especially for a Viking man
with a convenient ear.”
“How true! How true!” Tykir said.
“What will you do with her?” Eirik asked.
“Damned if I know!” Toste said, then immediately added, “Whatever I decide, none of you are to interfere, and that includes your meddlesome wives.”
“Did you leave her back at the woodcutter’s hut?” Eirik asked.
“I did, and there she will stay till I decide otherwise.”
“Naked?” Tykir inquired.
Toste did not answer. He didn’t have to. The other three men in the room grinned.
“And, really, none of you can condemn me. You have done as much and more. You, Tykir, once locked Alinor in a bedchamber at Dragonstead for days.”
“Yea, I did, and some of the best memories of my life took place there. Wouldst like to borrow my collection of feathers? It was given to me years ago by a sultan who used it with his harem slaves.”
Three male mouths went slack with disbelief. One never knew when Tykir was teasing or telling the truth.
“No, thank you, Tykir. I can come up with my own methods of torture.”
“Might I suggest—” Eirik began.
“Nay! And one more thing. No one… I mean, no one… is to go within shouting distance of that hut. Is that clear?”
“Well, you’d better have this resolved by next week,” Eirik said.
“Why is that?”
“Because this castle is going to be overflowing with guests for the yuletide festivities.”
Toste put his face in his hands. “I am afraid to ask, but what guests?”
“Archbishop Dunstan, Ealdormen Byrhtnoth of Essex, Aelfhere of Mercia, Aethelwold of East Anglia, Aelfhead of Hampshire and various other notables. I would not be surprised to see the king or one of his closest thegns arrive, though they made no promises. And though not invited by any means, Lord Blackthorne may very well show up to claim his daughter.”
“Can my life get any worse than this?” Toste asked.
Without asking, Bolthor walked over to the fire and got a bucket of hot water warming there. He dumped it in the tub, figuring that Toste was getting cold, if not wilted.
“Well, actually, life could get worse.” Tykir stared at him grimly. “I fear for Esme… oh, you are no danger to her… but her father and brothers are. They are a scurvy lot. I suspect that her early years at home were not pleasant.”
“You know, I had the same feeling,” Eirik said. “There are some men who hate women. They many them, have daughters and sisters and yet, at heart they hate women.”
“I love women—always have.” Tykir took a long swig from the mug of ale he’d brought with him.
“We know,” everyone else said.
“Don’t let Alinor hear you say that, though,” Eirik told his brother.
“She knows. As long as I keep my hands and my manpart to myself—and her—she does not mind.”
“That’s what women say, but it is not what they really feel,” Bolthor advised. Bolthor giving Tykir advice about women was like a nun giving a harem houri advice on swiving.
Tykir turned his attention back to Toste. “What I was trying to say before I was so rudely interrupted, Toste, is that you must not be too harsh with Esme till you understand from whence she came. And she came from a snake pit.”
“Mayhap that means she is a snake, too.” Toste refused to make excuses for the deceitful witch.
“Or a mouse who has managed to escape the snakes… thus far,” Eirik offered.
They discussed the situation further while Toste dried himself off and dressed in clean clothes lent to him by Eirik. They all went down to the great hall then to partake of the evening meal. The subject of Esme was avoided by everyone. It was midnight before Toste made his way down the path again, carrying a bundle of food, soap, linens, a comb and various other items.
He wondered if Esme would be waiting for him, wide-eyed and scared. Would she beg for mercy? Or suffer in silence?
Instead, as he was about to open the door, he heard the oddest thing. Whistling. His captive, who should be shaking-in-her-skin fearful, was bloody hell whistling.