“Oh, no!” Ruby groaned. She hid her face in her hands. Could a person die of humiliation? She wished she could drop through a hole in the ground and disappear. To think that everyone, including Thork, had heard all those outrageous things she’d said.
Thork finally wiped his eyes and stood, preparing to leave. He reached down to her on the bed and ran a forefinger gently, regretfully along her lips. Then steeling himself back to his former cool composure, he told her of the time they would leave in the morning and warned her once again that, despite his lapse of laughter, she walked thin ice and must behave.
Stopping in the doorway, he gazed at her fondly, as if memorizing her features, but then he spoiled it all by getting in one last parting shot. “Fair warning, maid, I may decide afore these three sennights pass to discover for myself just how many of those multiple things you can have.”
Ruby threw a cake of soap at him, but he ducked and it flew out the door into the hall. She heard the echo of his laughter long after he walked down the steps and out of the house.
Chapter Nine
Thork didn’t laugh for long.
When Esle came to his sleeping chamber at the palace that night, he turned her away. Too many thoughts plagued him.
He’d been careless. Tonight, for the first time ever, he’d passed over that fine line he’d drawn long ago for his relationships with women.
Risks! He’d talked about taking risks with Ruby. By the blood of all the gods, what had he been thinking of? His own danger concerned him little. Death rode ever at his side, a constant companion, but he cared too much for Eirik and Tykir to jeopardize their well-being.
And Ruby? He knew that involvement with him would endanger her, as well. Did he care? Thor’s blood! Of course, he did. The seductive witch had wedged her way into his heart like a jagged splinter. He closed his eyes in self-loathing and weary recriminations. It had to stop immediately. Surely it was not too late.
If nothing else, his more than ten years of Jomsviking had taught Thork self-discipline. By morning, he had himself under control, firmly determined to keep his distance from the tempting wench. Women abounded to warm a man’s bed. He needed nothing more.
But the sight of Ruby’s attractive bottom bouncing up and down on her pony in front of him as they began the first leg of their journey caused his throat to dry. Even the dark tunic she wore for traveling could not hide her graceful neck, nor the slimness of her waist and hips. Freya’s bloody flux! he swore silently, then dug his heels into the sides of his mare and rode to the head of the small entourage. He refused to look at Ruby as he passed.
It was for the best—the only course of action a man of honor could follow. Still…
* * *
Thork’s cold demeanor had cut Ruby deeply that morning as the horses had been saddled and panniers had been placed over the small ponies’ backs, overflowing with clothing and accessories for Olaf’s family and the others in their traveling caravan.
At first she’d been unable to fathom the abrupt change in Thork’s mood from his laughing exit the night before, but then had rationalized it as reaction to the chaos that had overtaken Olaf’s barnyard.
Olaf had roared out an order to his seven daughters, including Tyra, who’d been running off to chase a wayward duck. “If any of you moves a hair’s width from the spot on which you now stand or speaks one more word, that person will be left behind with Ulf. Heed me well, for I have had enough of screeching, giggling, wandering, waspish children for one day, and it not yet begun.” He’d sworn at Selik then when he’d defied him by making cross-eyes at Tyra.
Ruby had almost doubled over with laughter as they’d ridden only a short distance to the edge of Jorvik and Tyra had asked her mother, “Are we almost there?” and soon after had whined, “I have to use the garderobe.”