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

wee bit barmy himself.
    “It’s like this …,” she began.
    Rurik groaned inwardly. Every time a female began with, “It’s like this …” it was a certainty that her man was not going to like what she was about to say.
Not that I am Maire ’s man. No, no, no. I am definitely not her man
.
    “… I was angry with you that time that you… that we … uh …”
    “Made love?”
    “Coupled,” she said with a becoming blush.
    He grinned at her discomfort, despite the seriousness of their conversation. So much of his life depended on the removal of that damned mark… his marriage, his reputation, everything.
    “In my anger, I wanted to lash out at you, but I also needed to go away with you, far from the Highlands, for a time, leastways. But as you will recall, you declined my request… in a most rude fashion, incidentally.”
    “Rude fashion?”
    “You laughed at me.”
    “I did? And for that you marked me for life?”
    “Nay, you do not understand. My need for escape was more important than my damaged pride. So, whilst you were sleeping, I took a vial from the leather bag Cailleach gave me—”
    “Cailleach?”
    She frowned in annoyance at his interruption. “Cailleach was the old crone who taught me witchcraft at one time.”
    Rurik was getting a huge ache in his head from Maire’s roundabout explanation, which made no sense at all. “Backtrack here a bit, Maire. You took a vial from the witch’s bag. What did you intend to do with it?”
    “I was going to slip some of it through your lips whilst you slept, but I tripped and the liquid in the vial spilled onto your face.”
    Rurik still did not understand. “What kind of potion was in the vial?”
    “Well, I thought it was a…” Her words trailed off into an indecipherable murmur at the end, and she picked up with, “but obviously it was something else.”
    “What did you say? I could not hear you. What kind of potion had you intended to give me?”
    “A love potion,” she practically shouted. “There! Are you happy now that you know?”
    “A love potion? A love potion? Lady, the desire to swive you has ne’er been a problem.” He could not stop the grin that crept over his lips.
    “Ooooh! Do not dare to laugh at me again, Viking.”
    “What will you do? Put another mark on me? Slip me a love potion? Turn me into a toad?”
    “You
are
a toad,” she declared and had the nerve to dump the pottery bowl of wash water over his head before she sailed away, out of the room.
    He could not care. He was laughing too hard.
    And he did not believe a single word the witch had said. He knew only too well the conspiracies that enemies wove in the course of battle, and there was no doubt in his mind that he and Maire were in a war… of wits, if nothing else. The only leverage she had over him was the blue mark, and she would not want to remove it till she had gained all she could from him.
    Little did the witch know what a seasoned warrior he was, and how much he relished a good battle. She would never, ever win, whether crossing swords, or wills, with him.
    He was sore angry with the witch, and had been for five long years. Still, for now, he could not help delighting in the laughter that rippled through him at her weak machinations.
    A love potion? Indeed!
    It was late afternoon, and the Campbell clan was celebrating their liberation before a huge bonfire composed of the wooden cage that had held their leader for almost a week.
    The number of clan members seemed to be growing by the minute as more and more of them came out of hiding… most of them battered or handicapped in some way by war or their harsh lives. Rurik had tried to tell them that it was too soon for celebrating, and that liberation could be a momentary thing, but they would not listen to him. Instead, they gazed at him as if he were a savior sent by the gods … or, worse yet, a knight in shining armor called forth by a dimwitted witch.
    The only one missing was Maire’s son, and