Free Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 04] by The Bewitched Viking

ever loved. So he protects himself from hurt by never caring deeply for anyone. Even his own brother, whom he visits only on rare occasions.”
    “Oh, this is too much. You two are trying to turn my anger away from that troll by playing on my sympathies. The boy has seen thirty and five winters, and if he fails to care for anyone but himself, ’tis because he is a troll.”
    Gyda and Eadyth smiled at the vehemence of her response.
    “Do you think…?” Eadyth arched a brow at Gyda.
    The old woman chortled gleefully. “Mayhap. Mayhap.”
    And they both gazed at Alinor in the oddest way.
    “Here,” Eadyth said then, handing Alinor a small soapstone container filled with a rose-scented cream. “Your hair is just like mine—”
    Alinor surveyed Eadyth’s silken tresses and laughed. The woman must be blind.
    “—curly and unmanageable. I have developed a wonderful concoction for the hair that tames even the wildest tresses.”
    Alinor was skeptical, though the cream did smell wonderful. She usually didn’t indulge in such vanities, but mayhap just this once. As she worked the delicious substance into her long strands, Eadyth addressed Alinor once again. “Is it true that you are a witch?”
    “Do I look like a witch?” Alinor scoffed, then immediately regretted her words as the eyes of both women traveled over her freckle-ridden body. She was aware of that old wives’ tale about freckles being the devil’s spittle, and apparently so were they.
    “’Tis a well-known fact that a witch cannot be discerned by outward aspects. Take Eric Bloodaxe’s wife, Gunnhild, for example,” Eadyth said, as she rinsed the lotion out of Alinor’s hair and motioned for her to stand so she could comb out the tangles in the wet strands. “Yea, Gunnhild, the sister of King Harald Gormsson of Denmark, studied witchcraft in her early days in Finnmark, and a more beautiful woman there never was. At least from outward appearances. ’Tis said Eric rescued her from a most bizarre witchly voyage into the White Sea and overthe years has gained strength from her powers.”
    “There are good witches and bad witches, of course.” Gyda stopped her weaving for a moment and stared at Alinor, attempting to determine in which category she fell.
    “I am not a witch,” Alinor said, but neither of the women paid her any heed.
    “You must talk with Gunnhild this eve when we sup at the palace,” Eadyth said. “Mayhap you can share potions and such in the midst of the feast.”
    “Me? Me?” Alinor stammered. “Why would I be asked to participate in some Viking feast?”
    “Because you are Tykir’s captive,” Eadyth declared, as if that was a normal thing to be. “And you must remain under guard at all times. Tykir insists. Tykir wouldn’t want Bolthor or Rurik or any of his men to miss this feast tonight by staying behind to guard you.” Eadyth glanced at Alinor reprovingly, obviously deeming her a most selfish female to think otherwise.
    “I am not a witch,” she repeated again, then exhaled with exasperation. Really, it was like talking to a wall, trying to convince people of her innocence. “Do you even know what this is all about? Do you have any idea what they think I have done?”
    Gyda shook her head slowly, and Eadyth said hesitantly, “Well, I know what Rurik said back at the palace, but I can hardly credit…tell us your version.”
    When Alinor explained, their mouths gaped with amazement.
    “The king’s manpart did what?” Eadyth choked out.
    “Turned right, apparently,” Alinor answered dryly.
    “And you put a spell on him to make it do such?” Gyda grinned, rather impressed by that feat.
    “There are a few men I wouldn’t mind afflicting so.”Eadyth grinned mischievously. “Can you teach me the spell?”
    “I am not a witch. I keep trying to tell you, it’s what they accuse me of, but it’s not true.”
    The women remained unconvinced.
    “You know,” Gyda said, tapping her pressed lips pensively with a