Read Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 04] for Free Online

open door frame of the Lady Alinor’s bedchamber, his arms folded across his chest. Block was a good choice of word on her part because he suspected she would bolt in an instant if he were not acting as the barrier to her freedom.
    He tapped one booted foot with impatience as the wench…rather, the witch…or the lady…arranged a neat pile on her high bed of the garments she intended to take on her journey to Trondelag. Worst of all, there were four blue headrails, and none of them looked magical, or, for that matter, old enough to be the Blessed Virgin relic.
    I swear, if she folds that gunna into one more perfect square and smoothes out every single wrinkle, I am going to stuff her belongings in my saddlebags and be done with it. Mayhap I will stuff her scrawny body in there, too, all neatly folded into squarish parts.
    Clearly, she was employing a delaying tactic, but for what purpose he could not yet fathom. She appeared to be an intelligent woman…or as intelligent as any woman could be. She had to know her fate was sealed; she would be delivered to King Anlaf, willing or unwilling.
    Still Tykir held his temper in check. A good soldier knew to wait for just the right moment to pounce. Lady Alinor didn’t deceive him. The witch was up to some mischief. He saw the evidence in the nervous fluttering of her fingertips, and this was a woman not prone to flightiness. She had given in too quickly, in the end, to his demandthat she accompany him to the Norse lands. Being a mite stubborn himself on occasion, Tykir recognized a fellow mule. He grinned to himself at that mental picture, and how the missish Lady Alinor would hate that he put her in that animal category.
    She cast him a sideways glance through narrowed, speculative eyes. “Wouldst consider a danegeld?”
    “Aha! You think to bribe me now? With what? Mutton?”
    She bristled at his ridicule of her precious sheep. On the way back to the keep, he’d noted with amusement that she had names for each of the bleating animals.
    “Perchance I could gather together a few coin,” she offered. The furtive cast in her eyes told him clearly that she hid something. Hmmm. Now that he thought on it, the number of sheep and cattle he’d seen on the fells, along with the well-cultivated fields, bespoke a more prosperous estate than exhibited in Graycote’s austere keep or in Lady Alinor’s jewelless attire. Mayhap she hoarded her gold. But for what purpose?
    Really, it was no matter to him whether she was wealthy as a Baghdad sultan or poor as a landless cotter.
    He shook his head. “I promised Anlaf a witch, and a witch he shall have.”
    “All for the sake of a horse?” she scoffed.
    He’d told her moments ago about all the trouble he’d gone to since the king’s emissary had come to him in Birka, including Anlaf’s wily inducements to seal the mission. Her scoffing tone irritated him. Whether he’d been barmy or not to take on this mission was his concern, and whether he did so out of boredom or for a fine stallion did not merit her criticism.
    “Do not forget the slave girl,” he pointed out in a deliberate attempt to rattle her composure. “The one withthe bells.” For some reason, he’d mentioned the horse and the jingling Samirah, but he hadn’t told her about Adam. The less people who knew the better, especially his sister Rain and her husband, Selik. They would go off in a rage if they discovered Anlaf’s perfidy regarding their adopted son. In fact, their rage might cause a whole bloody war over an incident that Tykir could handle by simply delivering a witch.
    Her upper lip curled with contempt. “Men are the same everywhere, are they not? It does not matter if they be Norseman or Englishman, men are led by the tail betwixt their legs.”
    Tykir was startled by her blunt words and realized that she was referring to his slave girl comment. He was not accustomed to such crudity from a lady, but he forced his face to remain expressionless. “My