His friends knew that Thork chafed at the abrupt interruption of a pleasant visit at his grandfather’s manor and had been rubbing it in at every turn on the way back to Jorvik. The forced celibacy of his lengthy sea voyage had fueled his appreciation for the insatiable appetite of a Viking widow, Linette, who lived there, but, more than that, she’d helped him forget the troublesome wench awaiting him in Jorvik. Little did he relish being summoned back to attend a feast at Sigtrygg’s court, especially when he hadn’t yet tired of Linette’s charms.
Hell and Valhalla! It wasn’t so much the absence of Linette that rankled. There were plenty of women in Jorvik. One was much the same as the other to him and ever had been. It was the fawning atmosphere of the Norse court he abhorred.
As he approached the group of children in Olaf’s yard, unnoticed thus far, Thork observed Ruby arranging the children in a line with two of the children standing in front, facing each other with linked, upraised hands. Thork’s heart ached when he saw Tykir at the end of the line, watching him longingly, unable to rush to him in normal childish greeting. He followed his father’s instructions well.
“I know you children will love this game because it’s based on a famous Viking battle…”
What Viking battle? Thork wondered, furrowing his forehead.
“Anyhow, in this battle,” Ruby went on with her amazing tale, “these fierce Vikings not only captured the city of London but they tore down the London Bridge to keep the Saxons from recapturing the city. Wasn’t that clever?”
London Bridge? A Viking occupation of London? What mischief did the witch brew? Thork’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. The woman truly was an enigma. To Thork’s mind, women were ever simple creatures, like cats. Selfish. Little intellect. Definitely lacking in honor and loyalty. This mysterious woman did not fit the mold, and that bothered him sorely.
And she certainly looked different than she had that day he’d first seen her at the harbor. Her hair was still abysmally short and boyish, but it shone like burnished mahogany in the summer sun, accenting a flawless, creamy complexion, high cheekbones, a straight, slightly upturned nose and full, sensual lips.
Gone were the offensive shirt and braies, replaced by a soft, clinging green tunic, probably Astrid’s if he was any judge of women’s sizes. Every time she moved to straighten a child’s arm or to position the youngsters in line, a different part of her tall, slim body was outlined—long, nay, extremely long legs, a waist his two hands itched to span, high, firm breasts, and a round bottom that invited the palm of a man’s hand.
She was not beautiful—nay, far from it—but her attractive, sensual aura drew him involuntarily. Thork frowned at his gut reaction to the wench he sensed could be dangerous to his future. Thor’s blood! He should have stayed in Northumbria longer—until Linette had appeased his hunger.
“London Bridge is failing down, falling down, falling down,” Ruby sang while the children filed under the “bridge.” She chanted merrily along until her gray-green eyes lifted and connected with his in surprise—at first with welcome, then switching to cool reserve. This woman hid much. He must be careful.
Ruby told Tyra to supervise the game and walked a short distance to where Thork stood. Tyra protested at first, wanting to go to Thork, but obeyed when Thork promised her a surprise later. He nodded imperceptibly to Tykir that he had something for him, too.
“It’s about time you got back,” Ruby accused him.
“What trouble do you stir now, witch?”
She assessed his figure with deliberate disdain, but Thork could see in her clear eyes, now more green than gray, that she reluctantly liked what she saw.
He grinned.
She glared.
Embarrassed, Ruby took the offensive. “I have a few things I would like to tell you about your neglect of our sons. I can’t believe—”
Thork raised a hand to halt her shrewish words.
“Do you never yield? Your refusal to heed Sigtrygg’s warning, and mine, as well, about lying and the future bodes ill for your fate. We are not wed, and my sons are no one’s business but mine.”