Santa Viking, Page 3

  Bolthor could not help but grin.

  “What?”

  “The pole referred to is his sizeable . . . um, pole.”

  She made a huffing sound of disgust. She had John in her arms now and was patting his back as he whined in his half-sleep state.

  Bolthor rose, too, and was about to go outside and help gather firewood. A keep this size needed an endless supply to last through the winter.

  “Before I depart, I would leave this thought with you. Not that I have offered myself to you . . . I am still assessing the market, but know this, Bolthor. Losing me may be your greatest mistake.”

  Long after she was gone, and he was out in the biting cold, her words haunted him. He already felt the loss.

  That evening, annoyed for some reason by Katherine flitting around, talking to one knight or hersir after another, Bolthor stood and announced that he had a new poem to recite to the crowds in the Dragonstead great hall. “Hear one and all, this is the saga of ‘Fickle Women.’”

  Women are fickle, that is a fact.

  They knock on your heart, then attack.

  Starting in the Garden of Eden with Eve so supple.

  ’Twas she who lured Adam with that sinful apple.

  Once men surrender, the women wander.

  Lots more better men, o’er yonder.

  With swaying hips, they jiggle a breast.

  Make a man think that he is the best.

  Once they have them, meek and mild,

  Off they go in pursuit of men more wild.

  Here is the moral of this ode:

  Never let a woman turn you into a pet toad.

  Despite the cheers of the crowd, he knew immediately that his poem was a mistake. He never should have underestimated the wiliness of a thwarted woman.

  Katherine, now up at the head table, whispered in Alinor’s ear.

  Alinor grinned like a cat that had swallowed all the cream and stood. “Great news! Katherine tells me that she has a talent for poems, too.”

  The crowd burst into enthusiastic applause, encouraging her to put aside shyness and share her talent with them. Hah! This woman had not been shy a day of her life.

  Katherine stood and glanced his way, batting her eyelashes as if in apology.

  For what?

  He soon found out.

  Men, men, men!

  When will they learn?

  Women know what they do when out of sight.

  They spit, they swear, they belch,

  They gamble, lie, and break wind,

  They swive, swive, swive.

  And all the while, the miscreants

  Leave wives and sweetlings at home.

  Weeping with loneliness, sad of heart.

  Hah!

  Hear me well, all you errant men.

  Methinks you would be surprised to learn

  What the mice are doing whilst the cat is away.

  The men in the hall seemed stunned into silence, but the ladies were hooting and cheering with glee.

  A red-faced Bolthor looked at Katherine with new eyes, and began to ponder, Just how ironclad is my vow?

  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder . . .

  “He is the one,” Katherine declared.

  “Are you sure?” Alinor asked.

  “There are so many men to choose from,” Eadyth pointed out. “The wisest course would be to take your time and meet them all.”

  “Bolthor is the one I want,” Katherine insisted.

  “Some would say his skaldic skills make him an object of humor, not desire,” Alinor pointed out in a kindly fashion. “Do his poems not bother you?”

  Katherine frowned. “Why would they?”

  “To put it plainly, they stink.”

  A gasp was Katherine’s answer to that remark. “Surely you jest. His poems are wonderful. ’Tis one of the things I like best about him.”

  Alinor and Eadyth exchanged looks of surprise.

  “And what are the other things you like about him?” Eadyth inquired.

  “He is good with children.”

  “Ahhhh,” both Alinor and Eadyth said, acknowledging that fondness for children was a great attribute for a husband, especially when the children were not his.

  “And what else?” Alinor prodded.

  “There is a sorrow deep inside him that calls to my woman sympathies.” Katherine placed a hand over her heart, just thinking about it.

  “There is?” Alinor’s eyebrows were raised with disbelief. “Other than his recent bout of verse mood blockage, I have rarely seen Bolthor sad of spirit.”

  “Oh, ’tis there, of that I am certain. No doubt due to the tragic death of his wife and daughters.”

  “What?” Alinor and Eadyth exclaimed as one.

  “In all the years I have known Bolthor, ne’er have I met a wife or daughter, or heard mention of such,” Alinor mused.

  “’Twas a long, long time ago, and apparently their manner of death was soul searing.”

  “Hmmm.” Eadyth put a fingertip to her mouth in contemplation. “It makes sense, though. ’Tis not normal for a Viking man to go unwed for so long.”

  “Do not mention it to anyone,” Katherine cautioned. “If he has kept it secret, he must not want others to know.”

  “And yet he told you,” Alinor said, also with a forefinger tapping her closed lips.

  “Of course, I am no longer a young woman, and I now know that appearance is the least important attribute for a husband, but, by the saints! The man is bone-melting handsome.” Katherine nigh swooned just picturing Bolthor in her mind.

  “Good Lord!” Alinor remarked.

  “Yea, Bolthor most definitely must be the one for you.” Eadyth patted Katherine on the hand.

  “That settles it. We must needs come up with a plan,” Alinor added.

  “I thought you already had a plan . . . Bolthor’s Bride,” Katherine said.

  “Yea, but now that we have settled on exactly who that bride will be, we must needs have a new plan to snare the man, without his realizing that he is being snared.”

  “I see,” Katherine said, though she truly did not. “Keep in mind, Bolthor says he will not wed again.”

  Alinor and Eadyth both laughed.

  “What?”

  “Surely you know that smart women know how to change a man’s mind,” Alinor explained.

  “They do?” Katherine felt out of her depth with these two wily women. “How?”

  “First off, you must avoid Bolthor, but not be out of sight. Let him see you with other men. Let him think you are interested, or even intimate, with other men.” This was Alinor’s advice. “Men always want what they cannot have.”

  “It sounds so . . . devious.”

  “Hah! I pretended I was a witch one time,” Alinor said. “Now that is devious.”

  “That is nothing. I pretended to be dead.” Eadyth laughed in remembrance. “Believe you me, that brought Eirik to heel in an instant. Then, too, I pretended to be an aged crone before that.”

  Not to be outdone, Alinor said, “I tied Tykir to a chair, by his own hair. Naked.”

  “But do not think that women are the only ones to play this game. Eirik told me one time that the best way for a woman to make a man’s staff stand to attention was for her to stand on her head, naked.”

  Alinor hooted her opinion of that lackwit theory.

  Katherine clicked her mouth shut when she realized she was gaping.

  “You must learn to tease, subtly,” Alinor suggested. “By dress, for example.” She pinched in the waist of Katherine’s gunna, then showed her how to pleat the fabric just up to and under her breasts so that her waist, the flare of her hips, and her bosom were outlined.

  “I would appear wanton.” Katherine had never dressed in such a provocative manner. Why would she? She had been wed more times than she would have chosen, to men she would as soon repel as attract.

  “That is the point,” Eadyth said. “But not in a blatant manner. Tease, but do not flaunt.�
€

  Katherine let out an exhale of frustration, not sure if she could manage this game of seduction.

  “That is not all,” Alinor went on.

  Wonderful!

  “When you do come into his presence, by accident, brush against him, then blush and apologize profusely,” Alinor suggested.

  “She could even touch him in passing . . . his thigh, a buttock, even his manpart,” Eadyth added.

  “Yea, that would be good.”

  “How subtle would that be?” Katherine observed.

  “Believe me, you could do it in such a way as to appear by chance,” Alinor said. “Stand over here, Eadyth, and pretend you are Bolthor. We will demonstrate.”

  Eadyth stood stiff as a board, frowning, while Alinor brushed past her, carrying a bundle of linens that she almost dropped, but in the process of balancing herself, let her fingertips brush across the groin area. Immediately, she said, “My apologies, Bolthor,” and batted her eyelashes innocently.

  Several other scenarios were played out. Alinor being pushed against Bolthor in a crowd and “accidentally” grabbing his buttock. “Bolthor” reaching for a sweetmeat on her tray, which she jerked at the last second, causing his hand to caress her breast.

  “Of course, if all else fails, bed the man, good and well,” Eadyth advised.

  “There is one bedsport trick I have learned,” Alinor said, “which is guaranteed to make a man’s eyes roll back in his head.”

  Eadyth and Katherine were all ears, not to mention a few of the passing maids.

  In the end, they were all laughing like lackwits.

  Bolthor did not stand a chance.

  Katherine hoped.

  Viking men aren’t as dumb as you might think . . .

  Watching from across the room where they were cleaning their weapons, Eirik and Tykir said as one, “Uh-oh!”

  “Methinks you are in big trouble, Bolthor,” Eirik elaborated.

  “Huh? Why me?”

  “My wife has that sly look in her eyes,” Tykir noted. “That usually means she is up to no good . . . especially regarding men . . . or me in particular.”

  “Why is it not you this time?” Bolthor asked.

  “Because it is Katherine they are advising, and everyone knows that Katherine wants you.” Eirik continued polishing his sword as he spoke.

  “Everyone does not know that,” Bolthor protested, putting aside the long knife he had been honing with a hand-held whetstone. “She is considering the merits of every unattached male here.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” Tykir laughed at what he must consider Bolthor’s naiveness. He tested the sharpness of his sword by slicing a thin sliver off the edge of the table.

  “Did I ever tell you my ‘Ode to Sly Women’?”

  Tykir groaned before catching himself. “You have certainly gotten over your verse mood famine,” he grumbled.

  “Perchance Katherine is the cause of his new wordiness,” Eirik teased.

  “Hear one and all, this is the ‘Ode to Sly Women’,” Bolthor began.

  Most men think they are so smart

  And indeed they are,

  But put them in a room with women,

  And all wit goes out the smoke hole.

  Women are sly and not above tricks

  When it comes to catching a man.

  Beware of swaying hips, jiggling breasts,

  Bouncing backsides, slippery tongues,

  Proffered kisses, lewd talk, sloe eyes,

  Sweet scented skin, low-cut gunnas,

  Exposed ankles . . .

  Tykir cut him off with a laugh. “Well, you certainly covered all points with that poem. In truth, it caused my juices to boil. Methinks I will go drag Alinor to our bedchamber and see how sly she can be.”

  “Good idea, brother,” Eirik said.

  They both got up, their weapon care forgotten.

  Bolthor was left alone to stare across the hall at the sly woman who was deliberately not trying to seduce him.

  Chapter Three

  Oops, they did it again . . .

  Two sennights here at Dragonstead, two days till Christmas, and Katherine felt as if she was making no progress in her hunt for a new husband.

  Katherine was in the storage room gathering supplies for Alinor, the first private moment she’d had since her arrival. If Bolthor did not soon offer some encouragement, she would have to direct her attentions elsewhere. Despite all of Alinor and Eadyth’s claims to the contrary, there were some men who were just not seduceable.

  Wearily, she began to climb up the ladder to the high shelf. With a basket dangling from one arm, she began to gather candles of all sizes smelling of bees wax and soaps scented with cloves, roses, even mint. Mayhap she was distracted by all her sniffing because she had not heard Bolthor enter the room, not even the door slamming behind him.

  “Milady! What do you up there?” Bolthor asked with dismay.

  She jerked up, the ladder teetered, and she fell, arms flailing, with soap and candles flying everywhere. Luckily, Bolthor was there to break her fall. But he was caught off guard, too, and fell backwards, taking her with him to the hard dirt floor.

  “I was fetching candles and soap,” she said.

  “I was fetching more wine,” he said at the same time.

  And they both realized in the same instant how close they were. Katherine closed her eyes to prevent herself from lowering her face even more so that their lips would meet.

  She moaned.

  Or was it Bolthor?

  Bolthor’s hands cupped her face, and he was drawing her mouth down to his. Down, down, down, her head descended bit by bit. A white heat passed through her body, from her brain to her breasts and woman’s place, and most definitely her lips that yearned for his touch.

  It was a molding, changing kiss of many patterns. At first. But then, it was not so gentle. He became rapacious, forcing her mouth open with his thrusting tongue. Wet and noisy, they went at each other like starved souls. He sucked her tongue into his mouth. She nipped his bottom lip.

  “Katherine, Katherine, Katherine,” he said once when he dragged his mouth from hers. His hot breath fanned her face.

  In truth, every little thing he did, even staring at her, fanned her woman flames, making her yearn for something she had ne’er experienced before. “Do not stop. For the love of Mary, do not stop,” she said, forcing him to resume the kiss.

  He groaned. “So long, it has been so long.” Then he rolled over so she was on the bottom. Somehow her legs had parted, and he lay cradled against her hips with his manpart aligned with her womanpart.

  A ripping sound, and she saw the front of her gunna torn and her bare breasts exposed to his feasting eyes and exploring fingers and then his suckling mouth. She did not care. Keening, she arched her hips up with a pulsing pleasure that was so intense it was almost pain. What started as a tingling between her legs soon turned into a knot of overwhelming desire, a desire that pulled and twisted deep inside.

  Her hands dug into his shoulders. Not satisfied, her arms wrapped around him, hands sweeping over his back and waist, even his buttocks, wanting so much, wanting him even closer than he already was. “Please,” she kept saying, and she knew not what she was pleading for.

  “You are so sweet. My sweet Katherine,” Bolthor was saying in between kisses and hot caresses.

  His hands reached down and swept the hem of her gunna higher, then higher. He gasped then. “You are wearing no undergarments, Katherine,” he accused, as if she did not already know that. “In this cold and drafty keep?”

  Blushing, she informed him, “I washed my small clothes this morn. They are drying in my bedchamber.”

  More information than the man needed, but she did not want him to think she had planned this meeting and came prepared. Which she would have if she’d thought of it.

  He was fumbling with the ties of his braies, then she felt his naked staff at her woman’s portal. But did he enter her then? Nay. Instead, he
spread her legs wider and stared at her, down there. Satisfied with what he saw, he used a forefinger to flutter against a part of her she had not even known existed. She started to scream at the intensity of pleasure that erupted, but he caught her scream with his mouth and resumed deep tongue kissing.

  His hands grabbed her knees, spread her yet wider, pushed her ankles up nigh to her buttocks, and then he entered her with a deep, long thrust. And all the while, he continued to flutter her down there. Rocking her gently. She saw stars behind her closed eyelids.

  Her woman’s sheath was convulsing around his staff as he began long, slow strokes, in and out, in and out. Once she reached one plateau of inner spasms, new ones started. Over and over, she was peaking. If she were not so dazed by everything that was happening, she might have been embarrassed, but she could no more stop what was happening, or want to, than stop the sun from rising or the winds from blowing.

  This went on for what seemed like forever, the strokes becoming shorter and harder, punishing almost, but then Bolthor made a raw sound deep in his throat, arched his neck back, his good eye closed, and slammed into her one last time, spilling his seed inside her molten channel.

  As he lay panting on her in the aftermath, smaller and smaller clasps of her inner muscles continued till she too lay panting and well-sated.

  Finally, when he raised his head to stare down at her, the expression on his face already turning bleak, she put a fingertip on his mouth and said, “I did not plan this, Bolthor. No matter what you may think of me, I did not set out deliberately to seduce you in here.” Mayhap, outside, in other parts of the keep, but not in here.