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feel.”
    He brushed aside the vehement denial that sprang from her lips and framed her face with his hands. “By Thor, I never meant to place you in such danger as this. Whatever happens this day, my precious girl, be assured I will protect you with my life. None will get to you but through me.” Then, despite her piteous cries of protest, he stepped back and unwound her arms from his neck.
    Tears streamed down her face as she watched him walk away. He could die today – Sweet Mary! They might both die. It shattered her that she might lose him forever, while he yet believed she harbored not one whit of genuine attraction for him. Her eyes greedily followed his movements as he ripped a narrow strip of cloth from the hem of his tunic and tore it in two. Rolling them into cylinders, he plugged his ears.
    “I do care!” she screamed after him in despair, but he could no longer hear her. He sprinted to the oars and wrestled with a young sailor who thrashed against his bonds and tried to break loose from the ship. Tearing another strip from his tunic, Eirik rolled two bits of fabric and stuffed them in the lad’s ears. Then he cradled the lad with his giant frame and placed his arms atop the youth’s to help him resume the motion of rowing. Within moments, the glaze evaporated from the sailor’s eyes, and he began to paddle of his own accord. Satisfied, Eirik backed away and hurried to assist another.
    The song of the mermaids grew stronger and eclipsed the chanting of the sailors. ’Twas a beautiful chorus, harmonic and full, as if dozens of voices joined together. It rose and peaked on a heartrendingly high note, ebbed to a quieter strain, and then surged again. Squinting out to sea, Branwyn sagged against her bonds. Sweet Mary! The ship was surrounded with a veritable army of mer creatures. They arched and dove like dolphins, splashed each other, intertwined their arms and floated backwards together, and sang all the while like angels.
    The first three mermaids arched in and out of the waves in a playful dance right against the side of the ship. Drops of water from their silvery blue-green tails sprayed the deck. One was a white blonde with hauntingly transparent skin and features, and her companion was a brunette with lush red lips. Naught but a narrow weave of seaweed and shells splayed across their ample breasts, hiding little of their nakedness.
    The one with flowing black hair leaped up, grasped the side of the ship, and hauled herself eye level with the oarsmen. She balanced herself there, elbows extending across the ledge and offered a sultry smile to the nearest crew member, Alf. Her skin was a dark, burnished copper as if kissed repeatedly by the sun, and her eyes turned exotically up at the corners.
    At three and thirty, Alf was one of the oldest sailors aboard ship. According to Sven, he was the proud mate of a highly skilled weaver and the father of six stair-step bairns. He continued to row with all of his strength until the cords of his neck stood out from the effort. He kept his face averted to avoid eye contact with the lovely mer creature.
    With a gesture so rapid that her movements appeared blurred to Branwyn, the dark-eyed beauty reached over and yanked one of the coils of cloth from Alf’s ear. She leaned closer and began to sing less than an arm’s length from his face. In seconds, his eyes glazed, and the oar in his hands stilled.
    “Nay!” Branwyn shrieked as he ripped at the bonds that held him to the ship. “Alf, nay!” She swung her head wildly in search of Eirik. He stood over a pair of sailors at the front of the line. They writhed and thrashed against their bonds whilst the transparent blonde hung over the rail and sang them into oblivion.
    Eirik whipped the sword from his waist and pressed the tip to her collarbone. She tipped her head back and bestowed a lazy, wicked smile upon him. Branwyn trembled to see the sun glinting from a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. Merciful heavens! The