Sandra Hill (7 page)

“Or those who are not so prideful that they cannot ask others to help them,” the abbess offered. “Like two strong Viking nobles with the ability to garner a
bird
of soldiers?”

“Precisely,” Esme said.

“Then what is stopping you?”

“I do not know. These two Vikings are not at all like any men I’ve met afore. Not my father and brothers, who care only for their own welfare, or the few men, including priests, that I’ve met over the years here at the convent. Oh, do not glower at me so, Mother. I know that Father
Alaric is not bad, but he is the exception. Toste and Bolthor are bloodthirsty warriors…well, leastways, they are warriors for hire, Jomsvikings.”

“But that could mean they are good fighters for the right cause.”

“Hmmmm.” Did she dare trust them? What would she have to give up in order to hire them and a troop of their followers? Control, for one thing. Esme did not like the idea of putting her future in the hands of others. Somehow, deep down inside, Esme suspected that she would have to relinquish more than control of her life path…especially to the one Viking, Toste.

And that prospect worried Esme the most. She was attracted to the man. Unbelievably, after years of cloistered virtue, suddenly her stomach fluttered whenever this man came near. Not that she would ever let him know of his effect on her. Hah! He already thought too much of himself.

He was more than pleasing to the eye…tall and well-built and clean, now that he was recovering from his injuries, with a shaven, well-sculpted face and an enticing cleft chin, dancing blue eyes and long, dark blond hair, which he vainly braided on the sides with amber beads.
Not that I noticed all that much
. When he grinned at her, which he did much too often, she felt her insides melt a tiny bit.

But the thing that drew her to him most was the affection he could not hide for his dead brother and for that horrid poet, Bolthor. How could she not be drawn to a man who loved his brother so, and who showed such loyalty to his friend, even praising his awful sagas?

Mother Wilfreda chuckled suddenly.

“What?”

“The wistful expression on your face betrays you, dear.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Esme said, but of course she did.

“There is naught wrong with woman-feelings for a man…as long as there is no bedding afore the wedding.”

Esme felt her face heat with embarrassment. “I have no woman-feelings for any man.”

“I may have been a nun these forty-some years, but I know this for certain. God meant for men and women to enjoy each other. There is good lust and there is bad lust.”

“Good lust, eh? I like the sound of that,” Toste said, coming up behind them, then sliding onto the bench next to Esme…way too close.

Esme sidled her bottom along the bench, away from him.

He followed after her.

Mother Wilfreda just made a clucking sound at their antics, then rose and said her good eventides to them both. She would be going off to her cell, along with several of the other nuns, but many of the nuns and novices would set up pallets before the hearths to take advantage of the heat. Most of the bedchambers were cold in wintertime, the only heat provided by numerous woolen blankets; wood for the fireplaces was an expensive commodity.

“She is a good woman,” Toste said, motioning his head toward the departing nun. Mother Wilfreda was speaking to her flock of young novices, who were yawning and placing no objections to an early bedtime. After all, they would have to rise before dawn to begin a new day.

“Yea, she is. I do not know what I would have done without her these many years. She is blood kin…but more than that. She has been like a true mother to me.”

“I’m impressed with this abbey. It is pretty nigh self-sufficient, especially with the mead sales.”

“Yea, it is bare bones here, but we get by.”

“Especially with Sister Mary Rose selling the occasional relic.” He waggled his eyebrows at her for emphasis.

“There is naught wrong with relics.”

“Hah! She tried to interest me in one of the Virgin Mary’s eyelashes today. Christ’s mother must have had eyelashes like the tails of a peacock when you consider how many of them have been found over the years. But this is nothing new. When I was in the Rus lands one time, a merchant tried to sell me twelve shriveled-up things which he claimed were the manparts of the twelve Apostles.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“A little.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I will have to go to confession again.”

He tilted his head in question. “
Again?
”

“Yea, I had to go early today for saying that bad word to you and Bolthor. Then again later when I was dusting the altar of the church sacristy and knocked over St. Stephen’s shin bone. Broke it into two pieces, I did. It flew through the air like a spear.
Swish!
”

“And that sin would be?”

“Taking improper care of sacred objects.”

“’Tis sinful to be clumsy?”

“Apparently.”

“Father Alaric wanted me to make a confession,” Toste told her.

“For what?”

“Abominations.” He winked at her.

Her mouth dropped open

He laughed out loud and chucked her playfully under the chin, thus closing her gaping mouth.

“Do not do that. It is not proper.”

“What is not proper?”

“Touching me…a holy nun.”

“Oh, nay, do not play that game with me. You are no more a nun than I am a monk. Once I learned that you had not taken your final vows, I began to view you in an entirely different light.”

“What do you mean?” She tried to sound prim and uninterested, which she was not.

“It means that I intend to do everything in my power to seduce you to my bed furs.”

She gasped. “
You
are an abomination.”

“A tempting one, I trust.”

“See, I will have to go to confession now.”

“Did I miss something? What sin did
you
commit? I am the one who made the sinful suggestion.”

“Yea, but you put impure thoughts in my mind.”

“It is a sin to think impure things?”

“Yea, ’tis. We are taught to avoid the near occasions of sin. And impure thoughts are definitely in that category.”

“Really, you Christians go too far. How can you condemn a person for thinking something?” He paused several moments, then added, “I rather like the idea of you having impure thoughts about me, though. Gives me hope.”

“Stop hoping. That is as far as it will go.”

“Do not be too sure of that, m’lady. We Vikings have persuasive powers.”

That was what she was afraid of.

“Have you thought about the offer Bolthor and I made to you this morn?”

“Not really,” she lied. “I have my own plan.”

“And that would be?”

“There are places I can go where my father would be unable to find me for the next four months.”

“And then?”

How perceptive of the man to home right in on the crux of her problem! “Then I will figure out a way to approach King Edgar himself.”

He arched his brows at her. “You are aware of Edgar’s penchant for swiving everything in sight with a set of breasts, are you not? In fact, I heard he entered a nunnery one day not too long past and raped a fair-faced novice without any remorse at all. And he killed the husband of one woman just because she caught his fancy.”

“All right, I realize it’s not a perfect plan, but I have been evading my father and his schemes for ten years now.”

“Wouldst like to hear my idea?”

She should say nay, she really should. “Yea.”

“There is one last thing I must do, once I am healed enough to travel…I hope within a sennight. I must find Vagn’s killer and remove him from this earth.”

“You are going to murder someone? That is your plan?”

“It will not be murder. It will be well-deserved revenge.”

“How will you find him? Do you know his name?”

He shook his head. “I do not know his name, but I saw
him clearly that day. His face is branded on my brain, not to mention the eagle emblem of his master. I will find him, do not doubt that, m’lady.”

Her shoulders slumped with resignation. There was no arguing with men when issues of pride and fighting were involved. “What has any of this to do with me?”

“I have friends in Northumbria. Lord Eirik of Ravenshire, for one. Bolthor and I will go there and amass a troop of soldiers, using Eirik’s estate as our base of operation for finding Vagn’s killer. You could come with us. Whilst there, you would be under the protection of Eirik’s shield, which is formidable.”

“I couldn’t intrude on strangers that way.”

“Because of the bond of friendship he shares with me, Eirik and his wife Eadyth would not turn you away. Then, and I think this is the best course, envoys could be sent to King Edgar asking for the release of your dower lands. You would not have to be present yourself.”

“Hmmmm. That is a wise remedy and worth pondering.” Still, she hesitated. From across the hall, she noticed Mother Wilfreda motioning to her that it was time to retire for the night. She stood, and Toste stood as well. He walked along with her to the corridor. “Why would you do this for me? I am nothing to you. I get the impression you are accustomed to traveling unencumbered,” she said, as they walked toward the stairs leading to the upper story where the bedchambers were located. She held a wall torch in one hand to light the way. Already the air was freezing cold, now that they’d left the warmth of the great hall. She shivered.

Taking the fur mantle off his shoulders, he placed it over her, locking it in place with a brooch in the shape of writhing wolves. “Oh, nay, ’tis not necessary.”

But he just smiled softly and moved closer so that her back was to the stone wall. She no longer felt the chill of the air. His body heat wrapped her in a warm cocoon.

Oh, he is so attractive…for a man. Big in stature. Well-muscled, yet lean at the same time. Even his hair is pretty. And clean…do not forget clean, Esme. And that cleft in his chin…whew! I wonder how he shaves it. I should not be noticing all these things about him. I am practically a nun. But, Blessed Lord, the man exudes heat like a wicked hearth. Is this how the moth feels afore the flickering flame?
“How can you be so hot when the air is so cold?” she blurted out.

“Mayhap I am hot for you.”

“What a sinful thing to say!” she exclaimed with a gasp.

“’Tis human nature. Even your Adam and Eve felt the same, I warrant.”

She needed to change the subject before she did something scandalous, like lick the cleft in his chin. “I asked you why you would help me. You are evading the subject, methinks.”

“Perchance I am just a noble fellow.”

She made a snorting sound of disbelief.

He shrugged and ran a fingertip along the edge of her jaw, from ear to chin, then grazing over her parted lips. “Perchance ’tis just a whim.”

That gentle caress stimulated a flood of liquid fire betwixt her legs and a burning at the tips of her peaked breasts.
What is he doing to me? Why am I reacting this way?

“Or perchance I have ulterior motives for my offer,” he said huskily. “Perchance I want something from you.”

The glint in his blue eyes spelled danger to her…she just knew it did. Still she blundered on, like a lamb before
the wolf. “I have naught to give,” she said, just as huskily.

“Oh, yea, you do, m’lady.” His voice was whisper soft and as tempting as sin.

He leaned forward then, his lips brushing lightly across hers. She heard a soft moan, and was not sure if it came from her or him. She wanted more. God help her, she wanted more. Sensing her acquiescence, the rogue kissed her again, but this time he
really
kissed her. Deep and wet and demanding. When she parted her lips, his tongue slipped inside her mouth, and her knees gave way. But wait, there were other things going on. A tongue kiss…she had heard of such, and had always imagined that she would be repulsed. She wasn’t. He did not end the kiss. Instead, he put both hands on her hips and lifted her off the floor so that his manhood was aligned with her female place. She began to throb
there
in the most delicious manner.

He wanted her…in the way that men wanted women. And she suspected that she desired him, too. Who knew? Who knew?

When he finally drew away from her slightly, he smiled. “I never kissed a nun afore.”

“I never kissed a Viking afore.”

“A first for each of us, then.” He waggled his eyebrows at her as if to convey that there was much more to come. “So, what say you to my offer, m’lady?”

“Which offer?” Her brain was so befuddled by his closeness and the kiss and the ache in her breasts and low down in her belly that she couldn’t think clearly. “You make me breathless,” she confessed, then immediately bit her bottom lip at her blunder. ’Twas not good to let a man know your weaknesses.

“Breathless is good,” he said. His own breath was hot against her mouth.

Of course he would think breathless was good. He was a man. But she was a woman beneath the nunly garb and ’twas best to guard her vulnerable points. She tried to shove him away. He let her slide down his body to her feet, slowly, slowly, slowly, but would not release her.

“Will it be yea or nay?” he insisted on knowing.

“I do not know. Honestly.” She inhaled and exhaled several times, then said, “The only thing I know for certain is that I will have to go to confession again.”

“Good,” the Viking said, and kissed her again.

Back from the dead, part two…

Would he live or would he die?

Only the gods knew now.

Helga stoked up the fire in the hearth of Vagn’s bedchamber to ward off the winter chill. It had snowed the night before, and through the arrow slit windows, she heard the wind howl eerily outside. Once satisfied that the flames were strong enough, she turned back to her patient. A short time ago, she’d forced a small amount of an herb posset through his lips. Now, with gentle care, she replaced the cloth on Vagn’s burning forehead with a cool one and sat down on a chair next to his bed, resuming the vigil she’d been keeping the past two days.

Vagn had suffered a relapse immediately following their outrageous kiss in her solar…outrageous because the kiss had caused her bones to melt and her usually
strong self-control to disappear like dandelion fluff on the wind. Not that the kiss had been the cause of his decline. Leastways, she hoped not. She would not want to add that to her wordfame as Helga the Homely. Helga the Kiss-Killer, or something equally objectionable. Nay, Vagn had just risen from his sickbed too soon. And his wounds had been grievous, after all.

She’d almost lost him three times when his fever had raged so high he’d become delirious. Where she’d gotten the idea that he was hers to lose, she had no idea, but for some unfathomable reason she felt a personal interest in his recovery.

Always, in the throes of his delirium these two long days and nights, he called out for his brother Toste. She suspected that his longing for his brother had contributed to his relapse as much as his moving about too soon.

“How is he doing today?” her father asked. He came into the chamber and lowered his massive body into an armed chair on the other side of the pallet. He wore heavy furs over his tunic and
braies
to ward off the cold of the castle corridors.

“I think he’s a little better.”

“Is it my fault?” For all his blundering ways, Gorm was a good man. He fought like a warrior when called upon, but he cared intensely for those under his shield.

“Of course not. You probably saved his life, bringing him here from the battlefield. And I don’t think your restraints did him any harm.”

Gorm nodded his acceptance of her words.

“In truth, most men would have died long ago from such grave wounds. He is strong, I will give him that, and, though he claims to welcome death, he is fighting mightily for life.”

“I just wanted to find a good husband for you, a strong man to take over my holdings. I will not live forever, Helga. Who will care for you when I am gone?” Her father’s lips quivered with emotion.

“Oh, Father, you have never understood. I can care for myself.”

“Alone,” he said as if that were the worst thing that could happen to her.

“Toste…Toste…” Vagn moaned the familiar refrain.

Gorm shook his head from side to side. “Ne’er have I heard of brothers so close as those two seemed to be. ’Tis hard for me to understand why he cannot get over his brother’s passing. ’Tis not like a beloved wife or child he has lost. Death is a way of life for us men of the North.”

Helga shrugged. “They were twins. I daresay there is something mystical about twins…something the rest of us cannot understand. I always wished I had brothers or sisters.”

Her father sighed deeply. “I always wanted brothers or sisters for you, too.”

She had to smile at the old man’s lack of subtlety. “Don’t think you can guilt me into marriage and giving you babes to coddle.”
If I could, I would, Father. Just to make you happy, if naught else
.

“It would be a good match. You and Vagn. Admit that much.”

“Don’t push me, Father.” But in her mind, she kept remembering the kiss.
How can I be indifferent to a man who kisses like that? How can I not at least wonder about the possibilities when the rogue has such an effect on me?
“How is his horse doing? I swear, when Vagn is not muttering
his brother’s name, he is calling out for Clod. And what a name for a warhorse!”

Her father smiled, exposing his yellowed teeth. “I checked on his horse a bit ago. The starveling beast is not as old and decrepit as first appeared. Just malnourished and mistreated.”

“By Vagn?” That surprised her.

Her father shook his head. “Nay. Methinks the animal was not long in his possession.”

“I won him in a bet,” a croaky voice said.

She and her father jerked with surprise and looked down on Vagn, whose eyes were wide open. The fever must have broken. Praise the gods!

“Gambling! That figures,” Helga remarked prissily, when what she felt was elation that the man just might recover, after all. In fact, tears of relief welled in her eyes. She removed the damp cloth from his forehead, which was still warm but no longer fiery hot.

“Are you weeping for me?” he asked weakly, licking his dry lips.

He lives! Oh, thank the heavens, he lives!
“Nay, I weep out of frustration for all the trouble you have caused me.”

“Daughter!” her father reprimanded her, but she could tell that he shared her joy that Vagn had wakened finally.

She quickly brought a cup of water to his bedside and held it to his lips. He drank thirstily. When done, he fell back on the pillow and said, “You cannot fool me, wench. You are smitten with me.”

“Oh, really? And how wouldst you know that?” She was straightening his bed linens as she spoke, pretending an outrage she did not feel.
I must mask my feelings better, or this rogue will have me drooling over him like a besotted girl
.

“Don’t you remember, sweetling?” he chided her softly.

Helga’s heart wrenched at the endearment. No man had ever called her such. “Remember what?”
Surely such a small happenstance as a kiss does not stick in his mind
.

“Our kiss,” he replied matter-of-factly.

It did
. “I forgot,” she lied.
I will remember it always
.

“You kissed?” her father chortled. “Loki’s lips! There is hope yet.”

Now he has done it. My father will be planning the wedding feast
.

“You are mine now,” Vagn murmured even as he drifted back to sleep…a normal sleep, not the sickbed fever. “Not Toste’s. Not any other man’s. Mine.”

He does not mean it. He must be under the influence of his fever. Brain fuzzy
. Still, her heart sang at his words. In that instant, Helga the Homely became Helga the Hopeful. And that was a dangerous thing for her.

“Come closer,” said the (Viking) wolf to the lamb…

A sennight later, Vagn was in the stable grooming his horse.

“What a good fellow you are, Clod! I no longer see your ribs, and your coat is nigh glossy with good health. Mayhap we both are survivors. What think you of that?”

Clod’s answer was to reach back and lip him on the shoulder. A horse kiss.

“Are you ready for a long trip, boy?”

Clod neighed his response, which Vagn chose to believe was positive. After all, neigh and yea sounded much alike.

“That’s good. I’m thinking one more week and we should both be in good enough shape.”

“Are you talking to yourself?” Helga asked, coming into the barn and shutting the door after her to keep out the cold. She herself was warm in a full-length russet wool cape with a red fox lining. “Father asked me to find you. He is perched afore the fire in the great hall wanting to finish the game of chess you started yestereve.”

Vagn did not look at her directly, but he was very much aware of her presence. He was in an odd mood—lustsome, actually, now that his body was regaining its normal vigor—and if Helga knew what was good for her, she would pick up her skirts and run for her life.

“I was talking to my horse,” he said, continuing to run the brush from back to flanks, then over again. “We are planning a journey.”
Is that lavender I smell? Uhhhmmm. Come close, Helga, and let me see if it is your clothing or your skin that emits that scent. Just a little closer
.

He saw an expression of alarm flash across her face at the news of his impending departure; she immediately masked it. A good sign. She tried to fight her female urgings, but she was tempted by him. Vagn could tell these kinds of things about women.
Beware, m’lady, this Viking has been celibate for a year. You play with fire coming into my lair
.

“Where are you going?”

Blah, blah, blah! More chit-chat. Ask me why I have turned away from you. Ask me what I hide beneath my braies
. “To Vestfold. To my father’s estates.”
But first, I have a few things to take care of here. Like you. And those luscious lips that beg for attention. Lick them one more time, m’lady. Go ahead. See how far you can push a Viking on the mend
.

She tilted her head to the side, confused. “I thought you had no love for your sire. I thought you mentioned being outlawed.”

He nodded.
All right, let’s get this somber discussion out of the way and move on to things of an unsomber nature
. “All that is true, but one of the last things Toste and I discussed afore his…afore the battle…was returning home to make peace with my father.”

“So, you will do this in honor of your brother.”

Well, that is like a dose of cold water on my randiness. Why must women ask so many questions?
Vagn sighed deeply, no longer in such a lustsome mood. “Nay! I will do it to
find
my brother. If he is alive, he will make his way there.”

She gasped. “Oh, Vagn, you cannot go on believing that Toste survived. ’Tis impossible. Father said you were the only living Viking he saw that day, and you had been left for dead.”

Do not dash my hopes so easily, m’lady. Do not
. “My horse survived,” he insisted stubbornly.

“And because this beast made it through the battle, you believe Toste did, too?” She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Vagn decided to change the course of this way-too-personal discussion. “Do not call Clod a beast. It hurts his pride. See how he hangs his head.” Actually, Clod was munching on some oats at his feet.

She smiled at his teasing and made a little curtsy of apology to his horse. Perhaps to him, as well.

He liked her smile. He liked the mouth that formed the smile. He liked what he could do with that smiling mouth…if she would just stop talking. “It is not just Clod that gives me hope,” he said, somber again. “It’s a feeling I have that Toste is not dead.”

“The headaches?”

“That and much more. Toste and I have this connection, like an invisible thread. Each of us can sense when
the other is happy or sad or in trouble.” He shrugged, then laughed. “This morning I got a thickening of a sudden, and all I had been doing was shaving off my face hairs.”

“A thickening?” she asked, frowning.

Holy Thor! The lady is twenty and eight years old, and she does not know what a thickening is
. He waved a hand toward his nether region, which was hardening even more just at the mention of itself.
Well, that should clearly show her where my thoughts dwell
.

“Oh,” she said, face flaming. Then she raised her chin haughtily and said, “Surely you two did not share the same…uh, bed pleasures…from a distance.”

He grinned. “We ne’er did in the past, but as sure as snow is cold I felt it this time. My brother is with a woman and enjoying himself. I would bet my life on it.”

“Seems to me that men get…those things…without much provocation, like a belch or a sneeze.”

He grinned. “There is no similarity between a thickening and a belch or a sneeze, believe you me.”

She waved a hand as if to dismiss the disagreeable subject.

It wasn’t disagreeable to him.

“It would be foolish to make the trip now. As you know, the winter freeze hits the Norselands much earlier than here. Even if you could find a ship to travel the stormy seas and ice-covered fjords at this time of year, it would be highly dangerous. Would it not be best to wait till spring?”

Vagn put aside his brush and gave her his full attention. In fact, he began to advance toward her.

He saw the moment that Helga realized she was alone with him in the barn, dark except for two wall torches
attached to the horse stall. She backed up till her shoulders hit the wall with a thud.

“And what would I do with myself here all that time? Twiddle my thumbs?”

She glanced down at his one thumb in panic, as if the appendage were a wicked instrument of erotic torture.

Hmmm. It could be
.

He stood so close to her he could smell the cold air on her skin and the wet fur of her cloak.

“Play chess?” she offered.

“For three months?” He arched his eyebrows at the ludicrous idea.

“I’m sure Father could use your help in training his troops, or running the estates.”

Vagn braced his arms on the wall on either side of her head, trapping her. His eyes homed in on her mouth.

Her eyes darted right and left, as if seeking some means of escape.

Too late, my lamb. Too late
. “You know what that would lead to, don’t you? He would be grooming me for son-by-marriage.”

“I had not thought of that.”

“Do you know, Helga, it has been a year and more since I have lain with a woman?”

“What has that to do with me?” she asked in a near shriek, as he gave in to temptation and nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck.

He relished the softness of her flesh and the silkiness of her blond hair. And, yea, it was lavender he had smelled. Did she bathe in lavender-scented water? Intriguing picture, that.

“Everything,” he said and took a small nibble at her earlobe. Then another. And another. He licked, too.
What a delicacy! Better than any sweetmeat in a royal harem.

“Don’t,” she protested.

“Don’t what?”

“Play with me. You are bored and seeking a dalliance to pass the time. I will not be used so.”

What a perceptive maid! Play is exactly what I have in mind
. “You would enjoy it.”