Free Dark Viking by Sandra Hill Page A

matter. I am Lady Thora, still in mourning for my husband Rolfgar, chief hirdsman at Norstead.” She blinked several crocodile tears in a manner that would do any Hollywood actress proud.
    “You have my sympathies.”
    Sigge giggled behind her hand, which gained her a sharp look from the uppity lady. “Best you get yourself back to the kitchen garden, witch girl.” The lady stared pointedly at the pentacle-shaped, raspberry birthmark . . . Or was it a tattoo? . . . on the side of Sigge‟s neck, which Rita had failed to notice before. “Do not think I have forgotten that spell you put on Alfr‟s goat. The smelly creature follows me about like a lovesick lover.”
    Sigge blushed. “‟Tis not my fault that the spell went astray. The goat and the master were both standing in the same spot when I cast the spell.”
    “Just do not do me any more witchy favors. And best you be careful,” Lady Thora warned Sigge. “Some say you are the devil‟s spawn. If you sport hooves one full moon, your master will kill you on the spot.”
    Sigge gasped with outrage, and she sputtered to the lady, “I am not that kind of witch. I have no ties to the black arts. You, on the other hand . . . some say you would spread your thighs for Lucifer himself if he had a big enough manpart.” Sigge ducked when the lady attempted to slap her.
    Rita stepped between the two, managing to catch the slap intended for Sigge on her shoulder. “So, if you‟re a grieving widow, what‟s this about owning Steven and Oslac?”
    Lady Thora raised her chin haughtily. “I did not say that I  own  them.”
    “Oh? That‟s what I thought you said. Didn‟t you hear it that way, Sigge?”
    Sigge nodded vigorously.
    “Your impudence knows no bounds. Both of you. Why are you not still in your cage, by the by?” Her outrage was now directed at Rita.
    “Because it was a mistake, the cage door being shut on me. I was just testing the bars,” she lied, but then she quickly added, “Personally, I wouldn‟t take Steven or Oslac if they were handed to me on a silver platter. They‟re all yours, sweetie.”
    With a huff, the lady swanned off.
    Rita arched her brows at Sigge.
    “Thora will be wife to Jarl Steven or Karl Oslac when cows with crowns start jumping across the fjord. ‟Tis just that the men will be men when boredom overrides good sense.”
    “There‟s a lot of boredom here at Norstead, I take it.”
    “You have no idea, m‟lady.”
    Rita recalled something Lady Thora had said, and she asked Sigge, “What did she mean by referring to you as witch girl?”
    Pink patches colored the girl‟s cheeks. “My aunts are witches, and I am a witch in training, when I am not tending the herb gardens here at Norstead. I do not have the witchy arts perfected yet.” She let her words sink in, then added with disgust, “I cannot even raise a stick, let alone levitate myself.”
    “And levitation is something to be desired?”
    “Oh, definitely. Lady Thora and the others look down on me ‟cause I carry the blood of witches in my veins, but we do no evil. More good than harm.”
    They walked in silence for a bit, heading toward a storeroom where she could get soap and towels for bathing. Several people along the way cast surly looks toward them or went out of their way to avoid their path. “What is that all about?” Rita asked.
    “Ulf wanted to get rid of the bald spot on his head. My spell worked, but the hair grew on his backside, not his head.”
    Rita put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
    “And Sela was flat-chested. Wanted big bosoms, she did.”
    “And the problem with that was?”
    Sigge held her hands away from her chest, far away. “So big they are that she nigh needs a harness to keep them from hanging down to her belly.” She sighed deeply. “Some of my spells do work, especially those dealing with herb remedies. Unfortunately, folks only remember the bad ones.”
    “Honey, if people know you‟re a witch in training, and