The jerk got another roar of approval when he commented in an aside to his friends, “Mayhap the women of Ivar’s land do have metal female parts, after all. Her arse feels as bony as a winter-starved rabbit.”
He would pay for this, Ruby vowed as he carried her away. Somehow, some way, she would find a way to get back at this crude excuse for a man.
Chapter Two
“Ivar is vicious, but not lackwitted. He would never send a simpleminded wench to spy,” Thork stated emphatically, peering over his shoulder at Ruby whose blood-suffused head bounced against his back with each wide stride he took. “Who in the name of Odin are you?”
“Simpleminded!” Ruby protested, but the word came out garbled and unintelligible, considering her position.
A sharp object pressed against her waist, and she shifted slightly, as best she could, to relieve the pressure. Twisting her head sideways and looking up awkwardly, she saw an intricately carved brooch which held together the edges of a short shoulder mantle. The design profiled a writhing animal with limbs contorted out of recognition. Surely it wasn’t a coyote. That would be too much of a coincidence. No, it was probably a wolf. And it appeared to be solid gold! Unable to see it closer, Ruby dropped her head down, laying her cheek against the small of Thork’s back. Her skin prickled with delight at even that casual touch. The familiar musk of his skin comforted her jarred senses.
Olaf and two other men walked beside Thork, sharing opinions about the unlikelihood of Ruby being a spy. All agreed that Sigtrygg must be the final arbiter of her fate but wondered how he would react to even the possibility of the hated Ivar infiltrating Jorvik. In soft, guarded voices, they also updated Thork on recent events in Jorvik.
“Sigtrygg expected you a sennight past. We have all suffered his wrath,” complained a young man with flowing, silver blond hair whom Thork had called Selik earlier. Even from her position, Ruby could see that the exceedingly handsome, almost beautiful, male drew the admiring attention of many of the passing women.
Thork swore aloud, using a famous Anglo-Saxon word that survived even to the twentieth century.
“Sigtrygg chomps at the bit to return to Dublin and reclaim the throne from his cousin Godfred,” Selik added. “Everyone in his vipers’ – nest court suffers his raging temper outbursts as he waits for you.”
“So Sigtrygg still hopes for a united Northumbrian-Irish kingdom?” Thork questioned.
“Yea, and more. He cannot see that the Saxons lay waste our lands while he and his cousins bicker over power among the two countries,” Selik answered.
Olaf added, “He tries to force a pagan government on Christian Danes who have lived here for generations and are no longer content with the old ways.”
“I tell you, Thork, when Viking fights Viking, the bloody Saxon will be the winner,” Selik asserted vehemently.
“I see now why Sigtrygg stews,” Thork said pensively, “and ‘twould seem our fair maid here has much to fear if our king rages so.” He swatted Ruby on the behind for emphasis, calling everyone’s attention back to her.
” ‘Twill depend on Ivar’s mood,” Olaf stated matter-of-factly, with a shrug of unconcern. “If he be of a mean temper, as he is wont at the flip of a coin, he will likely behead her on the spot. Or mayhap flay all the skin off her body just to amuse himself.”
Behead her! Flay her! To amuse himself! Ruby’s stomach churned.
“Or spread her legs and skewer her on the spot if she appeals,” Selik drawled with a suggestive chortle, “or bugger her like the boy she appears.”
“Thor’s toenails! Too much mead under his belt and ’twill not matter a whit if she be fair or barley-faced, I warrant,” Thork added with unflattering frankness. His deep voice held a trace of laughter. “Sigtrygg can be a man of uncommon appetites, in all ways!”
“Comes of being a berserker, I say. Wild in battle, wild in bed, or so I’ve been told,” Selik interjected lewdly. “But, even so, I cannot fathom Sigtrygg being attracted to this scrawny bird.”