Page 22 of The Very Virile Viking

How odd that people here had to schedule a special time just for having fun!

In any case, Angela continued to be distraught at the news that she could not take them away from the city immediately, but he assured her he could handle the close accommodations of her home. After all, he'd been living on a longship with all of his children, and more people besides, for weeks now. Surely it would be no tighter than that. "Besides, I need more time to hone my sword if I am going to have to kill a blue dragon," he told her.

"Have you killed any dragons before, Rambo?" she'd asked him with one arched eyebrow.

"Nay, but how much harder can it be than killing a wild boar, or an angry polar bear? Some of the black bears in the Rus lands are as big as dragons, I warrant."

She gave him another of her disbelieving looks, which he was becoming accustomed to.

"I am loath to remind you… my name is Magnus, not Ram-bow." The wench might be a bit half-witted, he feared, to have such a poor memory for important matters… like the name of her destiny.

"Whatever."

That was a favored word in this country, he noticed. People used it whenever they had lost an argument.

It was a handy word he would have to recall when he got home to the Norselands. He knew just how the word would come in handy.

Like when one of his comrades taunted him, "That is the seventh game of hnefatafl you have lost, Magnus."

"Whatever."

Or a woman chided him: "Go clean out the midden, Magnus."

"Whatever."

Or numerous people commented, "Thirteen children, Magnus!"

"Whatever."

At the time of this mental conversation with himself, he'd had to smile at his own wit, which had caused Angela to look askance at him.

Whatever.

So now they were all strapped into the van, with Lida fast asleep in her very own seat, despite the din created by eight of his other children talking at once inside a confined room the size of a privy… which was not such a far-fetched comparison, considering the stench from Lida's still-unchanged nappy.

Despite the size of this horseless cart, he and Torolf had to sit with their heads touching the roof and their knees practically touching their chins. Mayhap they did not have such tall men in this country, but then Norsemen were known for their great height… and good looks. He was hoping the latter would weigh in his favor with his newfound destiny.

"Will your husband not object to your bringing us back to his keep?" he asked, wanting to make sure she was an unmarried lady.

Despite her continuing scowl, his hopes were fulfilled when she answered. "I have no husband, and the keep is mine, thank you very much."

Well, that is a relief. Her bad disposition he could handle. A husband would have been much more difficult.

"Stop smiling," she ordered.

He winked at her.

"And no winks, either. Look, I don't mean to be… well, mean, but get this through your head: I… am…

not… interested."

"In what?"

"You. Jeesh!"

"I like the way your face gets all flushed when you are excited."

"Not excited. Angry."