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

ahead. I wouldst get the witch first.”
    “Why not leave her here tonight?” Eadyth suggested.
    He shook his head. “Nay, the witch does not leave my sight till we are asea. Even then, I cannot be sure she will not put a curse on my ship if I do not watch her closely.”
    Eadyth began to protest, but Eirik laid a warning hand on her arm. “Leave be, Eadyth. ’Tis Tykir’s concern, not ours.”
    They left then, and Tykir waved aside Gyda’s tsk-ing reprimand when he took the steps two at a time, attemptingto locate Alinor. The night was wasting, and he had much mead to imbibe afore dawn.
    “Alinor, where are you, witch?” he called out, at the same time he opened a bedchamber door. “’Tis time to…”
    His words trailed off at the vision that greeted him.
    A woman was standing knee-deep in a hip bath. Her arms were raised overhead, pushing long strands of wet, rust-colored hair off her face. The sleek tresses hung in a silky swath down her back practically to her buttocks, which were round and smooth and most enticing. With a start, the woman turned quickly, arms still upraised, and regarded his shock with her own.
    It mattered not that her creamy skin was covered with freckles from forehead to knees, and probably to toes under the murky water. Her body was spectacular. Small breasts, yea, but they were high and firm, with raspberry tips. A trim waist and narrow hips. Long, slim legs joined by a thatch of reddish-blond curls dewed with droplets of water. In all, a perfectly proportioned body that would put the finest goddess to shame.
    My very own witch goddess.
    Bloody hell! When did I start thinking of her as mine?
    The witch blinked at him through green cat eyes, as if she was held in the same spell that immobilized him. Mere seconds had passed since he’d opened the door, but it seemed like a lifetime. Only then did he admit what he’d already come to suspect earlier.
    He was bewitched.
    And he didn’t care.

Chapter Four
    “Stop it,” Alinor hissed at Tykir.
    They were sitting on long benches in the vast great hall of the Norse palace, along with hundreds of other noble, and not so noble, personages. Everyone of high station in Northumbria, whether Norse or Saxon by birth, had come with their entourages to pay self-serving homage to the newly reinstated king, Eric Bloodaxe Haraldsson, and his wife, the witch-queen Gunnhild.
    The royal couple was ensconced at the high table up on the dais with those of highest rank. Tykir, his friends and family, along with Alinor, his captive, sat just a short ways below, definitely a position of favor.
    “Stop what?” the insufferable Viking knight inquired with exaggerated concern, as if he cared what was bothering her…which he did not, of course. The troll braced his shoulders back against the wall behind them, sipped at his goblet of mead and regarded her with lazy amusement.
    Alinor felt as if she’d landed in a Viking version of hell. Especially since she was practically joined at the hip, and other places, to the man who had become her nemesis of late.
    “Stop moving your hand about, for one thing.” She glanced pointedly at their bound hands—his left tied at the wrist to her right. At the moment, the pair of appendages were sitting high on his thigh. Very high!
    “Oh! I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said solicitously. Then, with total lack of social grace, he raised his hand to scratch his belly. Which placed her hand just about square on…
    “You crude clod!” She jerked her hand away from his…bulge. “You dumb dolt! You slimy swine! You…you…”
    “How about loathsome lout?” Eadyth offered from across the table. “It always works well for me.”
    Her husband looped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Presumably in punishment, but more like affection. Married couple though they be, the two could not seem to keep their hands off each other’s persons. Alinor had never witnessed such spousal behavior. For a certainty, she’d never