Free The Pirate Bride by Sandra Hill Page A

wrong with a few gray hairs. In fact, I wrote an ode one time to my wife’s nether hair, like pepper and salt it is.”
    “Thank you for reminding us about that,” Thork said. He would have that image in his head every time he met up with Lady Katherine, especially if Bolthor kept repeating it.
    “I do not know why Katherine was so upset,” Bolthor went on. “My nether hairs are all white, and I would not mind if someone wrote an ode about mine.”
    “Thank you for sharing that,” Thork said. Now, he would have that image, too.
    “You know what I mean, Finn,” Bolthor said.
    “Me? Why me? I am a young man yet. Not yet thirty and two,” Finn protested.
    Bolthor gave Finn a meaningful stare with his one good eye.
    “The time you saw me plucking it was only one gray hair. One. Only. One.” Finn couldn’t be more affronted if Bolthor had accused him of having a needle cock. Well, mayhap that would have been worse.
    “Och! If not Siobhan, then Bergdis,” Jamie compromised.
    Thork had to laugh. “Bergdis is a rower on the longship. She is mistress of buildings and woodworking. I doubt you know how to even hammer a nail straight. And chopping firewood, now that’s a job I’d like to see you do, day in and day out. By the by, did you notice her shoulders? She could pick you up and slam you down in a trice.”
    Jamie shrugged and winked at him. “Dinna fash yourself, laddie. A little pain ne’er hurt a Scotsman, especially when the gain is so sweet.”
    “What pain? What gain?” Brokk asked.
    “Boyling, you need to learn a few facts of life,” Jostein said to Brokk, but not unkindly, to Thork’s surprise.
    “Men in eastern lands often favor women with a little extra fat on the bone,” Henry proclaimed with a slight slur to his words. He must have imbibed too much ale. Already? “A cushion for the ballocks, or some such thing. Plus their bellies make good cushions for sleeping.”
    Yea, definitely drukkinn .
    “Besides, Jamie, did you not notice that Bergdis has a front tooth missing?” Thork asked.
    “Weel,” Jamie drawled out with a chuckle, “ ’tis nae so bad a thing if a woman is missing teeth,” Jamie replied with a chuckle. “The better to blow a man’s horn, mind ye.”
    “Hah! You have a very slim horn if it can fit in the space of one missing tooth,” he countered.
    “Pay no mind to Thork, Jamie. Everyone knows ’tis best for a man to find an ugly woman,” Bolthor said before belching loudly. “They are more appreciative of any male attention they can garner that they will do anything.”
    Now, that would make a good saga. One Bolthor best not ever recite in front of his wife.
    “Like ugly women being more likely to take a manroot down the throat?” Jamie inquired with a decided mischievous gleam in his Scottish eyes.
    “That and other things,” Bolthor said, surprising Thork. Usually, Bolthor was not so inclined to lewd talk, lest it be accidentally so. Like his not realizing it was lewd to talk about his woman’s parts in front of one and all.
    Brokk’s jaw had dropped nigh to his navel.
    Thork decided the conversation had gone way too far off track. “Take care, all of you. There are consequences to spilling your seed in any handy vessel. Do you want your sons . . . or daughters . . . raised by a hird of barmy women?”
    “Barmy, for sure,” Jostein interjected. “Do you know they’ve given themselves titles for everything? Each and every one of them is a mistress of something or other.”
    Jamie’s eyes lit up. “I like the idea of that. Mistress of kissing. Mistress of fondling. Mistress of the tup. Mistress of the mouth swiving. Mistress of the best sex this side of the Highlands.”
    “Lackwit!” Jostein replied. “Not that kind of mistress. They are mistress of weapons. Mistress of the hunt. Mistress of gardening. Mistress of hog swilling. Mistress of the scullery. Dozens and dozens of titles. Every one of these women has a specific job and title, and