Where art thou, brother?
How can you speak to me from the Other Side?
Is there a reason you keep calling to me?
Dost need my help?
When Vagn awakened, he found his face wet with tears.
Well, he thought grimly as he dressed for the day ahead and noticed through the arrow slit window that it was snowing again, much as I would like to help you, brother, I have my own torture to take care of.
Since when do Vikings sit back twiddling their thumbs, and other body parts, whilst others take the offensive?
Since when do Viking men allow their women to rule the roost?
Since when do Viking men let their women do more outrageous things than they do?
Enough!
Today was the day Vagn Ivarsson was going to show Helga the Temptress that her tempting days were over.
Cosmo, where art thou?…
Helga was running out of ideas.
In fact, she was running, period. She’d seen the glint in Vagn’s eyes this morning when he was breaking fast with her father’s guardsmen and it said, loud and clear: Helga, you’d best run for your life. There is one mad Viking out for your tail.
Even Helga recognized that the candle incident went beyond what was proper into the realm of the scandalous. Perchance even the perverted. How would she know? She’d never even heard of perversions till a few days ago.
“Greetings, Helga,” a male voice said.
She almost jumped out of her skin. She was sorting embroidery threads in the rear of her sewing solar, out of view from the door… or so she had thought. But fortunately, it wasn’t Vagn. It was Finn Finehair.
“Greetings, Finn,” she replied as he came closer. His mustache was looking particularly fine today and he’d forked his beard. What was the occasion?
Uh-oh! He was gazing at her the way Vagn did on occasion. With hunger.
At first, he just leered down at her, twirling one side of his mustache with his fingertips. Did he have any idea how ridiculous he looked? Apparently not.
“Wouldst like to sit next to me tonight at dinner?” he asked, still leering.
“Why?”
“I have been… uh, noticing you of late.”
“Why?”
“Do not be coy, m’lady,” he said, tweaking her chin. Nobody ever tweaked her chin, but she was too surprised to react before he went on, “I have been getting your hidden messages.”
“What hidden messages?”
“Oh, the sway of your hips. The licking of your lips. Your jutting bosom.”
Helga could understand how he might have misunderstood the signals she had been sending to Vagn.
“Besides, Vagn said—”
She dropped the threads she’d been sorting. “Vagn said what?”
“Well, he didn’t precisely say you were hot for me, but the way he worried over your attentions to me, ’twas obvious… you know.”
“Nay, I do not know. What precisely did Vagn tell you?” I will kill the lout. I swear I will.
” ‘Stay away from Helga’—that is what he said.”
“Vagn said that to you.” An odd thrill rippled through Helga. Mayhap the lout did care for her, after all.
“Yea, and I figure that he would not admonish me so if he didn’t suspect you are attracted to me. Many women are, Helga; so do not blush. As to Vagn, he obviously envies me my fine beard, and you know what they say about men with mustaches, don’t you?”
The waggle of his eyebrows, which appeared to be plucked into a perfect arch, should have told her that further questions could be perilous. But did she listen to her intuition? Nay. “What do they say about men with mustaches?”
“They are better able to please ladies in the bedsport.” Now he was twirling the other end of his mustache.
She frowned, unable to picture how a mustache would figure in the coupling in any woman-pleasing way.
Finn must have interpreted her frown of confusion as permission to elaborate. “More friction when the man’s mouth is engaged down below.”
Helga gasped. She’d never heard anything so outrageous in all her life. Could it be true?
Finn preened as if he’d informed her of some great personal talent. Mayhap it was.