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

lady, you exceed yourself. You would do best not to earn my scorn. Speaking of tails, how much trouble does yours cause?”
    “I…am…not…a…witch,” she repeated, a refrain that was becoming tiresome to him.
    “I would think it could pose problems when you attend your needs in the garderobe,” he said, as if she had not even spoken. He’d already noticed that she hated it when he ignored her words. “Or riding a horse. Oh, oh, I thought of something…”
    “Now, there is a rare event.”
    He frowned at her impertinent interruption. “I am loath to ask, but…do you have a mood tail?”
    He could tell she did not want to ask but could not help herself. “A mood tail?”
    “You know…does it wag of its own volition when you are in a happy mood, like a puppy? And droop when you are in a despondent mood, like when the blood curdles in your witchly cauldron?”
    “I find no humor in your foolery.” She bit her bottom lip with frustration. There was something appealing about the woman when her feathers were ruffled, but he just could not see past those hideous freckles. And even though a crisp wimple covered her bright red hair, he knew it was there underneath, just waiting to spring forth. Moreover, she had no breasts to speak of, as far as he could tell. His preferences did not necessarily lean toward the buxom, but flatter than two eggs on a hot rock held little enticement, either.
    “Keep your eyes in their sockets, Viking,” she admonished.
    Aha! Another feather ruffled. He liked ruffling her. So he added, “Oh, Holy Thor! How could I have forgotten the most important thing? What do you do with your tail when you spread your legs for the bed sport?”
    She gasped, then quickly masked her shock with a bland face. “Since I have been a widow for a year and more, bedsport is hardly something I engage in. Have you all-knowing Vikings found a way to engage in bed sport without a mate?” She batted her eyelashes at him as if she was serious, while in fact she mocked him. “Verily, there was not all that much mating even when I had a mate…not that I ever complained about that.”
    “Oh, lady, that is exactly the kind of provocative remark you should not make to a Viking.”
    He grinned at her lasciviously.
    She glared at him.
    “So, do not distract me with tempting propositions. We must be on our way.”
    “Tem-tempting,” she sputtered.
    “By the by, Rurik and Bolthor and I were wondering if you ever dance naked in the forest.”
    “Dance…dance…oh, you are the most ill-bred, insufferable, loathsome, lecherous lout I have ever encountered in all my life. And believe me, I have met more than a few.”
    “Well, yea, but enough compliments for now. We have no time for man-woman banter.”
    She drew herself up with affront. “Turn aside whilst I gather my undergarments. ’Tis not meet that you should ogle my intimate apparel.”
    “Ogle? Me?” Tykir stiffened. “Lady, despite my mention of temptation, do not delude yourself. Your intimate apparel holds no allure for me. Nor do your intimate parts. Your virtue will not be forfeit in my company, I assure you.”
    Just then, Bolthor approached from the corridor. “I have gathered provisions from the kitchen, and Rurik says the horses are ready.”
    Tykir looked toward Lady Alinor, eyebrows arched in question of her readiness.
    A flush of panic swept her features, causing the freckles to stand out even more. However, before he could assure her of her safety—leastways till they got to Anlaf’s court—a loud rumbling came from Tykir’s gut, followed by a most painful cramping. At the same time, bile rose without warning into his throat.
    Startled, Tykir glanced first at Bolthor, who was gazing at him with concern as he bent over at the waist, clutching his midsection, then at the Lady Alinor, who had the effrontery to grin. He thought he heard her murmur, “’Twould seem I had a choice after all.” Without another word, he made a mad rush for