Page 1 of Viking Unchained

Chapter 1

Even eleventh-century Vikings get the blues . . .

Thorfinn Haraldsson was going to kill his brother Steven for bringing him to this place.

They, and a dozen other men, were lying on pillows scattered about the floor of a Baghdad residence, eating fruit and sipping at some potent beverage that smelled like camel piss. “Holy Thor! Grown men were not intended to contort their bodies and eat lying down,” he grumbled.

“Then do not eat. Watch.” Steven half-reclined against an enormous cushion with his hands linked behind his neck, a mocking twinkle in his eyes.

Eight women—not just Arab, but blonde-and red-haired wenches and one black-skinned

Nubian—were twirling about in sheer scarves, their breasts and buttocks bouncing in a manner intended to be tempting but which only seemed foolish to him.

His opinion must have shown on his face.

“What? The sap does not rise for you whilst watching them entertain?”

“Do you jest? ’Tis a pointless exercise, really. By Odin! If a houri wants to tempt a man, all she has to do is stand afore him naked.” I love my brother, but he is a lackwit.

Steven laughed.

At the same time, a young girl, no more than fourteen, with black-kohled eyes and rouged nipples, clearly visible since she was naked on top, knelt down betwixt the two of them, and began popping grapes and sugared dates into his halfwit brother’s laughing mouth.

When she tried to do the same to Thorfinn, he turned his head and stood. The girl scurried away in fright at his scowling face.

“Now why did you do that, Finn?”

“Steven! She is young enough to be your daughter.” Plus, she has youthling spots on her face and baby fat on her middle.

“And so?”

“ ’Tis . . .’tis craven.” And she smelled like onions.

“Craven is good when it comes to swiving.”

He threw his hands out in disgust. “Stop acting like an untried boyling with a constant thickening of his cock. You are twenty and seven years old, for Thor’s sake.” And I must needs bite my bottom lip or burst out with laughter. You are the only one who keeps me sane.

“And you are thirty, Finn, but you act like a graybeard. Nay, not a graybeard, because even they enjoy women.” Steven stood and matched his stance, hands on hips. His words were biting, but they were said with a teasing smile.

The two of them were of the same height, with the same long, black hair, and eyes a peculiar shade of silver gray, but the resemblance ended there. Steven’s countenance was ever joyous and Thorfinn’s grim.

The youngest sons of Viking nobles, Jarl Harald Gudsson and Lady Katla of Norsemandy, the brothers owned and lived on estates in the Norselands, Amberstead and Norstead.

“Steven, I like women, and I sure as stars enjoy swiving, like any man, but once grown, a man gets more discriminating. The sap does not have to rise at the least swaying hip.” In truth, my sap has gone gummy these past few years, with good reason. Women . . . one woman in particular . . . have colored for all time my view of the fairer sex as devious and untrustworthy.

“By the runes! You are far too serious,” Steven said with a grin. “I had no intention of bedding the girling.

A mature woman awaits me back at our camp, warming my bed furs.”

“Mature?”

“Yea. Fifteen.”

He shook his head at his brother’s hopelessness.

“Didst know that the eunuchs teach the harem girls how to pleasure a man by practicing with a marble phallus?”

That got his attention . . . and brought on many an explicit mind picture. “I have ne’er heard such.”