Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 01] (30 page)

Ruby raised questioning eyebrows from where she sat
some distance away in front of her tent, combing her short hair.

“You do know, my friend, that she will never have you now that you are honor-bound to another?” Selik commented, tilting his head in Ruby’s direction.

“She will have me. Make no mistake about that. And it better be soon.”

Selik snickered, understanding Thork’s meaning well. “And after you take her, then what? Will you leave her in Normandy with Hrolf?”

“Mayhap…if he will have her. If not, providing she pleases as much as I expect, I may offer to set her up for a time in Jomsborg as my mistress, even though I would have to live at the fortress.”

Selik looked incredulous, then laughed uproariously. Bent over at the waist, slapping a hand on his knee, he exclaimed, “My friend, I would love to be a fly on the wall when you make
that
suggestion to the winsome wench. I wager she may tear your eyeballs out. Nay, better yet, she may yank out your balls and cast them in bronze like the picture on that fetching shirt she wears.”

“Why would you think such?” Thork frowned. “’Tis no dishonor in being a man’s bedmate. I treat my women generously. None have complained afore.”

“I cannot believe you think this woman is of the same mold as any other. Never,
never
, will she agree to be aught but wife to you.”

Inside, Thork secretly wondered if Selik might not be right. After all, he’d been down this route with Ruby afore. Seduction, pursuit, withdrawal. First she would. Then she wouldn’t. Of course, he had changed his own mind a few times, as well, he reminded himself ruefully.

Ruby watched the two men through narrowed eyes, sensing they were up to some mischief, probably involving her since they kept looking over at her slyly.

They were outrageously handsome men in their knee-length tunics, worn belted at the waist over slim trousers. Selik was slightly taller with platinum hair, which contrasted sharply with his bronze, sun-baked skin, but, to Ruby, Thork was much more attractive. His impressively toned body and finely chiseled facial features were definite assets, not to mention his drop-dead gorgeous smile, but what appealed to Ruby most in this roguish clone of her husband Jack was his unselfish love for his sons and family. Then, too, his quick wit always caught her off-guard, and the boyish hurt he sometimes failed to hide in shuttered eyes drew Ruby strongly. She wanted to help wipe out the years of childhood abuse, to smother him with so much love he would forget he’d never been given much of that precious emotion.

That was
before
his betrothal to Elise. Ruby knew she would have a hard time resisting Thork now. After all these weeks of attempting to lure him into her bed, she could understand his confusion over her change of heart, but it was the only way.

Ruby loved Thork, and she wanted what was best for his future, even if it wasn’t her. Obviously, it couldn’t be her. If she and Thork made love, Ruby knew from past experience that a full-blown passion would develop between them. It would not end in a few days or even a month, as Thork predicted.

And it would be wrong. Thork belonged to another woman. She belonged to another man.

Oh, Lord!

Then there was the fact that, since she’d probably been sent back in time for a purpose, it would seem that she’d already accomplished those goals. Tykir was in the loving hands of his grandparents. Eirik would be at the Saxon court where he wanted to be—at least safe, if not loved. And Thork—well, he would marry and possibly grow to love his gentle wife
if
Ruby did not fall into his bed and
bind him with invisible ties of love.

Knowing that all these events had been set in motion, Ruby almost feared she might return at any minute to the future, abandoning Thork in the past. And that’s exactly how he’d feel if she let him fall in love with her. Could she hurt him like that? No! This was the only way.

But it hurt
so
bad.

And the pain grew worse and worse during the trip to Kingston as he teased and tantalized her with sweet smiles, fleeting caresses, promising glances, and whispered words of sensual fantasies he conjured of her each night in his lonely tent.

“Soon,” he kept telling her; “soon we will be together.”

“No, we won’t. We can’t,” she continually countered, but he ignored her protests with a beguiling, confident smile as they drew closer and closer to the Saxon court.

They finally arrived in Kingston at dawn on the day of King Athelstan’s coronation. She, Thork, Selik and Eirik went directly to the cathedral, leaving Thork’s men camped along the river, guarding the five ships.

Athelstan’s coronation ceremony turned out to be everything and more than Ruby had ever imagined. Like a page straight out of the Dark Ages court of King Arthur and Camelot, the gentle Saxon prince—the golden dragon of Wessex—was crowned.

Ruby wore the burgundy dress Dar had given her with Thork’s dragon brooches. Thork thrilled her by wearing the blue cloak she’d made for him over a magnificent black tunic and matching trousers, or braies, offset by the now familiar thunderbolt earring, and jewel-encrusted arm rings, brooch, pendant, belt and sword, all suited to a representative of an important Viking king.

Selik turned the eyes of every female they passed, wearing a turquoise short-sleeved tunic which showed
off the wicked gleam of his gray eyes and the muscles of his well-developed chest and arms outlined in chunky silver arm bands and neck chains. As they sat down in the church, Selik winked at her, obviously noticing her complimentary appraisal. He blatantly ignored Thork’s frown of disapproval.

Both men looked like barbarian Viking princes and carried themselves accordingly with arrogant self-confidence.

When Ruby smiled at Selik, Thork reached discreetly in the folds of her garment and pinched her behind, whispering, “Behave thyself, wench, or I will carry you off now. Sore tired I am anyway of this waiting for a private place to bed together.”

Ruby started to tell him once again that she would not make love with him, but he placed a forefinger over her lips and said in a low, silky voice, “Nay, you protest too much, sweetling. ’Tis going to happen, and soon. Do not resist the fates that Odin—or mayhap your God—have set in motion. In truth, sometimes I wonder if they are not one and the same—”

“Shush! ’Tis a church, not a marketplace for gossip,” a woman in the pew behind them chastised.

Thork and Ruby sheepishly turned back to the coronation ceremony at the altar, not realizing they’d been speaking so loudly. Athelstan stood godlike for his consecration by the highest archbishops of the church. The churchmen handed him the royal regalia, finger rings, crown and sceptre. “We anoint you, Athelstan, son of Edward, grandson of Alfred, to be the King of the English and ruler of all Britain. May you rule in peace under God’s holy wisdom…”

The slender, flaxen-haired man of medium height, no more than thirty years old, stood solemnly under the bishop’s ministrations. Thork had explained to her earlier that the church’s approval was essential politically to Athelstan’s acceptance as ruler of all the kingdoms he hoped to unite. King Athelstan glanced occasionally to
the hundreds of ealdormen, thegns and royal emissaries of many nationalities who came to pledge their loyalty to him at the beginning of his reign. At the end of the ceremony, the charismatic nobleman performed a number of symbolic acts.

“In the name of my favorite saint and ancestor, St. Cuthbert, I restore to the Cathedral Church of Canterbury an estate in Thanet for the help given to me in gaining the English throne.” Before he left the high altar, the new king also freed a slave, Eadhelm, and his children, a public act intended to show his generosity and humility.

When he moved to the second-floor chapel with its outdoor balcony overlooking the vast complex consisting of the royal and episcopal palaces and all their accessory buildings, the young king told the thousands of people gathered outside, “I make three pledges to you, my people: First, I will keep you and those you love in peace.”

A roar of approval went through the crowd, most of whom were sick to death of warfare and the toll it had taken on them and their families.

“Next, I forbid robbery and wrongdoing by all men, regardless of their place in society. All men shall be treated equally under the law.”

At first the stunned people exchanged glances among themselves over this novel idea of justice, wondering whether the king was serious. A cheer began as a ripple, then echoed thunderously as the lowly subjects realized the import of his words.

Ruby, too, began to look at the Saxon king in a new light. These were very democratic ideas for such a primitive society. Why hadn’t she ever heard of this farsighted visionary?

“Finally, I promise a kingdom where the rule of law shall be just and merciful, spelled out clearly in law codes for all to understand and obey. Above all, with your help, we will unite this kingdom, making it the most peaceable,
law-abiding land in all the world.”

The king had said the exact words the people wanted to hear, and they cheered wildly as he moved with his royal retainers and guests to the palace where the celebration would begin in earnest. More glamorous and opulent than anything Ruby had seen thus far in these primitive times, King Athelstan’s massive great hall teemed with dignitaries from around the world, each straining to get closer to the new king and ingratiate themselves in his favor. The room was so crowded that Ruby could barely see the walls adorned with priceless tapestries and works of art.

At least five hundred men and women, dressed in the finest garments and jewels, tried to find their places at the tables, arguing with servants about why they were not closer to the dais where the king sat with his highest nobles and visiting heads of countries.

Ruby held tightly to Thork’s and Selik’s arms, not wanting to get lost in the mob. Eirik had been sent off with two servants to find his young uncle Haakon.

There were no wood trenchers at this banquet. Instead, matching ivory-handled gold and silver spoons and knives lay at each place setting, flanking intricately wrought sterling platters shared by each couple.

Enormous
subleties
, towers of pastries in the shape of castles, complete with battlements and arrow-slitted windows, garnished with nuts and almond paste and topped with sugar knights, were placed on the high table and several lower ones, as well. Who would ever dare to eat them and mar the magnificent culinary works of art? As if reading her mind. Thork reached over and popped a whole knight in his mouth, then winked at her.

Ruby shook her head in disgust and turned to Selik at her other side, but he was engrossed in the daughter of a Saxon ealdorman beside him. When he finally turned to Ruby, he raised his wine cup in toast and said in a low voice, “I think I may get
lucky
tonight. What think you?”
He jiggled his eyebrows for emphasis.

Ruby laughed and looked around the huge hall with its many beautiful women, a large number of whom had already noticed the handsome Viking with the dancing eyes. “The odds are in your favor,” she remarked.

Then Selik leaned in front of her to address Thork. “Think you, friend, that you will get
lucky
tonight?”

“I think you will be lucky if I do not slit your loose tongue,” Thork said as he sipped his wine.

“Ah!” Selik persisted. “The man dost refuse to answer my question. Methinks he will not be lucky.”

Thork laughed good-naturedly at his friend’s baiting. “Methinks there is naught of luck in it at all, but expertise, which you must lack, or you would not make such an issue of it.”

Selik pretended mock offense. “You wound me with your words.” Then he turned once again to the maid on his other side.

Thork and Ruby laughed at Selik’s humor. Then Ruby jumped when Thork squeezed her thigh under the table.

“Stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Oh! If you wish,” he said too quickly, then twined the fingers of her right hand with his left and proceeded to torture her by making slow, sensuous circles in her palm with his thumb, all the time looking toward the dais as if he didn’t know damned well what effect he had on her.

Ruby tried to pull her hand away, but Thork held her firm and whispered in her ear, “Nay, do not pull away from me or I swear I will draw circles on a part of your body that will draw gasps from the women around us and cheers of encouragement from all the men, even the virgin king.

Ruby blushed at his risqué comment and slapped his hand away. Then she asked, “A virgin king?”

“’Tis rumored Athelstan has taken a vow of celibacy and will groom his young atheling half-brothers for the throne. Since he is illegitimate and they are marriage-born, he wants to preserve the royal blood lines.”

“Do you believe that?” Ruby was skeptical that such a handsome, virile man would remain celibate.

“Who knows?” Thork shrugged, then grinned. “Mayhap he would be interested in some of your birth control information. He could achieve his goals without the gelding—so to speak.”

Ruby and Thork shared the same platter and cup of wine throughout the sumptuous feast, far grander than any Viking fare. The food and drink flowed endlessly.

“So, how many multiple orgasms did you have in one night with that fantasy husband of yours?” Thork asked suddenly in one of the conversation’s lulls, showing Ruby exactly where his mind was. She coughed on the wine she’d been drinking, and he clapped her on the back jovially.

“That many, huh?”

“How could you ask such a thing?” she whispered, profoundly embarrassed that someone might have overheard.

“What? You are the one who bragged—”

“I never bragged. I merely told Byrnhil—”

Ruby never got a chance to finish as the king and all his party on the dais stood, announcing he was about to receive the gifts and messages from all the royal emissaries present, after which the entertainment would begin.

As an indication of the new king’s standing, several royal princes sent fine gifts, hoping for one of Athelstan’s sisters in marriage. His cousin Adelolf, Count of Boulogne, who represented the Capetian ruler Hugh, a Frankish duke, sought his sister Eadhild. Henry the Fowler, Saxon king of the Germans, wanted Athelstan’s sister Edith for his son Otto. Conrad the Peaceable, King of Burgundy, would
take any sister he could get. Athelstan’s sister Eadgifu had already married Charles the Simple, the Frankish king, six years before.

Among the priceless gifts they brought were the Holy Lance of Charlemagne, allegedly the one used by the Roman centurion to pierce the side of Christ. Also, the sword of Constantine the Great with a nail from the True Cross in its hilt, and a crown of thorns set in crystal, not to mention precious gems the size of hen’s eggs, magnificent horses, and rare perfumes.

“It seems Sigtrygg should be honored by Athelstan’s proposal to marry his sister if such distinguished men clamor for his family ties,” Ruby whispered to Thork.

“’Tis nothing of honor to it. The king will do what is to his best advantage, like any other.”

It was Thork’s turn to go forward on behalf of King Sigtrygg.

“Thork! Back so soon!” the king exclaimed and embraced him like an old friend. “Do you check on your brother Haakon? I thought you were not fond of court life.”

“I come on behalf of King Sigtrygg of Northumbria who pays homage to you as ruler of the English. Also, I bring you his formal acceptance of the betrothal contract for your sister.” He placed in the king’s hand a magnificent Viking sword with a twisted metal blade and a solid gold hilt embedded with rubies.

There were disgruntled rumblings behind them from some of the nobles about Athelstan’s giving his sister to what they considered a heathen barbarian while they waited in line like lowly beggars. Athelstan stopped them with a cold look.

“When will he wed my sister?”

“Would the thirtieth of January suit?”

“It would. Will you come to my solar tomorrow afternoon to discuss further details?” When Thork nodded, the
king asked who accompanied him, and Thork introduced Ruby and Selik.

“Ah, the godly handsome Norseman who breaks the hearts of sweet maids from here to the Holy Land and beyond!”

Selik tilted his head in arrogant acknowledgment of his dubious reputation and bowed to the king.

Then the king turned to Ruby.

“Surely not the woman who claims to come from the future?” he asked Thork, who nodded, then frowned, probably wondering what spy network reported to the Saxons so well on events in Jorvik.

“Wonderful!” He clapped his hands together and demanded, “Bring her with you on the morrow. I want to hear all her stories. I understand I could learn much from her.”

They were about to be dismissed in favor of the long line of people waiting to be presented to the king when Athelstan asked, “Where do you stay?”

Thork shrugged uncertainly. “We just arrived this morn. With all the crowds here in Kingston, we will no doubt go back to my men who camp in tents near my ships.”

“Nay, you will not.” The king directed a servant to find a room for Thork and “his woman.”

His woman!
Where did he get that idea? Ruby wondered as her face flushed hotly.

“And one for Selik, as well. ’Tis certain he will find his own woman afore the night is over.”

Thork smiled so smugly as they walked away from the dais that Ruby had to elbow him in the ribs.

“A private room at last,” Thork whispered, putting his arm around her shoulders intimately, uncaring of the people’s stares. “Your time of sweet reckoning has come, dearling.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” Ruby whispered to Thork as they walked up winding stone steps to the
second and then the third floor of the massive palace. They followed a grumbling servant who complained incessantly of the demands put upon him by a king who thought there were endless rooms to be had.

Selik was shown his broom-closet-sized room at the top of the third-floor steps. When Ruby started to enlist his aid in escaping Thork’s inevitable amorous advances, Thork clamped a palm over her mouth and laughingly informed his friend, “Overcome with emotion she is over the night to come.” She tried to bite Thork’s palm, but he held her too tightly. The overworked servant just stared at them in tired boredom, as if people behaved in this manner all the time.

The small tower room he showed them was spartan, but clean. Thork indicated with a satisfied grin that its biggest asset was the full-sized bed, rather than the expected pallet.