Free Viking Heat by Sandra Hill Page B

capt . . . purchase me?”
    “For Brandr. I already told you that.”
    “Why?”
    “Why, why, why! Brandr has been sour of mood since he turned berserker. He needs a love slave to sweeten him up.”
    “You can’t possibly think I’m going to have sex with some berserk Viking stranger.”
    “Yea, I can. Willing or not, you will be sharing my brother’s bed furs within a sennight, or I will toss you in the fjord myself.”
    “Violence accomplishes nothing. I’m a psychologist, you know. And anger management is one of my specialties. I could help you learn more diplomatic methods of handling your problems.”
    Arnis blinked at her. “My grandsire always said diplomacy is like saying ‘Nice doggy’ until you can find a spear.”
    “That makes no sense at all.”
    “By the by, are you perchance a virgin?”
    She gave him a look that told him exactly what she thought of that question. “Are you?”
    “Nay, but I am a man.”
    “And that matters . . . how?”
    “Men are not prized for their virginity. Women are.”
    “What a bunch of sexist crap!”
    “From the beginning of time, Norsemen have been bred to go a-Viking and drink good ale, whilst Norsewomen have been bred to spread their thighs for their heroes when they come home.”
    “Are you kidding? What is that? The mission statement for Male Chauvinist Vikings?”
    “You talk a lot. What country are you from?”
    “America.”
    “Is that near Iceland?”
    This guy is a flaming idiot. “Let’s start over. My name is Joy Nelson.”
    “A fine Viking name is Nelsson.”
    “Stop interrupting. My name is Joy Nelson. I am an ensign in the U.S. Navy. I am training for the WEALS.”
    “You are training to be a wheel? Mayhap I should train to be a flagpole. Are you sure you are not barmy?”
    “WEALS is a female SEAL program,” she informed him through gritted teeth. “We are an elite female special forces unit. Soldiers.”
    “Warriors?” he asked incredulously. “A band of female warriors?”
    “Yes. Exactly.” Finally, he was beginning to understand.
    “That is some story! You almost caught me with your jest.” He slapped a knee with appreciation. “Methinks you should be a skald for us on the long winter nights.”
    “Skald?”
    “Poet. You could tell us sagas about your country and your, ha, ha, ha, fierce fighting women. Our old skald Alviss is a terrible storyteller. Anyone could do better.”
    “Elvis? You have a storyteller named Elvis? That is too cute. Does he like peanut butter and banana sandwiches?”
    Arnis stared at her for a long moment, then snapped his gaping mouth shut. “Yea, you will be our new skald. When you are not tupping with Brandr, that is.”
    “Forget this sex with Brandr business. It is not going to happen. And I’m not going to be your damn poet laureate either.”
    Just then a wave hit the ship, causing the boat to list a bit before righting itself, but in the process she and Arnis were soaked. Arnis didn’t seem to mind being wet from neck to toe, but she was beginning to shiver, being now not only cold to the bone but wet as well.
    Did Arnis notice her discomfort?
    No. He was staring at her shabby gown, which was molded to her breasts and hips and legs. Glancing downward, she saw that her cold nipples were standing out prominently.
    “Yea, Brandr is going to be very pleased,” Arnis said just before walking off.
    “Pervert!” she muttered, then shouted to his back, “Hey, I’m freezing here. Unless you want to deliver a frozen corpse to this berserk brother of yours, you better untie me and let me huddle under a blanket somewhere.
    Instead of doing as she asked, he stomped back a short time later with a huge white fur, which he wrapped around her twice. The thing still had a head on it.
    “What is this fur?”
    “Polar bear.”
    “Are you crazy? Polar bears are an endangered species.”
    “Wouldst rather freeze to death?” When she just glared at him, he said, “I thought not.”
    And so it