Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 05] by The Blue Viking Page A

in exchange for her mark on him.
    “Are threats necessary, Maire?” He had calmed down somewhat, and his voice did not betray his inner turmoil. “Do not tempt me, for I have many means at my disposal to bend you to my will.”
    Was there sexual innuendo in his words? He had not meant it so. Or had he? For the love of Odin, the woman really must be a witch. She was ensorcelling him.
    Fire leaped in her green eyes, but only momentarily. With a long sigh, she tied a knot in the stitches and carefully put the needle back in its special silver case that hung from the key ring at her waist. “Threats are not necessary. I will do everything I can to remove your mark. In truth, our situation is so dire that I would sleep with the devil if it would save my people.”
    He could see by her deepening blush that she immediately regretted her poorly chosen words.
    “Sleep with the devil, eh?” He smiled lazily at her. “Now there’s an idea I hadn’t considered afore.” He was only teasing, of course… until he heard her barely murmured response.
    “To think I hoped for a knight in shining armor! And what do I get… a devil in a blue tattoo. As if I would ever want you in my bed again!”
    “Maire, Maire, Maire,” he chided her. “Didst never hear that it’s plain folly to issue a challenge to a Norseman?”
    Rurik was not generally a deep-thinking man; he was more a man of action. But he was thinking now. Thinking, thinking, thinking. And the answers to all the puzzling questions that thrummed at his brain were slow in coming.
    He wondered idly why he had not seen the boy … Maire’s son … since their return to the castle. Was he off doing little-boy things … the sorts of things he’d never experienced as a child? And wasn’t it strange, he pondered now, that Maire would entrust her son’s well-being to a straggly band of guardsmen who could not manage to keep their own body parts intact, let alone those of a small person?
    By the time everyone was settled in and had eaten a cold repast of bannock and sliced mutton, it was well past nightfall. Midnight approached and still Rurik sat by himself in the great hall, thinking, whilst others around him, men and women alike, slept soundly on benches that pulled down from the wall to form sleeping pallets. The soft and loud snores, the snuffling sounds of slumber, and the occasional rustling of clothing were comforting somehow to Rurik.All was peaceful. For now. ’Twas a good feeling.
    How odd that he should think that way! For years he had craved excitement. Fighting the battles of one greedy king after another. Visiting far-off, sometimes exotic lands. A-Viking. Trading. Treasure hunting for amber in the Baltics.
    Making new conquests in the bed furs.
    And now … what? Was he developing a longing for peace, of all things? Did he yearn for the tamer life of hearth and family?
    ’Twas perplexing to Rurik, really, that such strange emotions should assail him. He was filled to overflowing with rage and frustration and dissatisfaction, and at the same time his heart… his entire being… seemed to swell and ache for some unknown thing.
    No doubt, it was the
uisge-beatha
affecting him. He had been sipping for an hour and more at a cup of the potent, amber-hued beverage the Scots called “water of life.” Although Rurik preferred plain mead or ale, he decided he could cultivate a taste for this drink.
    Rurik stood suddenly and fought light-headedness as he stretched and yawned widely. All of the Campbell castle was abed. ’Twas where he should head now.
    Guards from Maire’s clan and Rurik’s retinue had been posted about the grounds, ensuring the security of
Beinne Breagha
, at least for now.
Beinne Breagha
. ’Twas Gaelic for Beautiful Mountain. Now wasn’t that a pretty misname for such a sorry estate? The rampart walls were crumbling down in places for lack of maintenance. Dirty rushes covered the castle floors. The fireplaces had not been cleaned for years