“Pleasure.”
“But no babe?”
“No babe.”
She sighed deeply, then walked to the door, where she picked up her cloak and wrapped herself tightly in its folds. Before she left, she turned and told him, “I won’t stop trying.”
He smiled grimly—how else could he smile but grimly, when his body was tuned like an overstrung harp?—and countered, “And I will look forward to those efforts… with a passion.”
Once she was gone, a voice in Vagn’s head said, Dumb, dumb, dumb!
Turning the screws…
It was two more days before Helga had the nerve to try her skills at seduction again.
The ice storm that had hit Northumbria was deemed the greatest in a century. Lucky for her. She was fairly certain that Vagn would have run from Briarstead like a scared rabbit if the roads had been clear. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed her first attempt at temptation, she was sure. He’d enjoyed himself, no doubt about it.
Now, on to step two of her seduction plan.
“Exactly what is step two?” she asked Rona. It was late afternoon, and they stood in the salon folding and inventorying ells of embroidered cloth to be sold at market this spring. She and Rona were the only ones there due to the poor light caused by the continuing winter storms.
“The Pull-Back,” Rona said without hesitation.
Helga stopped working and stared at Rona with amazement. “I hope this one isn’t as scandalous as the first one. I don’t think my heart could take it.”
Rona flashed her a dimpled grin. “Admit it, m’lady. You enjoyed yourself.”
Helga pursed her lips and pretended offense, but only for a moment. “I did. Hell and Valhalla! I made myself so hot, I fair went up in flames. So, what is this Pull-Back?”
“Now that you’ve got his attention, pretend to change your mind. Well, not change your mind so much as change your direction.”
“I’m afraid to ask what you mean by that.”
“Show interest in some other man.”
“What man?”
“I don’t know. Any man.”
Just then, Finn Finehair walked by their open doorway, never even bothering to look in. Helga looked at Rona and Rona looked at Helga. Then they both smiled. Finn, second in command of Gorm’s bird of soldiers, was called Finehair because of his impeccably groomed black hair and forked beard and trim mustache. A vainer man there never was. Some said he spent an hour a day just trimming his facial hairs. Others claimed he did the same for his chest hairs, but Helga could hardly credit that. At one time, her father had tried to interest her in Finn as a potential mate, to no avail. The man had the fighting arm of Thor, but the brains of a wood louse
“Mayhap I could imply to Vagn that Finn is called ‘fine’ for other reasons—reasons not visible at first glance,” Helga said.
Rona laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. “Methinks you have a knack for sex games.”
Oh, my gods!
Let the games begin …
Vagn was in the guardroom honing his sword with a whet stone when Helga came sashaying in. And, yea, “sashaying” was the best way to describe the deliberate, sultry sway of her hips.
It had been two days since the “event” in his bedchamber, and he had not forgotten one single bit of it. His male member remembered even more, apparently, because it was always half-hard these days.
Never in all his misbegotten days had a woman approached him with such an outrageous exercise in blood-boiling, bone-melting temptation. And he’d bloody well liked it. Helga, in all her innocence, was a born seductress. If she only knew!
That was why he’d kept his distance these two long days, and would continue to do so. Like right now.
“Go away, Helga. I am not interested,” he lied as she got closer to him. He continued to rasp the whet stone along the blade of his sword as if he were not even aware of her presence. Hah!
She stopped directly in front of him. “You thought I was looking for you? Foolish man!”
Did she just call me foolish? I think I’ll use her tongue to hone my sword.