Kiss of Temptation: A Deadly Angels Book (34 page)

“Is Gregor still pursuing you?” Medana teased.

“Always. The man does not give up.” Agnis grinned. ’Twas clear to one and all that Agnis had a fondness for the Russian goldsmith who visited the trading center several times a year.

“Mayhap you will give in one of these days?” Medana suggested.

Agnis shrugged. “Mayhap, but then I am enjoying the gifts he brings me.” She lifted the neckline of her gown to show Medana a fine gold chain. “How is Olga doing?”

“She rules the kitchens like a hardened warrior.” Olga was Agnis’s aunt, who’d come to them two years past when her husband died.

Agnis shared some stories about her aunt that had them both laughing, but then she turned serious. “Your brother Sigurd was here two sennights ago.” At the look of concern on Medana’s face, Agnis immediately added, “I had Bessie take over the stall for me.” Bessie was the shortened name for Beatrix, a Saxon holder of a nearby pottery shed. “I am certain he did not see me.”

Medana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in. She had reason to fear her brothers, even after all these years and what she had done to thwart their plans, but Agnis also had cause to be wary. Sigurd was Egil’s father. If the child of his loins had been a daughter, Sigurd would not care, but a son, now that would be a different matter. Furthermore, he would be angered at Agnis, a thrall, leaving without his permission.

It was late when Medana returned to
Pirate Lady
, the longship anchored at the far end of the wharf. A guardswoman standing at the rail greeted her with a hearty “Who goes there?” It was Elida, Thrudr’s mistress of threads, who was in charge of all sheep shearing, spinning, weaving, and clothes making. Everyone on the island had a title for the numerous jobs needed for them to subsist: Mistress of hunt, fish, and fowl. Mistress of farming. Mistress of animal care. Mistress of cooking. Mistress of laundry. In fact, there were so many titles these days, it had become a matter of jest, especially when someone had to be called mistress of the privy.

With a smile, Medana replied, “ ’Tis me. Chieftain-ess Medana.” She smiled even wider at the title, which had been assigned to her as a sign of deference.

After the first few years on the island, the women felt the need for some order of authority, so they’d modeled themselves on the male-dominated Norse society. High king or chieftain; jarl, which was comparable to an English earl; karl; ceorls; and thralls. Thus, jarl-ess, karl-ess, and ceorl-ess. The five members of Medana’s council were considered jarl-esses. There were no thralls; slavery being forbidden, even for captives. Not that they’d ever taken captives. “Has everyone returned?” Medana asked.

Elida nodded, but she shifted her eyes hither and yon, never quite meeting Medana’s gaze. She was nervous for some reason. Must be because this was the first time she’d been given such responsibility. A talented weaver, Elida had requested a chance to prove her worth as an archer in Medana’s personal guard. Already Elida’s small hands were calloused and scratched, and, even with practice, the slim woman couldn’t hit a Saxon boar from three paces. It would take sennights for the ointments of her healer, Liv, to restore Elida’s skin to the point where she could once again handle fine wool. Medana doubted that Elida would be going a-Viking again.

Moving on toward her small quarters, Medana inquired politely of Bergdis, one of her rowers, “Did you find a man to mate with this eve?”

Bergdis, who was Mistress of buildings and woodworking back home, rolled her wide shoulders—all of the rowers were well-muscled on their upper bodies to handle the hard exercise required to pull oars—before replying, “Yea, I did. But only once. There was no time for more.”

It must have been an energetic mating because Bergdis’s tunic was lopsided, half on and half off one shoulder, and the two braids that she normally wore to keep her frizzy red hair off her face had come undone. Her thick eyebrows were more grizzly than usual. Pity the man she’d set her eyes on this night.

That was unkind
, Medana immediately chastised herself. Bergdis was a good woman who’d overcome huge tragedy in her former life. She deserved every reward that came her way, especially if it was a child, please gods.

Medana shrugged. Her crew knew ahead of time that this visit to Hedeby was destined to be short. If they made good speed, they might go a-Viking on the way home, but they must be careful not to visit those places they’d plundered on the way here. Stealth was an important tactic for female pirates, not having the strength and manpower of their male counterparts.

She noticed that Bergdis seemed nervous, too, rubbing the palms of her hands together. “Is something amiss?” Medana asked.

“Nay. Why would you ask me that? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Bergdis’s defensive response startled Medana. “It was only a question. I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”

Just then, there was a pounding noise coming from below in the hold of the longship. Bang, bang, bang! Like a booted foot kicking wood. “What is that?”

“Must be the bull,” both women said.

“I hope it does no damage. Mayhap I should go down and make sure the creature is tied securely. I wouldn’t want him hurt. After all, his services are sorely needed. I swear Helga is in as much need of a man as many of you.” Helga was one of their most fertile cows.

Neither of the women smiled at Medana’s jest.

Her rudder master, Solveig, stepped up from behind her and said, “Not to worry. I will take care of the matter. You know I have a way with animals.”

That was the first time Medana had ever heard Solveig had a way with animals, seeing as how she was Mistress of shipwrighting, but Medana was not about to argue the point now.

Her chief housecarl, Mistress of military, Gudron, a huge warrior of a woman who could heft a heavy broadsword with the best of men, handed her a wooden goblet. “Have a drink of ale to toast our voyage home.” Medana noticed that Gudron had crystals twisted in the blonde war braids that framed her square face. No doubt she’d been man hunting this evening, like many of the others.

That was nice of Gudron, even if the ale did taste a bit sour. After taking a few sips, Medana handed the cup back to her. She yawned widely then. The two cups of wine, watered down at that, plus these new sips of ale, shouldn’t be affecting her so. “I am off to bed for a few hours’ sleep. We set sail at daybreak.”

Whether it was the wine and ale or the sway of the ship or just exhaustion, Medana slept soundly and did not awaken until the ship was already under way. Which was odd. Her crew had always waited for her orders before setting sail in the past.

It was later, when they were already too far out to sea to turn around, that Medana learned what the noisy cargo was that they carried below. And it was no bull.