She announced a Pointer Sisters song, then looked directly at Thork as she began in a low, husky voice to tell of her need for a lover with a slow hand. Several stanzas later, he began to understand the graphic message of the song.
Slow hand! Easy touch! Heated rush!
The entire hall twittered, then burst into full-blown laughter by the time she ended the song. A few of the women turned red with embarrassment, but most of them nodded their heads in agreement with her sentiments.
Ruby grinned impishly at him.
“Perchance, are those Pointer Sisters acquainted with that Kevin Costner person?” Thork asked dryly.
Ruby laughed. “I doubt it.”
“So, I do not satisfy you in bed?” Thork had trouble holding back the twitch of amusement in his lips.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Oh ho! Now you back down. ‘Tis a slow hand you asked for, and that is precisely what you shall get,” he warned seductively.
The impertinent wench surprised him by winking and countering saucily, “I will hold you to that promise.”
Slow hand! By the faith, where did the woman come up with these ideas? Already that day, he had overheard Poppa and her women discussing lingerie and the shaving of legs. Hrolf told him in no uncertain terms that he was to make sure his wife did not discuss birth control in Normandy. As if he could direct her actions!
Then Ruby demanded that Thork reciprocate by singing a ballad for her. “Not on this side of Valhalla!” he refused, but he finally agreed to recite a few lines from a skaldic poem he remembered—”Rigspula,” or “The Song of Rig.” Oddly, although the poem dealt with the humorous, certainly unromantic, notion of the Viking social order, a few of the lines reminded him of Ruby and himself:
“…Her brows were bright, her breast was shining, Whiter her neck than new-fallen snow…
Blond was his hair, and bright his cheeks, Grim as a snake’s were his glowing eyes…”
The tears that sparkled in his wife’s eyes when he finished were compensation enough for any discomfort he may have felt in reciting poetry in front of his fighting men. When they finally escaped the great hall and were alone in their sleeping chamber, Thork quickly removed his clothes and lay naked on the bed with arms folded behind his head, inquiring, “Shall you entertain me now, wife, by modeling your undergarment for me?” He yawned loudly and stretched languorously, adding, “Or do you think there will be a dullness to our lovemaking now that we are wed?”
Ruby’s eyes lit up at his challenge. “Hah! Not if I can help it.”
“And this slow hand business—does that go both ways? Or is it only women who are permitted to seek such lovers in your country?”
“No, it goes both ways.” Ruby grinned. “Shall I show you?”
And she did. Oh, Lord, she did!
Chapter Twenty
Ruby shed her clothing slowly, teasingly, drawing out the process an exceedingly long time. When she was down to the teddy, she posed and dawdled, removing the wispy garment one bloody inch at a time until Thork was sorry he had ever voiced a liking for the foolish item.
“Come to bed now, Ruby,” Thork urged raspily when she was naked. But, nay, the contrary miss had other plans. He ground his teeth and waited, refusing to grovel for her favors, especially on his wedding night.
“Not yet,” Ruby evaded with a teasing lilt in her voice. “First I want to ask you something,” she said, coming closer to the bed, but not so close he could grab her, which Thork was sorely tempted to do as Ruby leaned forward provocatively. Her firm, upthrust breasts swayed slightly, enticing him to do anything but engage in a conversation.
And her hips! Holy Freya! The wench’s slender waist flared out just so to the cradle of hips he’d hoped would be under his by now, then on to the down-covered delta he planned to explore endlessly this night.
If she ever got into bed!
“Thork, you’re not listening to me.”
“Huh?”
Ruby smiled knowingly and asked a totally irrelevant question, to his frustration. “Do you remember that first day I arrived in Jorvik?”