment with several different designs and see which ones give you greater speed, durability, and lighter weight. Don‟t make the mistake of thinking a heavier bow or thicker arrow is more desirable.”

“I do not believe my eyes.”

“Uh-oh!” She looked up behind Armod, at the same time the young man glanced back over his shoulder. She wasn‟t as concerned about the fury on Steven‟s face as she was by the horror . . . abject fear, actually . . . on Armod‟s.

“Armod, you know better,” Steven seethed.

“I was just . . .”

Steven raised a hand. “You know better.”

Armod ducked his head.

“No man dallies with what is mine, Armod. No matter how far the dalliance goes.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Rita unwrapped her chains, which had been only loosely looped around the pole, stood, and walked up to Steven. He was so angry, his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. “First of all, I am not yours. Second, there was no dalliance. For heaven‟s sake, he was just talking to me.”

“Shut your teeth, wench, or you will suffer the same fate as Armod.”

A cold chill ran over her spine. “What fate?” When he didn‟t answer, she asked hesitantly, “You wouldn‟t hurt him . . . would you?”

Again, he didn‟t answer her. Instead, he told Armod, “Go inside and wait for Geirfinn‟s return from the fields. We will discuss your punishment before this evening‟s meal.”

Armod slumped off, casting an accusing glare her way, as if she was responsible for his being accused of a “dalliance.” “You are not going to punish that boy for nothing.”

“That boy is a man, and he is most definitely going to be punished.”

“And it‟s my fault?”

“Come,” he said, taking the end of her chain and tugging her to follow him.

“Walk slower, you idiot, unless you
want
to choke me to death.”

He slowed but did not look her way. She could see that he was fighting to control his anger as he walked along. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his neck was so stiff he could have swallowed a sword with no difficulty. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but not by much.