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

forefinger, “it seems to me that I have heard of this malady afore on a man’s private parts. Ofttimes ’tis caused by an injury that scars over and forces the staff to go crooked. The few cases I’ve heard of eventually corrected themselves.”
    “So all King Anlaf needs to cure himself is time?” Eadyth offered hopefully.
    “Mayhap.” Gyda tapped her chin pensively. “Lest the crooked manpart is caused by a witch’s curse, of course.” She looked pointedly at Alinor.
    “I am not a witch. Why won’t anyone believe me?” Alinor felt like weeping with frustration.
    “What of the bowel spell you put on Tykir? Surely you cannot deny that.” Eadyth folded her arms over her chest and nodded her head, as if she’d just won some point of argument.
    “Well, nay, but—”
    “Aha!” Eadyth and Gyda said as one.
    “—but it was a mere herb that grows—”
    “A poison?” Eadyth lashed out. “You gave Tykir a bane drink? That is as bad as a witchly potion, Alinor. I could kill you myself for that.”
    “It wasn’t a deadly potion…oh, what’s the use? No one believes me anyhow.”
    “EA-DYTH!” a loud male voice rang out from downstairs.
    Eadyth cringed and Gyda gathered up her weaving items, preparing to leave the room.
    “Oh, the brute! He knows I hate it when he yells for me like a cow in the field.”
    “EA-DYTH!” her husband shouted once again, his voice coming closer. “Where are you? I have something to show you.”
    Eadyth’s face bloomed bright red. “I have seen it more than enough times, believe me,” she informed Alinor with a wink. “Here,” she said, handing her a towel. “Best you dry yourself afore my husband comes blundering in here.”
    Both Eadyth and Gyda left the room, giggling.
    Through the closed door, she could swear she heard Eirik say, “Ea-dyth! I dropped honey on the front of my braies back at the castle. Can you think of any way I can remove it?”
    Eadyth said something that Alinor could not overhear, but Eirik let loose with a low, masculine growl of pleasure at whatever it was.
    And Alinor decided that Eadyth needed no lessons at all from a witch.
     
    Tykir leaned against the doorjamb of Gyda’s house and watched with amusement as his brother greeted his wife with a familiar pat on the behind and a deep, noisy kiss.
    Seven years they had been wed, and still they acted as lovestruck youthlings. Three children they’d had together—Thorkel, Ragnor and Freydis—and three others they’d brought into the marriage betwixt them…Eadyth’s John, and Eirik’s Larise and Emma. Ravenshire rang with the joyous sounds of children of all ages, and yet these two behaved as children themselves.
    There was a Norse legend about a golden apple and how adventurers searched for this treasure a lifetime and more, across many lands, risking life and family. The moral ofthe tale was that often the precious fruit was growing in one’s own orchard.
    Eirik had found that golden apple.
    Tykir was pleased for his brother, truly he was. There weren’t many men fortunate enough to find a lifemate who was steadfast and loving. He never had.
    “Have you left any mead for me back at the castle?” Bolthor asked as he passed by him through the doorway.
    “Yea, I did. Not as good as Eadyth’s home-brewed ale, but sufficient. There is Frisian wine, as well. And Rurik discovered a group of thralls bought by the king’s steward from a Nubian slave trader. He said for the price of a gold coin, one of them has a surprise for you.” Tykir jiggled his eyebrows meaningfully.
    Bolthor laughed. “Good thing I have a gold coin.” He hesitated, then added with a chuckle, “I will see you aboard ship at dawn when we set sail.”
    Eirik and Eadyth came next.
    “We have decided to dine with the king, then come back here to sleep tonight,” Eirik informed him. “Eadyth has no inclination to sleep under our uncle’s roof. Nor do I.”
    Tykir nodded.
    “Will you come with us?”
    “You go on