“Of course it is a compliment.”
Helga turned on her heel then and stormed out of the stable, but not before telling him exactly what he could do with his compliments. She must have learned that midden-talk in the rough business sector of Jorvik.
Vagn just smiled, well pleased with the events of this evening. Mayhap he would stay at Gorm’s estate these three months after all. Mayhap he had just discovered something interesting to while away the time.
But a nagging voice in the back of his head kept asking whether Helga had been right. Was he bored and just using her to pass the time? Was his anguish over Toste distorting his view of Helga and his whole thus-far-pointless life? Was he being fair in seducing Helga when he was unsure of his intentions?
All these were unfamiliar questions for Vagn. And therein lay the problem. In the past, he and Toste had done what they’d wanted, when they’d wanted, consequences be damned. Was he finally, at the ripe old age of thirty and one, growing up?
How to outwit a lackwit…
A large wood fire blazed in three of the massive central hearths in Gorm’s great hall, providing welcome warmth to the two hundred and more servants and retainers who gathered there following the evening meal. Before one of those fires, Gorm and Vagn dueled over the board game hnefatafl, at which they were equally matched. Around them, soldiers diced and conversed, usually on subjects of war or women. Housecarls bustled about removing the remnants of the meal—primarily roast acorn-fed pig with manchet bread—and dismantling the trestle tables, which would be replaced with box-bed sleeping arrangements around the perimeter of the room.
Helga had disappeared soon after dining. Avoiding him, no doubt. He could understand that. He was a soldier who knew how to stalk his prey. Poor prey! Even when he attempted to curb his baser appetites, he seemed unable to keep Helga out of his mind. His hunger for her grew by the minute—pathetic in its intensity.
“Helga was with you in the stable for a long time this afternoon,” Gorm said of a sudden.
Vagn’s hunger died a quick death. Had his pathetic mind-wanderings been so apparent? “What? You have spies watching over me now?”
“I have always had spies watching over you. But that is neither here nor there. Have you made any progress with my daughter?”
Vagn had been sipping at a horn of ale and started to choke. Progress? Does he mean what I think he means by that word? “What a question for a father to ask! Do you encourage men to seduce your daughter?”
“Not any man. Just you.”
A trap has been set for me here. Be careful, Vagn; be very careful. “Well, I am not going to discuss any loveplay there may or may not have been with your daughter. So forget that.”
“I did not ask for specifics, just a general progress report.”
“Nay!”
Gorm smirked, as if Vagn had given him some significant answer. They continued to play, moving their ivory pieces about the carved oak board.
I wonder how soon I can slip away without offending this wily old bear. “Why me, for the love of Frigg?” he asked Gorm.
“The time is right. I am not well, Vagn… oh, do not misread my words, I am not about to fly off to Valhalla anytime soon. But I grow old and my heart hurts on occasion and, well, I feel a need to put my life in order… to tie up all the loose ends, to make sure Briarstead continues in good hands.”
“One of those loose ends being Helga?”
Gorm nodded.
I wonder how Helga would feel about being called a loose end. Hah! I already know the answer to that. About as much as she liked being called Helga the Homely. Or Helga the Magnificent.
“I indulge Helga overmuch. Always have. But methinks she likes you, and that gives me hope.”
“I am not so sure about that.” He told Gorm the coarse expression Helga had used with him that afternoon.
Gorm chuckled, not at all disturbed by his daughter’s less-than-maidenly language. “That is my Helga,” he boasted.