“Scarlett and Rhett, huh?”
“Yep. His famous words to her were, „Frankly, my dear, I don‟t give a damn.‟”
He smiled down at her. “Frankly, my dear, I don‟t give a damn. ”
“Oh, God! Did you have to say that? Now I have to start all over again.‟ ”
“Start what all over again?”
“Not being attracted to you.”
His smile was wider now, and he lifted her higher in his arms so he could whisper in her ear.
In a voice so sexy he could have said, “Boo!” and she would have melted, he murmured, “Frankly, Ree-tah, dearling, I do give a damn.”
With those words, she was a goner.
The ultimate bartering tool . . .
Steven left his bed reluctantly the next morning, having slept through the night without the usual aid of mead or female pleasuring. Not that he would not have welcomed pleasuring from the sea siren beside him, but his instincts told him ‟twas too soon.
After breaking fast, he met with his chief hersirs, the commanders of his various troops, to discuss the demands made by the pirate Brodir. How dare the outlaw Viking suggest that Steven meet with him afore releasing his sister? And what did Brodir hope to accomplish by further alienating him? “I do not like the idea of negotiating with pirates. It sets a precedent,” Steven told the hardened comrades-in-arms.
“Agreed,” said Sveinn the Stalwart, a grizzled, gray-bearded warrior of forty and more years. His scarred body and one missing front tooth gave evidence of his battle worthiness.
The arm rings that circled his upper arm muscles were so large they would fit nicely around a child‟s waist. “I say we storm all of Brodir‟s known strongholds and take no prisoners.”
“Those are wise words,” Oslac said, “but what of Steven‟s sister, the lady Disa.”
Sveinn shrugged. “The pitfalls of war.”
“Mayhap you could barter for her release,” suggested another hersir, a cousin four times removed, Aldin of Norsemandy.
“I do not think ‟tis gold Brodir has in mind. For some reason he has some grudge against those of us at Norstead,” Steven mused.
“If not gold, mayhap something else,” Oslac contributed. “How about the sea siren? You could put her back in that fish garment and tell Brodir she is a mermaid.”
For some odd reason, the idea of giving up the wench did not sit well with Steven.
Leastways, not until he had swived her a time or twenty.
“It is not as if the wench is any kith or kin of yours or Norstead,” another hersir agreed.
“I will consider the idea,” Steven said, knowing it was not too much to ask in the greater scheme of things. “I have another idea, though. Methinks we should call for a Thing, a meeting of all the clans in closer jarldoms to discuss the pirate threat. Two sennights from now should be enough time.”
They all decided it was a good idea, especially since an Althing had been planned for later this summer in southern Vestfold. They would just be moving up the date and changing the location.
Still, Sveinn persisted, “Does that mean you will not offer the sea wench for barter?”
Steven knew his standing amongst his men was being tested. Would he be swayed on this important decision by the lure of a strange female? “We will abide by the decision of the Althing. If the council says that she should go, she shall.”
As he left his council room, Steven shuddered to think what Rita would think of her fate being in the hands of a group of strange Viking men. In truth, he did not like the idea himself, and that was a sign of weakness he must control.
Furthermore, he had told her she was under the protection of his shield. His agreement to possibly barter her to the pirate felt like a betrayal of sorts.
“I think I liked my life better when it was bleak and uneventful,” he told Oslac.
You could say it was a Viking version of the Big Bad Wolf . . .
Rita awakened that morning to a warm bed, every bone and muscle in her body rested. She was renewed and hopeful that today she would figure out what was happening to her and how to find the key to getting back home.
Turning to the right, she saw that she was alone, but that someone had been sleeping there.
Even worse, peeking under the blanket, she saw that she was naked.
Yikes!
He hadn‟t made love to her, though. After two years of abstinence, she would know.
Besides, he was the kind of man who would want his woman wide-awake and participating.
Yikes again! Where did that “his woman” thought come from?
She noticed, on rising, that not only had her tunic and tights been washed and dried, but they were neatly folded and lying at the foot of the bed. On top of them was a new bar of rose soap.
Just then, the door opened a crack, and Sigge peered in. Seeing that she was awake, she slipped in and smiled shyly. “What kin I do fer you, m‟lady? The master said I was not to wake you, but it is ever so late, and so much is happening.”
“Did you put these here?” Rita asked, pointing to the clean clothing and soap.
Sigge shook her head. “Nay, the master did, and he tol‟ me ta do yer bidding.”
If Rita hadn‟t already been fighting a fierce attraction to the big lug, she would be now.
“Some water to wash my face and clean my teeth?”
Sigge nodded and stepped outside the chamber, coming back immediately with a bucket of water, some of which she poured into the pottery bowl. Then she laid out a bone comb, along with several twigs with shredded tips and a small cup of salt . . . medieval toothbrush and paste, she assumed.
“While I‟m cleaning up, could you find me one of those Viking apron thingees, Sigge?”
Off Sigge went, happy to do her bidding. By the time she returned, Rita had put the red gown back on with her boots. Intending to go outside, she had no intention of ruining those cloth slippers.
Sigge showed her how to attach the long, open-sided apron at the shoulders with silver brooches. “Mayhap later we could go visit my aunts. They have much to tell you.”
“The witches?”
The tone of her voice must have offended Sigge, because she raised her chin and said, “I be a witch, too.”
“I know that. Where do your aunts live? Here at the castle?”
“Nay. They live in the mountains where there is solitude and space to do their spells and potions.”
That is just great.
“I grew up there until I was twelve and came here to the castle to work the herb gardens. I may be an inept witch, but I have a talent with growing things.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” she said, hoping Sigge would forget by then.
The two of them headed out the door and downstairs, outside the kitchen, to the midden where they emptied the slop bucket of waste from her room, then went to look for food.
Breakfast, or whatever they called the first meal of the day, was long over. Apparently, there were only two full meals served each day. Morning, about two hours after everyone had started work, and then in the evening after all work was completed.
“So, what‟s going on?” she asked Sigge as they went outside again, each with a slice of manchet bread, a hunk of cheese, and a cup of cold water, to watch all the activity. Dozens and dozens of men were scattered in this back area of the castle, setting up tents and small fire rings.
“The master has called for an Althing to be held here. Messengers have been sent to folks from all the jarldoms in Hordaland, inviting them to come for council.” Sigge almost shivered with excitement.
“This is a big event, I take it. Is it a regular happening, or something special?”
“Something special, to be sure. Have you not heard that the pirate Brodir is still holding the master‟s sister, Disa, and he refuses to release her unless the master meets with him?” Sigge practically shivered as she spoke, as if it was all so exciting.
“No, I didn‟t know. I can see the dilemma he faces, though. It‟s never wise to negotiate with a terrorist, and I expect pirates would qualify as terrorists. On the other hand, it‟s his sister‟s life at stake. Why involve other Vikings in his decision, though?”
“Pirates have become an increasing problem for them all, and Brodir may be the needle that breaks the pustule.”
Nice picture,
she thought.
Having finished her breakfast, she dusted the crumbs off her apron and turned to Sigge. “Is there a room where seamstresses work? I need to find a way to make myself some underpants.”
Sigge nodded slowly, probably not understanding what she meant by underpants.
“I find it really uncomfortable walking around in a gown with my bare butt uncovered. It was especially distasteful those few days I had my period and had to make do with a diaper kind of thing with rag strips. What do women do here?”
“Moss. There would not be enough rags for all women to use, even if they were washed out each time.”
“Moss? Good Lord! You must all have green bottoms.”
Sigge giggled. “You said something about underpants. What of the old ones who say a woman‟s inner parts need to breathe?”
“Hah! It was probably a man who said that.”
“No doubt!” Sigge giggled some more.
“Seriously, women wear no undergarments?”
“Usually not, though women who need to go outside in the cold of winter, like dairymaids, put wool braies on under their gunnas.”
“Well, you and I are going to have panties by the end of the day,” Rita promised, looping her arm with Sigge‟s. They arrived at one of the solars, a room off the great hall with slightly more light due to several glassless windows with the shutters open. It would be a useless room when the temperature dropped.
Eight women sat about sewing, including Lady Thora. While the others mended garments, Thora was stabbing her needle at a ring of tapestry.
The black looks she and Sigge got from all of them indicated how unwelcome they were.
So
what!
she thought. Everyone had a job in this place. Today hers was to make panties.
“I need some scraps of material,” she said. When no one spoke up, she helped herself to a dozen different pieces lying on the floor. Silk, soft wool, and linen. She also picked up a pair of shears, several needles, and some ribbons, even a strip of lace about a yard long.
“Come with me,” she directed Sigge, whose face was red at the condemnation she saw in the other faces. They sat down at a bench at the far end in front of a low table. There was another ostracized woman there . . . the servant of Lady Disa, who had been doing all the sobbing and wailing yesterday. At least she had stopped hiccuping. She held a lady‟s gown in her lap and was repairing some embroidery along the edges.
Rita nodded at the woman and said, “Hi! I‟m Rita, and this is my friend Sigge.”
At first hesitant, then more forcefully, the woman said, “Me name is Sigvid.” She shot the other women a “So there!” glare. It was an indication of how inwardly hysterical Rita was becoming that she actually likened the three of them to a society of Sneeches that before long would become the “in” Sneech group. Dr. Seuss, eat your heart out.
First Rita laid a square of blue linen on the table and cut a flat-topped vee out of either side so that it resembled a squat hourglass, which would be folded over and the crotch reinforced with several rectangular layers. Knowing she would have no elastic available, she figured she could punch holes in the four corners, which she would thread with ribbon and then tie high on the hips. The design wouldn‟t win any awards, but it should suffice.
“Sigge, you‟re shorter than I am but about the same size. Try this on before we do any finishing of the edges.”
Without any embarrassment, Sigge raised her gown up to her waist. She, and all the women, watched with fascination as Rita fitted it on her, then tied the light blue linen with white ribbon bows on each hip.
Rita was pleased with her efforts, and she told Sigge to take it off so that they could hem the edges. “You can keep that one,” she told the young girl, whose eyes filled with such joy you would have thought she‟d given her a pot of gold.
Next, Rita cut out red, black, and green silk, undyed muslin, and several colors of linen. The wool she would save for colder times . . . if she was still here then, she thought with a shudder.
She also set out contrasting colors of ribbon and lace.
While she and Sigge worked, Rita talked softly to Sigvid, trying to find out exactly what had happened to Steven‟s sister.
“Truth to tell,” Sigvid whispered to Rita, “the pirates ne‟er attacked our longship. That
drukkinn
Captain Ulster . . . Ulster the Useless if ye ask me . . . caused the boat to capsize in a storm, and the pirates saved us. Of course they refused to return us to Norstead; so they
did
kidnap us.”
Over the next few hours, Rita put together an impressive six pairs of panties for herself, a second for Sigge, and even one for the plump Sigvid, who protested that she really didn‟t want any but took it readily enough. The whole time, Rita plied Sigvid for information about her pirate adventure. Turned out that the pirates rescued them but had no interest in doing any favors for Steven or anyone else at Norstead. They were a “fearsome” lot, according to Sigvid, except for the leader Brodir, who was golden-haired and beautiful as the god he was named for, Baldr, who was apparently the Norse god equivalent of Jesus to Christians.
Even more enlightening, Lady Disa and the pirate got great enjoyment over insulting each other. One verbal battle after another, Sigvid related.
It sounded to Rita like elementary school where boys and girls hit the person they liked. In other words, maybe Disa wasn‟t as unwilling a prisoner as her brother thought.
Why exactly Brodir was demanding a meeting with Steven before releasing Disa was unclear.
“Is there an attraction between Brodir and Disa? I mean, could it be that Brodir wants to marry Disa?” Rita had asked.
“Pfff! If that was all ‟twas about, he would take the lady and be done with it. Pirates do not ask for permission.”
Like Sigvid had all that much experience with pirates!
One clue Sigvid did give was a hint from Brodir that the reason for his being outlawed two years past was somehow connected with Thorfinn.