Page 104 of The Bewitched Viking

He could not hold himself apart from her for long, though. When she attempted to get up off the bench beside him and stomp away, he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “What think you of the marriage plans that abound at Dragonstead? Bodhil the Ripe and Jostein the Smith?” The couple had announced earlier that evening that they would be wed afore spring.

Her stiff demeanor relaxed. “Well, ’tis about time Jostein declared his intentions. He almost lost Bodhil, you know.”

“Yea, and Rapp of the Big Wind is none too happy about it, I understand. Overcome with melancholy, he is. See him over there in the corner even now, alone, working on a mead-head.”

“He is alone because he smells,” Alinor noted wryly.

Tykir laughed. “That, too. Tell me, Alinor, did you have aught to do with the marriage plans?”

Her cheeks bloomed with an attractive blush. “I merely told Bodhil that she did not need to settle. She should be strong, and—why are you smirking?”

“Not smirking. Smiling,” he corrected, chucking her under the chin. “You are so vehement in your feelings. And perchance ’tis time for you to be strong with your brothers, too.”

“There’s naught wrong with a woman seeking what she wants.”

“And what do you want, Alinor?”

“Certainly not you, troll.”

He tweaked her hair in punishment. “Not even if I have a special gift for you?”

“I’ve been presented with that gift a hundred times.”

“Not that gift,” he chided her with a tapping forefinger against her pursed lips.

“And I want nothing more in the vein of feathers, oils, ropes or dancing costumes. My reputation is ruined as it is by those scandalous presents. I wouldn’t be surprised if news of them has already reached King Edred’s court in Wessex.”

He smiled at her. “Not those kinds of gifts, either.”

Later that night, Alinor lay beneath him, sated, after the most tender loving he’d ever given a woman. The tenderness of his bedsport with her came not from caring, he told himself. It was just that the mood had struck him for a more gentle wooing.

He thought he heard laughter in his head. Probably the mischievous Loki poking mirth at his delusions.

It was then that he presented her with his Christ-gift. “You said one time that you had never been given a present. Here, then.” He put his hand under the pillow where he had hidden the flat, blue velvet case, then shoved it into her hands.

“Tykir, I have no need of gifts. And certainly not a pity gift. Besides, I have no gift for you.” She tried to return the box to him, unopened.

He insisted that she take it in hand. “There is naught of pity in this gift. Vikings love to give gifts. Accept it for what it is, and no more. A man’s pleasure.”

She nodded and began to undo the latch. She was sitting in his bed now, propped against the backboard, a bed fur pulled up to her waist, leaving her breasts bare to his pleasure. He loved her breasts—small, raspberry-tipped, swollen from his recent attentions.

“Oh, Tykir!” she whispered when she saw the box’s contents. It was the amber neck ring he’d shown her at Hedeby. “I can’t accept this.” Her green eyes welled with tears, and her voice sounded choked with emotion.

“Yea, you can and will.” His voice was equally choked.

Brushing a tear aside with the back of one hand, she reminded him, “You told me that the Arab trader who bartered it with you said it was intended for a bride on her wedding night, as a charm ensuring marriage-luck. Since you do not intend to wed, you said you would give it to one of Eirik’s daughters on her wedding day.”

He shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

“About marriage?” she asked, wide-eyed with surprise.

“Nay!” he retorted way too quickly and loudly.

But she just smiled at his impassioned response.

“Do not look for hidden meanings in this gift, Alinor. I wanted to give you something special, but not—”

She pressed her fingertips to his mouth, halting further words. “It is special.”