The Viking Takes a Knight (20 page)

“There is no longer any danger to the boy?”

“Not from the king.”

“Then why are you here?”

He was not happy by half at her rudeness. Best they pass that welcome cup this way so that the wench could welcome him properly. “You are the reason I am here.”

She made a very unattractive snorting sound. “I thought you would have been married by now.
Are
you married?”

“Huh? Who would I have married?”

“Joanna.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “She is back in Jorvik…with Hamr, if you must know.”

“Your mistress rejects you and you think you can come sniffing after me?”

“What?”

She slapped him on the chest and stomped away. When he started to follow her, she turned and snapped, “Stay away from me.”

“Not a bloody chance in hell!”

She headed toward the end of the dais, where a smirking Viking knight, Geirfinn, whom he'd met earlier, was watching the bounce of her breasts as she walked toward him. John bristled. No one else should be noticing the bounce of her breasts, which, by the by, he could tell even with the shroud of an apron were fuller. In fact, she seemed a little fuller all over, including her bouncing rump. Not that he minded. In fact, if she were in a more receptive mood, he would tease her about her wag-tailing him.

The smirking knight made room for her by shoving the short Viking Atzer into an adjoining chair. He'd also met Atzer earlier. A widower, he was forty if he was a day and he had eight children at home looking for a mother. Well, he had news for Atzer. It wasn't going to be Ingrith.

“Move over another chair,” John demanded and slid into Azter's chair on Ingrith's other side. It didn't matter to him that every other person had to move down a seat to make room. It also didn't matter to him that he was creating a scene to the amusement of the two hundred or so warriors and ladies who filled the hall.

“I told you to go away,” she said, turning her back on him as she began to make conversation
with the smirking Norseman. If she only knew why Geirfinn had that perpetual smirk on his face. He fashioned himself a prize and that he was lowering himself to wed such an aged maiden as herself, and didn't mind boasting to one and all about his generosity. “Go. Away!”

She thought she could ignore him, did she?

“I didn't travel on a leaky longboat eating stinky
gammelost
to be ignored by you, witch,” he muttered under his breath.

She still ignored him.

“Have you gained weight, Ingrith?” he asked amiably, figuring he could lure her into a deeper conversation once he got her talking.

Atzer slapped his thigh and said, “Even I know enough not to mention a woman's weight.”

Ingrith turned slowly to glare at him. “Are you saying I am fat?”

“Of course not. You are perfect. Besides, a man likes a bit of flesh to hold on to in certain situations.” He smiled at her.

“Could you possibly be more stupid?”

“I just gave you a compliment.”

Atzer and Geirfinn both guffawed at his apparent stupidity.

“Ingrith, you know that I think you are beautiful. You are more beautiful now than you were before. Call me clumsy in expressing myself, but do not call me stupid.”

“Stupid!” she repeated.

Ingrith's sister Drifa walked up the steps of the dais with the huge welcome cup then. “Will you partake of the
minna
?” she asked from behind them. “The memorial toasts?” It appeared that he and the two Viking dolts were expected to give toasts.

Atzer went first. He went on and on expounding on all the gods to bless this land and this family and its warriors in their battles against the miscreant Saxons, ending with a toast to Freyja, the goddess of fertility, thanking her for all the children he already had and those yet to come. He glanced pointedly at Ingrith on that ending.

She pretended not to have noticed.

Then Geirfinn stood and preened before speaking. His toast was pretty much a praise poem to himself and all his manly feats, which included a suspiciously high number of Saxon kills.

Did everyone forget he was a Saxon?

At the end, Geirfinn raised his cup to Ingrith, and he winked at her.

John would have liked to poke the cockscomb in the eye with one of his gaudy mantle brooches. What man needed three brooches at one time, anyway?

Drifa put a hand on his shoulder then, and handed him the cup. She was a petite woman, part Arab would be his guess, by the slant of her eyes and hue of her skin.

If these folks thought he was going to blather on about this and that, he had news for them. He stood and said, “Here's a toast to women with
wag-tail arses and an enthusiasm for bedsport.” Then he plopped back down to his chair and took a long swig of the strong ale.

Everyone was laughing and commenting on his lewd jest.

Who was jesting? Not him.

Except King Thorvald who was frowning as he called out to Rafn, “Is he talking about one of my daughters?”

“Nay,” Rafn replied, casting him a glance that said John owed him. “He was referring to lusty
Saxon
wenches.”

“Oh,” the king said and smiled at him.

Ingrith merely remarked, “Crude oaf,” and turned away from him again.

Drifa took the cup from him, then paused. “Lord Hawk, welcome to Stoneheim. We met at my sister Tyra's wedding years back.”

“Yea, I remember you, Drifa. You decorated Adam's house with so many flowers we all smelled like perfume,” he teased.

She grinned. “So, are you the person getting all the rosebushes?”

“Drifa!” Ingrith said, apparently listening to their conversation, while she'd been pretending to be absorbed in something Geirfinn was saying.

At the same time, John said, “Ingrith!” and grabbed for her hand on the table, though she tried to tug it away. “'Twas you who sent me all those bushes and cuttings? I thought it was my
mother.” He kissed the knuckles of the fisted hand, just before she yanked it away.

“I only did it because I felt guilty over the damage, not because I care about you.”

He smiled nonetheless. She cared, all right.

“You sent rosebushes to this Saxon?” Geirfinn asked. “How…unique!”

“'Twas just a gesture of thanks,” she explained primly.

God, but she looked like a sex goddess when she did her prim posture.

John leaned in front of Ingrith to address Geirfinn. “Eleven thanks, in all.”

Disconcerted, Geirfinn said, “My mother likes roses. You would have much in common with her, Ingrith, although roses do not grow well in our region of Iceland. Too cold.”

“'Tis a pity. Ingrith could not live without roses,” John said.

“I could, too,” she protested.

“I am the one who cannot live without flowers,” Drifa remarked.

Atzer tapped Drifa's shoulder and said, “We have lots of flowers on the Isle of Man.”

“How nice!” Drifa said, then winked at John before ambling over to speak with Rafn.

John put a hand on Ingrith's thigh, up high.

She was too shocked, at first, to protest.

“I have missed you, Ingrith.”

“You had Joanna.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ingrith, I am going to have a bronze plaque made and planted in our rose garden. It will say, ‘Joanna is not John's mistress.' If you must know details, I have not had sex with Joanna in more than a year.”

Her jaw dropped, but the only retort she could come up with was, “
We
don't have a rose garden.”

“
We
will,” he said.

She seemed to have forgotten his hand on her thigh, which worked to his advantage. By now, he had the hem rucked up to her knees, and her leg and knee bared to his touch.

She blinked at him as she realized that his fingers were creeping under the cloth, higher and higher. Letting out a little squeak of dismay, she shoved his hand away, but not before he flicked his fingertips at her woman-fleece. That would teach her to ignore him.

“You are a wicked man,” she said.

“I know.”

“Have you no shame?”

“Apparently not.”

“What are you two talking about?” Geirfinn wanted to know.

“Nothing,” he and Ingrith said at the same time.

By now, food was being served, and he had to smile at the vast array of dishes. Even more varieties and quantities than she'd prepared at Hawk's Lair. “I see you are in your glory here, cooking to
your heart's content. I did not realize there were eight ways to cook beets.”

“Are you criticizing me?”

“Hardly! I cannot wait to have you back in my kitchen.”

She eyed him narrowly. “You want me back in your kitchen?”

“And in my bed.”

“Your arrogance passes all bounds.” She stood and said, “I am going to leave. I need air. You are not to follow me. I mean it. I will cut off your randy cock if you do.”

He laughed, which was not the reaction she was looking for.

“Did she really say ‘randy cock'?” Atzer asked.

“Yea. Isn't she wonderful?”

“I would not want my wife using that kind of language in front of my children,” Atzer said.

“Good thing she will not be your wife.”

Now that she was gone, he sat back and sipped at a cup of ale. By the cross, it was good to be back word-sparring with Ingrith. “Well, that went well,” he said to himself.

“Are you crazy?” Rafn asked.

“Crazy in love,” he replied, with no embarrassment at all.

S
ome men bang their heads against a wall, others bang their…

Ingrith was tired, more tired than usual from her pregnancy. It was wearisome, evading John.

He kept trying to get her alone, kept saying he had things to tell her, but she knew what he really wanted. He wanted to swive her, and if he did, there was a strong possibility he would notice her little belly. What would he do about her breeding a child with potentially insane blood? Would he run in horror? Or would he attempt to force her to end the pregnancy through some herbal remedy? Perchance he even knew of some abortive method that involved honey.

She grinned at that last thought and therefore wasn't paying attention as she hurried up a back stairway to a third-floor addition Breanne had put on several years ago for servants and overflow guests.

John, coming down, caught her against his chest
and lifted her off her feet, walking her enfolded in his embrace into a small alcove. “At last!” he said, his mouth swooping down on hers. No soft, enticing kiss was this, but a hungry, demanding kiss that took no prisoners. And a bit of punishment, as well, for all the grief she had been giving him, no doubt.

She should protest. She should shove him away. Instead, she was kissing him back, her fingers threading through his short hair, her breasts brushing against his chest.

“Heartling,” he whispered against her open mouth. “My heartling.” Then he angled his kiss in another direction, showing her with lips and tongue and teeth that he did miss her, as he'd kept trying to tell her. As she had missed him.

His hands were everywhere. Her hands were everywhere. Reacquainting themselves with each other in all the ways of lovers throughout time. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him. How would she ever live without him? How would she ever live without this?

“Put you legs around my waist,” he whispered in her ear, cupping her buttocks.

Startled, she realized that he had raised her
gunna
and dropped his
braies
. As he lifted her by the buttocks, she did indeed wrap her legs around his hips, compliant wench that she'd become. Hah! More like a melting mass of instant arousal.

“Coming home, sweetling.” He held her eyes as
he eased inside her tight sheath. As always, she welcomed him with tight constrictions of pleasure. “Being inside you feels like coming home. Tell me you feel the same.”

She nodded, unable to deny the powerful emotions swirling around them. What this man did to her! Was it a spell? Was he a wizard? Or the devil, more like.

Bracing her shoulders against the wall, he began to thrust inside her. Slowly. Too slowly. She tried to hasten the pace, but he shook his head, forcing her to match his agonizing rhythm. As she began to peak under his hawk eyes, she lowered her gaze, shy to be acting so wanton. “Do not hide from me, sweetling. You are mine. And I am yours.”

She began to weep.

“Shhhh!” he said, kissing away the tears.

When he reared his neck, the tendons in his neck visible with his attempt to control his passion, he thrust deep into her and held. “Marry me, Ingrith.”

So shocked was she was by his question and their fierce peaking together that she did not realize that he'd failed to spill his seed outside her body. This was precisely what he'd predicted would happen if they stayed together. They would get careless, and she would get pregnant. Little did he know, it had already happened.

With a cry she shoved away from him and ran up the steps, slamming and locking the door of a small bedchamber at the top. Almost immedi
ately, he was knocking at the door, “Ingrith, what is amiss? Let me in. I am sorry to have rushed things with you. I could not help myself. You are too tempting a morsel.”

She could hear murmuring outside the door then. It sounded like Drifa talking to John. “I'm going, Ingrith, but we need to talk. We really need to talk.”

“Let me in, Ingrith. He's gone,” Drifa said.

Ingrith almost fell into her sister's arms. “Oh, Drifa! What am I going to do? We had sex and he didn't pull out.”

Drifa stared at her, wide-eyed. “Are you worried about getting pregnant?”

Ingrith realized how foolish she must seem, and they both burst out laughing.

“We cannot wait for two sennights, Drifa. We must leave sooner.”

“Oh, Ingrith! I think…I think you must tell John. He seems like a good man. I do not think he would react badly.”

Now that John was here, Ingrith explained everything to Drifa about him.

“He asked me to marry me,” she revealed.

“He did? See? You should talk with him.”

She shook her head. “Just the opposite. He has convinced himself that we can have a marriage under certain conditions, and already we have broken one of those conditions.”

“He told you all this? You mated with him, then had a conversation about the conditions under which he would marry you? Blessed Valkyries! You left the garden only a half hour ago. I thought sex took longer than that.”

Ingrith smiled despite her dismay. “Nay, we did not have a lengthy discussion. I just know.”

“You are not making sense.”

“I love him, Drifa, and I cannot bear to hurt him by presenting him with a child that he would be watching every moment for signs of insanity.”

“I understand, but I still think you may be acting in haste.”

“John is an honorable man. He would do the right thing, but I would be condemning him to the misery he has avoided all his life. Truly, it would be best for me and for John that I leave.”

“Methinks he will be heartbroken over your leaving.”

“Mayhap, but there would be far greater heartbreak if I bore him a child who carried certain traits.”

“Could you be underestimating him, dearling?”

“He is a wonderful man, Drifa, but he has suffered so. I cannot in good conscience give him more pain.”

“If your baby…your child…proves to be, well, normal, will you tell him then?”

She shook her head. “John is perfectly normal
himself, but there is always the chance that could change…or so he thinks.”

“I can't imagine loving a man that much…more than yourself, really.”

She shrugged. “In any case, we need to leave as soon as possible. I will break things off with John for good before that. I do not want him following me.”

“Don't worry. Things will work out fine.”

Somehow, deep down, Ingrith doubted that.

 

The cat was out of the bag…

Ingrith was up to something. Not only were she and Drifa whispering together every time he saw her, but that tic was going wild beside her eye. And, God forbid that he should approach her! When he did, she shot off like a skittish cat.

Was it only last night that he'd asked her to marry him, causing her to bolt as if he'd suggested something despicable? He must have been demented to think that she would be pleased by his proposal.

Not that he was giving up.

First stop next morning was a visit with King Thorvald.

“I intend to marry your daughter Ingrith,” he announced right off.

The king, who was a majestic old bull with his flowing white hair and still massive body, cast him a patronizing gaze. “Were you asking for my permission or telling me?”

John had been pacing about the king's chamber, but he stopped, caught off guard. “I would like your permission to wed your daughter, but if you refuse my suit, I will marry her anyhow.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated back.

“Have you become a parrot now, boy? Why do you want to marry Ingrith? You are a high-placed Saxon nobleman. You could have practically any woman you wanted.”

“I want Ingrith.”

“Why?”

“We suit.”

“Pfff! I hope you didn't tell her that when you proposed. You did propose, didn't you? Otherwise, you would not be storming around here like someone set fire to your tail.”

“I do not appreciate your finding mirth in my dilemma.”

“It
is
mirthsome. I hope you were not looking to me for advice. For ten years and more I have been trying to marry the girl off, although she does cook the best meals. I do not suppose you would live here once you wed? Nay, I did not think so.”

John reached up to tear at his own hair, forgetting that he did not have much.

“By the by, is that the new hairstyle in Saxon land?”

He cast a cutting glower at the king.

Thorvald grinned. “
Did
you propose?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“She said nay.”

Thorvald shook his head at John's hopelessness. “You are not the first. She said nay to at least three dozen men. And some of them were more than desirable, especially in the early years. Would have made great alliances.” He sighed deeply. “Why, I recall this one Varangian guardsman. He was so good-looking that I could have fallen in love with him myself. Then there was—”

“I am different,” he interrupted.

Thorvald raised his bushy white eyebrows.

“She loves me.” Which was sort of the truth. She had loved him before he'd made a mess of things.

“She told you so?”

He nodded. Again, not quite an untruth.

“That is something. Why are you telling me this? If all the advantage is in your corner, why not persuade her to marry you?”

“I'm trying.”

“I can tell you are not a Viking. A Viking would take matters into his own hands. He would carry the maid off and make her his and worry about her affections later.”

“Oh, that is very civilized!”

“And who said man-woman matters are civilized? I have been married four times, you know. Did I tell you about the time I had a hole drilled in
my head? You should try it some time. I swear it made my cock get bigger, or leastways it—”

John walked away in the middle of the conversation.

He had the misfortune of running into Geirfinn then, who had the misfortune to make a remark about Ingrith's breasts compensating for her advanced age. Geirfinn hotfooted himself to the king right afterward, protesting the fist John had levied at his nose, which John had, hopefully, broken.

Ubbi walked up and kicked him in the shin.

“What was that for?”

“Making my mistress cry. All the time. She ne'er cried afore she met you.”

Instead of being distressed by that news, he grew hopeful. She must care if she cried. Then, he turned about-face and chastised himself,
What kind of half-arsed illogic is that? Even if I have no insanity traits in my body, she will drive me crazy.

“Would you like my advice?” Rafn asked, leaning lazily against a doorjamb as he munched on an apple. Loudly. John's shattered nerves heard every crisp chew.

He wanted to tell Rafn to shove his advice and the apple somewhere unpleasant, but he was getting desperate. “Spill your vast array of woman knowledge, oh, Viking God of Love.”

Rafn grinned. Of all the Norsemen he had met,
Rafn enjoyed John's discomfort the most. “You need to get Ingrith alone—”

He waved a hand. “Dost think I haven't tried? Methinks she must have cat blood. She scoots away afore I can grab her.”

“—preferably before she escapes on that longship she and Drifa have arranged.”

John froze.

“'Tis waiting for them at the wharf as we speak.”

“What? You maggot-eating son of troll! Why didn't you tell me this earlier?”

“You had not suffered enough yet.”

He punched Rafn, too, except the Viking ducked at the last minute, and his fist only grazed his chin. Without another word, John stormed out of the keep and walked angrily toward the wharf where there were dozens of longships.
Think, John, think.
There was no sign of Ingrith or her sister. And there was activity around a number of the long-boats. Surely Ingrith wouldn't leave without telling him. What the hell was wrong with her? Just then, he saw someone he recognized. Ubbi. And he was coming off the gangplank of a small longboat.

He stalked up and grabbed the little man by the front of his tunic. “Tell me where she is, or I swear you will be swimming in the fjord with all the fishes.”

“I cannot swim,” Ubbi said.

“Good.”

Ubbi motioned with a jerk of his head toward a far longship.

“Where are they going?”

“I doan know. Norsemandy, mebbe.”

“When are they leaving?”

“I doan know. Later t'day, mebbe.”

“Is she on board now?”

Ubbi shook his head.

John dropped the little man, too angry to even say thank you for his information. He should just forget about Ingrith. He should save a little pride and go back to Hawk's Lair. But he was beyond furious now. What was Ingrith's game? Was she deliberately making a fool of him? He didn't understand any of it.

One thing was certain, though. Ingrith Sigrundottir was going to regret ever entering the Hawk's Lair.

 

Trust goes two ways, you know…

Ingrith was in her bedchamber packing another chest with clothing when the door swung open. John entered, without knocking.

She and Drifa both glanced up with surprise, then exchanged glances of question. What should she do now?

“You,” John said with ice in his voice, pointing at Drifa, “Out! I would speak with Ingrith alone.”

“You cannot order my sister—” Ingrith started to say.

But Drifa, the traitor, was already at the open doorway. “I will be down in the kitchen gathering—”

John slammed the door on her sister before she'd even finished speaking. How rude! Even ruder…how dare he lock her bedchamber door?

Leaning back, arms folded over his chest, he surveyed her and the room. “Going somewhere, Ingrith?”

“Yea. Drifa and I decided to visit a friend.”