Free Dark Viking by Sandra Hill

at the shoulders. In quick time, she had both sleeves ripped off and put the sleeveless garment back on. Now her problem was getting leverage in such a small space. Making a quick sign of the cross, she wrapped one sleeve around her hand and let loose with a quick karate chop.
    The wood bar was still intact.
    But it was a little loose. Just a tiny bit.
    Over and over and over, Rita performed her karate chop, the kind that in some cases could split concrete blocks. She alternated between both hands and feet. She even considered using her head to butt it, but with the lumps she‟d already scored today, that probably wasn‟t a good idea. Finally, finally, finally, she was able to break through the one bar and split it in half. What to do now?
    Rita laughed with a sudden inspiration. She had two sticks to make a fire and plenty of tinder . . . straw. Voilà! It was almost laughably easy . . . but ingenious, if she did say so herself. She couldn‟t wait to tell her commander back at Coronado. And the arrogant, full-of-himself commander here, too.
    Once she was fully free, holding the tunic sleeves over her face to shield her from the smoke made by the little fire in the cage, she did a little Snoopy dance of glee. Actually, she had hoped to just weaken the wood when she‟d made it hot, but this worked just as well.
    Miraculously, her headache was gone.
    That was when she glanced up and saw that she had an audience. About a dozen men and women in homespun-type clothing in the Norse fashion . . . men in belted tunics over tights and women in long gowns covered by long, open-sided aprons. They appeared to be servants or household help of some type. They had been attracted by the smell of smoke, no doubt.
    They gawked at her as if she was a lunatic.
    It was probably the Snoopy dance.
    Or the fire. Of course they would be upset about fire in a wood building.
    “Oops!” When that didn‟t draw any reaction, she said, “Hi! My name is Rita Sawyer. Can you help me put out this fire?”
    “ ‟Tis the fish woman,” one man said incredulously.
    “Is she dangerous?” another asked.
    “How could she be?” still another spoke up. “She has no weapon.”
    “Mayhap she spits venom.”
    The group stepped back a few paces, beyond the range of her spit, she supposed.
    “Listen, people, I mean you no harm. I‟m just a visitor here. I‟ll be on my way now.”
    At first no one moved, but then an older woman smacked a boy on the shoulder. “Move yer arse, Haisl. And you, too, Moddan. Get buckets of water to put out the rest of that fire. Vindr, find a shovel and wheelbarrow to clean up the mess.”
    “Ain‟t ye a prisoner here?” one man yelled out, pointing to the cage, which was pretty quickly becoming a pile of cinders.
    “Me? Nah! That was just a game to see how quickly I could escape.”
    A young girl, not more than twenty, dressed in the same ankle-length, open-sided apron over a long gown, stepped forward. “My name is Sigge. My aunts sent me ta be yer maid.”
    Several of the men snickered and made laughing remarks, which caused Sigge‟s face to bloom with color, but she stepped forward, chin high.
    At first, Rita wanted to laugh, too. Her? With a maid? But then she decided she could use all the friends she could get in this strange scenario. With a smile, she asked, “Any idea where a girl could get a bath and clean clothing around here?”
    Sigge nodded eagerly, and the crowd parted a path for them as they walked through. In fact, she noticed some of them jump away from the girl as if they were afraid of her. Hmmm. She would have to check it out later. Once they reached the great hall, however, a woman, better dressed than the others, informed her icily, “They are mine.”
    “Who?”
    “Steven and Oslac.”
    “Good Lord! You‟re married to both of them? I‟ve heard that ancient Vikings often had more than one wife. But . . . eeeew!” “Of course I am not married to both of them. Or either of them, for that